I decided that, after 31 chapters in "When Tony Met Gibbs', it was time to start another series of stories.

As before, each chapter is a standalone story and plays with, or rips up, canon.

"What you doing here, kid? I told you there's nothing to see here."

"I'm bored," said the boy.

"Well, I'm not. Some of us have work to do, you know." Even as he said this, Jethro Gibbs was aware that he was not being entirely truthful. The knowing raised eyebrow he saw on the boy's face suggested that he was used to adults being economical with the truth.

"Huh," said the boy, "You don't look very busy," he gazed around the empty office as if to prove his point.

"Things aren't always what they seem," said Gibbs. As the words left his mouth he wondered when he had become his father – how many times had Jackson told him that things weren't what they looked like? He bent his head to his non-existent paperwork as a means of dismissing the lad. As he gazed at a letter he was drafting he heard a thud as the boy flopped down on the chair in front of Gibbs' desk. "I told you I'm busy," he said, "Don't have time for chatting."

The boy sighed heavily in reply.

"Nice day like this, sun shining – you should be out getting some …rays," Gibbs hauled the phrase from the depths of his brain.

Another sigh.

"You should be grateful, you know. One day you'll wish you didn't have to go to work and miss out on hanging out with your buddies." In his mind's eye, Gibbs could picture an outraged young Jethro shouting at him for being a hypocrite as he said all the words he had hated Jackson saying to him.

"Haven't got any buddies," came the morose reply.

"Well, you won't make any here," said Gibbs brusquely.

The boy's green-grey eyes glittered for a moment with unshed tears and his mouth drooped even more, "All right, I'll go," he announced as he dragged himself to his feet.

Gibbs had never kicked a puppy but imagined that it would feel something like how he felt now. He held out until the boy reached the door,

"I don't know your name," he said.

The boy turned around, "Anthony D DiNozzo … Junior."

"Excuse me?"

"Anthony D DiNozzo Junior. My dad's Anthony D DiNozzo Senior."

"And that's what people call you?"

"Sure, it's my name. Why wouldn't they?"

"'cos the name's longer than you are. Anyone call you Tony?"

"Nope."

"Well, they do now. I'm going to call you Tony."

"OK. Does that mean I get to call you Jethro?"

"No."

"Oh, OK," Tony hesitated by the door, unsure whether he was being invited to stay.

"Why don't you have any friends around here?" asked Gibbs.

"We just moved here. Well, my Dad … Senior … moved here a couple months back but I just got here last week."

"You didn't move with your Dad?" Gibbs' protective attitude towards children belatedly kicked in at the thought that Tony had somehow moved on his own, "Or were you with your Mom?" Gibbs pictured a separated or divorced couple sharing custody of Tony.

Tony sat back down on the chair and said, with a hint of defiance, "My Mom's dead."

"Oh, that sucks," The I'm sorry words remained unsaid, "My Mom's dead too."

"Duh … well, of course. You're old."

Gibbs blinked at the accusation but before he could think of a reply, Tony continued, "But it's OK. It was like years ago. I'm over it. We're all over it."

Gibbs nodded; somehow, he doubted that Tony was over it, "So why did your Dad move without you?"

"I'm at boarding school … didn't finish until last week."

"And that's why you don't have any friends around here?"

"Duh."

Gibbs began to regret his friendly impulse, "Then why don't you go make some more?" he asked letting his eyes drift down to his busy work.

"No point."

"Why's there no point?"

"I won't be here long. I'll have to go back to school again."

"Well, you could make vacation friends," suggested Gibbs.

Tony's sigh was so deep it seemed to come from his stylish footwear, "No point. Senior'll probably move again. Or he'll send me to camp. I probably won't be here again."

"What about school? You got friends there?"

"Sure! I'm not a par- a parasite, you know."

"Parasite? Who said you were a parasite?" asked a bewildered Gibbs.

"OK, that might not have been the right word," admitted Tony, "But there's something beginning with PAR that doesn't have any friends."

Gibbs frowned but his aptitude for crossword puzzles came to his rescue, "Pariah. You mean pariah."

"Yeah, one of those. I'm not one."

"Good to hear," said Gibbs gravely, "So, are you meeting up with any of your buddies during the vacation?"

"Nope. They all live miles away. And there's no point …"

"Why?"

"I won't be seeing them again."

"Why not? Did you fall out with them?"

"No! I'm a good friend. I know what loyalty is."

