Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

A/N: See the notes from the prologue.

Reminders: Gibbs' rule 13 is 'Never, ever involve a lawyer', mentioned in S6E07 and S7E24 and Tony mentions that his grandfather (he doesn't specify which) left him 10K shares in a 'dot-com company' in S1E14.

When it Rains

Vance parked his car about half a block down the street from the address listed in DiNozzo's personnel file. This isn't quite what I was expecting, he thought while taking care to lock the car behind him. The neighborhood was seedier than he expected – while there wasn't any evidence of gang activity, the sidewalks were cracked and pitted with age and neglect, and the average age of the people who lived in the area seemed to be roughly seventy or eighty. The building wherein DiNozzo lived took up half of one entire block, and had its own secure parking area. It was five stories tall, and had the distinctive art-deco flair which had been popular in the 1920s – indeed, the cornerstone to the building read May 14,1921.

An aged doorman glanced suspiciously up from his newspaper as Vance entered the building's lobby and asked, "Help you, sonny?"

"No, thank you," Vance replied, heading for the archaic elevator.

"Wouldn't use that, if I was you," the doorman went back to his paper. "The repairman ain't been by yet to fix it."

Unwrapping a toothpick, Vance took a quick look at the grimed buttons and worn-out carpeting and decided to take the stairs. Figures DiNozzo lives on the top floor, he grumbled mentally as he passed the third floor landing. However, he did make a mental note to spend a little more time in the gym – this director nonsense was getting him out of shape.

Eventually, he wound up on the fifth floor landing. As none of the doors actually still had the apartment numbers affixed to them, it took a moment for Vance to select the door which had a welcome mat that said nice underwear. He raised his fist to knock and almost succeeded in giving himself a heart attack when the door opened before he could touch it.

"– run down and –" Palmer's mouth clicked shut. He opened it again, then seemed to think better of it, and tried one last time. "Um… Tony? The director is here."

Somewhere from within the apartment, Vance heard DiNozzo mutter something in Italian. He was sure that whatever it was, it was unflattering. Palmer muttered something about the mail and ducked around Vance just as DiNozzo appeared. "Something I can help you with, Director?"

"Heard the scuttlebutt, DiNozzo. Had to see if it was true."

Tony winced, "Depends."

"On what?"

"How exaggerated it got before you heard it," Tony replied. Though a casual observer would think that the visitor to apartment 5A had been there many, many times, as Tony was seemingly relaxed and unconcerned about it, internally Tony was panicking almost as badly as he had earlier that morning on discovering that his apartment building had not suddenly obtained laundry service. What the hell is Vance doing here?

Vance stepped a little closer and Tony reflexively stepped back, but noticed what the director was doing and regained the upper hand by stepping aside, "Excuse the mess. Come in, Director. Did you need something to drink? Coffee? Tea? A stiff vodka tonic?"

Again, DiNozzo's apartment wasn't quite what Vance had imagined – though the fifty-two inch plasma-screen television mounted to one of the living room walls matched up with his imaginings, that was the only thing that did. Instead of pizza boxes, swimsuit magazines, and piles of laundry, the door opened to a short hallway that had a coat closet along one wall and an opening into the kitchen along the other. The kitchen itself was off-white tile and pale yellow woods with gleaming chrome appliances and separated from the living room by a breakfast bar and a row of glass-doored cabinets hanging from the ceiling. The hall and living room sported hardwood floors, and the living room walls – what little of them could be seen through the numerous built-in bookshelves and the TV – were painted pale green. The shelves themselves contained more books than Vance had imagined DiNozzo had ever read in his life, but nearly all of them held signs of not only having been read but damn near memorized. A small desk occupied the corner of the room between the wall with the TV and a pair of glass-paneled French doors, curtained in a green three shades darker than the paint on the walls, that opened onto a balcony. Through the glass, the director could see a small barbecue grill, a white-painted wrought-iron café table and two matching chairs, and a potted plant – some sort of ivy, complete with pyramidal trellis – occupying the balcony's limited space. A monstrous brown leather recliner sat angled to a long, low sofa, likewise brown but not upholstered in leather, with a glass-topped coffee table between them and the television. Just under the television was a wooden chest of drawers, and Vance's eye for detail determined that the drawers themselves were just large enough to house rows of DVDs with their spines up for easy identification. Of course, the vast majority of the furnishings were buried under piles of recently-purchased baby stuff, but all-in-all, the apartment itself was both cleaner and better-decorated than Vance would have thought.

"Director?"

Wrenching his attention back to DiNozzo, Vance noticed that the man himself looked as though his inner compass had lost contact with magnetic north, and was trying like hell to hide that fact from anyone who cared to look. "Coffee," he said. "Sweet, no cream."

While his agent busied himself with the coffee maker tucked between a new microwave and an archaic toaster-oven, Vance allowed his gaze to make another sweep of the visible portions of the apartment. There were two framed movie posters – one hung on a kitchen wall, the other just barely visible in the hallway – and like the TV, were similarly some of the few points Vance had right in his mental imaginings of the agent's home. The books were a vast and varied collection spanning everything from classic Greek literature (a copy of Homer's collected works appeared to be particularly battered and well-used) to the most recent edition of Shooter's Bible: Guide to Rifle Ballistics. Sporadically placed among the tightly-packed books were photos framed in matching silver frames, primarily of the MCRT, though there were a couple with what Vance assumed to be DiNozzo's fraternity brothers. An eight-by-ten black and white photo tinged yellowish with age held a place of honor on the center of the DVD chest under the TV.

The photo showed a woman of about twenty-six or -seven, who had long, dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and was wearing a summer-weight garden-party dress in a style that immediately dated the photo to 1978 or 1979. She was sitting on a piano bench – the piano itself was a baby grand – with an arm around a little boy who could only be a first- or second-grade aged DiNozzo. Vance was vastly amused, though it didn't show on his face, that the little boy in the photo was wearing a white sailor suit, complete with straw hat.

From the photo, his gaze traveled to the wooden chest itself. The piece of furniture was roughly four and a half feet long, a foot deep, and was primarily the distinctive honey color of high-quality oak; the fronts of the drawers were inlaid in a complex chevron pattern consisting of pale cream-colored, reddish, and nearly black slivers of wood, and the handles were an odd greenish color. There were two rows of five drawers, underneath which was a shelf space, containing DiNozzo's DVD player and Xbox, bracketed by a drawer on either side, a third row of nothing but drawers, followed by a larger shelf-space containing a high-end stereo system, again bracketed by drawers, only the ones to either side of the stereo were smaller than the rest, about the size of CDs. Two drawers in two rows framed the