"OK, that's good to know. Why won't you be seeing them again if you get on so well with them?"

"I'm going to a different school next semester."

"Huh. Your Dad wants you to go to a school closer to home?" suggested Gibbs. He could never have imagined sending Kelly away but, if he had, he would have chosen a school close by. The cynical laugh from the other side of the desk told he had made a wrong inference.

"I don't know where I'm going."

"Eh?"

"I sort of … well I was kinda expelled," said Tony kicking his feet against the desk.

"Hey! Cut that out!"

"Sorry … didn't mean to … I get fidgety …"

"So your Dad's looking for somewhere else to send you?"

"I guess."

"Maybe he's looking for a school close by to send you. Maybe you won't go away – he'll keep you at home."

The laugh came again, "He won't want me at home – I'm too much trouble. It's easier to write a cheque and send me somewhere so I can be someone else's problem."

"I'm sure he misses you, Tony," said Gibbs hoping that, this time, he was speaking the truth.

"Yeah, sure," said Tony dismissively.

"Have you talked to him about it?" asked Gibbs gently. He ignored the mental picture of his friends rolling their eyes in disbelief at the idea of Leroy Jethro Gibbs advocating the merits of talking about things.

"I can't."

"You won't know if you don't try," said Gibbs with continued patience, "He might just be waiting to see what you have to say."

"I can't because Dad's in Acapulco …"

"Acapulco?"

"Yeah, it's in Mexico."

"I know where it is," said Gibbs stiffly, "What's he doing in Acapulco?"

"He says it's a business trip …"

"But you don't think it is?"

"Well," said Tony as he tried to be fair, "He is probably doing some business – he's always looking out for opportunities – but I think he's combining business with a lot of pleasure. And he might be on a honeymoon."

"A honeymoon?"

"Yeah, one of those vacation things you have after you get married."

"I know what a honeymoon is."

"Oh, I just wondered. Seeing that you don't wear a wedding band …"

Gibbs found himself reflexively rubbing the finger where a wedding band had once nestled, "You don't have to be married to know what a honeymoon is."

"Well, sure," agreed Tony, "I mean, I know what one is, and I'm not married."

"What makes you think your Dad's on honeymoon? Did you go to the wedding?"

"No, he probably wouldn't trust me not to screw something up. And he might not have got married, it was just something that Marguerite said."

"Who's Marguerite?"

"His PA. Well, that's what he calls her but she's like the housekeeper as well. She's looking after me while Dad's away …"

"Doesn't seem to be doing it at the moment," said Gibbs.

Tony shrugged, "She's busy … and she knows that I'm old enough not to get into trouble. She's cool." He gazed at Gibbs with big innocent eyes.

"And she doesn't know that you snuck out?" suggested Gibbs.

The shrug came again, "On some level she might not know," he conceded.

"Your Dad didn't think about taking you on the trip with him?"

Tony shook his head, "No. Me, Dad and trips don't go well together."

"How so?"

"He took me to Hawaii last year …"

"Sounds good."

"Left me in the Maui Hilton for two days."

"Excuse me?"

"It was meant to be a vacation, but an opportunity came up. At least that's what he told me it was," the fleeting sad look in Tony's eyes suggested he knew differently, "And he went back to the mainland and kinda forgot I was with him."

"What?"

"It wasn't too bad. I had fun ordering room service … watching pay to view …"

"He forgot you were with him?" demanded Gibbs as he decided he didn't want to know what Tony had been watching on pay to view TV."

Tony shrugged the shrug again, "It's OK. We had fun before he … left."

Gibbs gazed at Tony and decided that perhaps the kid was better off being left behind in the care of what he hoped was a responsible adult.

"So," said Tony, "How's business?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, the PI business. Although you know … and I'm not being rude or anything …"

"Go on …"

"You seem to say excuse me a lot. If you've got hearing problems perhaps that's why you're not getting any business."

"I haven't got hearing problems," insisted Gibbs.

"OK, if you say so. I was just saying … and you know, it could be to your advantage …"

"It could?" asked Gibbs almost despite himself.

"Sure. You know, if you were wearing an earpiece, you could disguise it as a hearing aid."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Gibbs solemnly, "And it takes a while …"

"What does?"

"Getting a business off the ground. Takes time to get known … build up trust …"

"I guess."

"And I have had jobs," Gibbs wondered why he was justifying himself to this kid – it's not like it was Jackson sitting across from him. "I'm just waiting … I've got feelers out."

"I reckon you'll be OK," said Tony confidently.

"Again, good to know – and what makes you think that?"

"'cos you're trustworthy. You say you're going to do something then it gets done."

"How do you know that? You don't know me."

"I've been watching you, observing," said Tony darkly.

Gibbs laughed, "You mean you've been hanging around here for days! Wasn't exactly secret surveillance, was it?"

"Got to start somewhere," said Tony sulkily.

"That's true," agreed Gibbs fighting the unusual sensation of wanting to laugh again. "And, from what you've observed, you've decided I'm trustworthy?"

"Sure."

"What makes you sure?"

"My … I got a feeling in my tummy …"

"Could be gas," said Gibbs unsympathetically.

"Not that type of feeling," said Tony with dignity, "The kind you get when you know something is true …"

"You mean your gut …"

"If you're just going to laugh at me," said Tony beginning to get up.

"No. No, I wasn't laughing at you," promised Gibbs, "I get that feeling too … in my gut. You're kinda young though to know about stuff like that."

"I figure … well, I love my Dad and all … but I reckon that the opposite of what he is, is probably all right. And you're … well, you're about as different to Senior as anyone could be." He lifted his eyes somewhat defiantly to meet Gibbs' blue stare.

"How old are you, Tony?"

"Thirteen."

"So your Dad left you alone in Maui when you were twelve?" The anger flooded back.

"I guess. But it's OK, nothing happened."

"And nobody called your Dad on it? You know, leaving a kid on his own miles from home?"

The shrug was employed again, "My Dad usually skates. He says it's important to be nice to people …"

"So long as it's not your son," muttered Gibbs to himself.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Hey, I'm going to the café for some lunch …"

"OK, I'll get out of your hair," said Tony resignedly, "And hey, what is the deal with the hair?" Tony ran his hand over his own hair.

"What you mean? What's wrong with my hair?"

"Oh man, where to start … hey, perhaps that's what's putting people off …"

"What?"

"Well, man – it's kinda brutal. Maybe that's what's putting people off. You know, they think you're an ex-con or something."

"What makes you think people are being put off?" demanded Gibbs.

"Man, look around," said Tony gesturing to the empty room, "I've been here like an hour and nobody's come in … and your phone hasn't rung."

Gibbs stared back stonily but couldn't deny the truth of what Tony said. He decided to focus on another grievance, "What's with calling me man?"

"Don't you like it?"

"No."

"Oh, then what should I call you? Sir?"

"Not sir," Gibbs was about to add his customary rider about working for a living but refrained as he felt certain Tony would call him on the accuracy of the statement, "Mr Gibbs will be fine," he said.

"OK, man … I mean, Mr Gibbs. But what is the deal with the hair? You're not an ex-con, are you? Not that I should judge. I mean, I've just been expelled … although I guess that's not the same. But you get what I mean, I wouldn't judge. And I'm sure you're going straight now."

"Thank you," said Gibbs gravely, "This is how I wore my hair when I was in the service."

"In the service?"

"I was a Marine."

"Cool … I mean, it was cool, wasn't it?"

It was highly unlikely that Gibbs would ever describe anything except the contents of his fridge as cool, but he found himself nodding in agreement, "Yes, it was."

"Did you kill anyone?" asked Tony ghoulishly.

"Yes."

"Cool … oh well, I guess it wasn't cool but wow, I'm sitting across from someone who's actually killed people. What's it like? Will you tell me about it?"

"No."

"Huh. Grown-ups are never any fun."

"You think hearing about killing people is fun?"

"Well, not fun exactly, but it's interesting."

"Come on, like I said before, it's lunch time."

"Oh, yeah. Just when it was getting interesting. Hey man, I mean, Mr Gibbs, I'll see you around?"

"Sure, but I thought you could come to lunch with me."

Tony's face lit up. "Really! You mean it? What am I saying? You're a Marine, you never say anything you don't mean," he jumped up and raced to the door. He almost vibrated with excitement as Gibbs locked the door, "Hey, what's your favourite Marines movie? I like …"

Gibbs tuned out the boy's yabba yabba as they walked the short distance to the diner. Once they had found a booth and were looking at the menus, Gibbs interpreted Tony's sudden silence, "My treat," he said.

"Well," said Tony suffering a sudden attack of conscience.

"Consider it payment," said Gibbs.

"Payment? What for?"

"The business advice," said Gibbs blandly.

Tony's gut didn't seem to find anything wrong with this and he went back to perusing the menu. Gibbs realised being considered trustworthy was an asset when it came to lying.

"Hi, Tony," said the motherly waitress. She leaned over and ruffled his hair before tugging at his tee shirt to straighten it.

Gibbs expected Tony to resist: he remembered his own impatience with being mothered when he was Tony's age. Tony, however, smiled shyly and allowed her ministrations. Gibbs figured perhaps not having a mother meant that Tony took maternal kindness where he could find it.

Tony and Gibbs placed their orders and, shortly afterwards, Tony scooted off to the bathroom. Gibbs took the opportunity to speak to the waitress,

"You know Tony, Susie?"

Susie sighed, "Yes, he comes in most days. Hangs around, talks to people. Makes a chocolate milkshake last for hours. Sid – the owner – gives him a few bucks sometimes to clear tables but he's too young for us to take him on properly. Nice kid. Lonely, I think."

Gibbs nodded but didn't say anything more as Tony was coming racing back.

"You know …" began Tony.

"I don't talk when I'm eating," said Gibbs sternly as he pointed to the plate in front of Tony, "Or listen," he added when he saw that Tony was about to suggest that he'd talk while Gibbs listened.

Tony was increasingly in awe of Gibbs so he nodded obediently in a way his former teachers would have been astounded at.

The silence lasted until Tony had swallowed the last morsel of his burger and fries, "You know, I've got some other business ideas," he announced.

"Yeah?" said Gibbs who was in a mellow mood after a second mug of excellent coffee.

"Yeah. I could ask around, I know people, you know."

"Yeah?" there was a world of scepticism in Gibbs' voice.

"And people around here might be glad to know there's a tiptop PI around here …"

"Tiptop, eh?"

"Well, perhaps not yet," mused Tony, "But one day …"

Gibbs hid his smile behind the mug of coffee, "Any more ideas?"

"Flyers."

"What?"

"I could deliver flyers for you. Advertising."

"Around here? Why would people around here need a private investigator?"

"I don't know. TV's always saying that crime is ripe …"

"Rife," corrected Gibbs.

"Yeah, what you said … there's a lot of it around. Everyone needs to know a PI. 'cos the police are real busy and can't always get to the scene of the crime."

Silence fell and Tony seemed to droop, "But I know it's a dumb idea …"

The kicking of a puppy feeling returned as Gibbs looked at Tony's forlorn figure and saw that he was already getting ready to go home to a place which didn't feel like home. Gibbs remembered that Tony's chatter had somehow filled an empty part of his heart,

"No, it's not," he said, "I reckon flyers are a good idea … so long as you're up for delivering them?"

"You bet I am!" said Tony excitedly, "It'll be cool! And I can get Marguerite to print them off for you … in like loads of different colours because she's got this really cool printer! And she can do some curly fonts … it'll be great!"

Tony spent the rest of the afternoon designing a flyer for the as yet unknowing Marguerite to produce on her state-of-the-art word processor. Gibbs spent the time composing a letter to a client in Nevada advising that he had been unable to trace her no good two-timing waste of space of a husband.

XXXXXX

Gibbs blinked the next day at the sight of his flyers. They were undoubtedly multicoloured and artistic, they were also a little misshapen.

"Marguerite let me cut them up," said Tony proudly.

"Ah," said Gibbs as he realised why they were uneven. Somehow, he didn't think Tony would ever be someone to sit patiently at a task, "Good job," he praised.

Shortly afterwards, Tony ran off to do his deliveries. He was under strict instructions to return at lunch time and go with Gibbs to the diner. Tony had been 'hired' under the promise of a dollar a day plus meals – as the days passed, Gibbs began to hope that Tony's appetite for food wasn't going to be the straw which broke the fragile back of Gibbs' business camel.

A few days after Tony had been co-opted as publicist and general gofer, Gibbs was sitting alone in the office and worrying. It was taking longer to get established than he had expected and, unless something happened soon, he was beginning to think he might have to take the job offered by Mike Franks of NIS although the allure of being his own boss was still compelling. He threw the latest bill on to the desk in disgust and sighed. He would have to admit that this wasn't working out, swallow his pride and cut his losses. Decision made.

"Mr Gibbs?"

He looked up and saw that a middle-aged man had come in through the open door.

"Yes."

"The private investigator?"

Gibbs sensed doubt in the man's voice but, as he doubted it himself, decided not to take offence, "Yes," he said again.

The man smiled, "Good. My company is having some problems with goods going missing in transit. We suspect that the robbers know when the items are being dispatched and using that information."

"What do the police say?"

"The police are doing their best but … well, they don't seem to be able to crack the case, as I believe the saying is."

"I see."

"And I've been told that you're the person who can help us."

"You have?"

"Yes, indeed. I understand that you are completely trustworthy and reliable. That sounds a good recommendation to me."

"Mike Franks?"

"Excuse me?"

"NIS Agent Michael Franks. He recommended me?" Gibbs felt a warm glow in his heart at the thought that the irascible agent had looked out for him even though he had been disappointed when Gibbs had turned down his offer of employment the year before.

"I'm afraid not, I don't know anyone called Mike Franks. And I don't know what NIS is. No, the recommendation came from another source."

Gibbs decided it didn't matter, "And what are the goods that are being stolen?" he asked.

"Diamonds."

"Diamonds!" Gibbs revised his thoughts of a small trader suffering petty thefts.

"Yes, I am managing director of a chain of jewellers specialising in bespoke high value items. You will understand that we import diamonds on a regular basis and the losses are most disturbing. Do you think you can help us?"

"You want me to help you? Isn't this a job for some big high-powered company?"

"Don't you think you can help us? I'll understand if you're too busy … after all, a tiptop PI like you must be in demand."

A penny dropped in Gibbs' mind, "Who was it who recommended me?"

There was a twinkle in the man's eye, "My card," he handed one to Gibbs, "My name is Clive Paddington. Anthony DiNozzo is my great-nephew. I'm here in New York to deal with these problems with the American branch and I went to see Anthony," he pursed his lips disapprovingly, "Although I suppose I should not have been surprised to find my nephew by marriage absent. Anyway, no matter. Young Anthony – who now prefers to go by Tony – was full of his new employer. So I thought I would come and make myself known to the person who has been so kind to my young relative."

Fledgling hope died in Gibbs' heart, "So it wasn't a job offer?" he said bleakly.

"What? Oh, yes, of course it is."

"But why? Tony must have told you that the business isn't exactly …"

"Thriving? Quite so. Considering his upbringing, Tony is, most of the time, very honest – except when he is prone to exaggeration …"

"And you're not worried that he's exaggerating now?"

Paddington turned a level gaze on Gibbs, "No, I'm not. Anthony is, I believe, a good judge of character. I fear he has had to learn to be. Now, I know he does not always make good decisions, but he is young and, often, on his own. I trust that he has seen something to be relied on in you. He told me that you were the complete opposite of his father. I fear, Mr Gibbs, that, in my books, that makes you good and reliable. Tell me, do you think that you are capable of doing this job for me?"

"Yes. But …"

"Mr Gibbs, there is no need for buts. I am willing to stake something on this venture. If I am proved wrong … well, I do not believe that the cost will be too great and, if I am proved right – or rather, Tony is proved right – then I believe we will all be winners. Well, apart from the malefactors, of course but I cannot bring myself to be too concerned for them."

"Eh?"

"Do we have an agreement that you will try to solve our problem, Mr Gibbs? I'm sure I do not need to say to you that a successful conclusion to this enterprise will be of great benefit to your future endeavours."

"What?"

"Word will get around, Mr Gibbs. My company is very prestigious – other companies will be beating a path to your door when they hear of your success."

Gibbs pulled himself together enough to stand up and offer his hand, "We have ourselves a deal."

"Excellent. I will arrange for my head of security to get in touch. Goodbye, Mr Gibbs."

"Thank you, Mr …" Gibbs took a look at the card, "… Paddington."

"No, Mr Gibbs, thank you." Gibbs' newest client touched his hat and left.

XXXXXX

Can it be doubted that Gibbs PI solved the case? That other firms did indeed beat a path to his door? That the firm grew and expanded until it became one of the largest in New York with branches in Washington and Chicago? No, it can't be doubted.

And do not doubt either, that Jethro Gibbs and Tony DiNozzo maintained a friendship – through broken legs, shattered dreams, three divorces and other vicissitudes – which was even more valuable to them than the diamonds Gibbs had traced all those years before.

And Gibbs was always grateful that he hadn't turned that young boy away all those years ago … and that he and Tony had each discerned something worthwhile in the other.

Even if they continued to disagree about Gibbs' haircut!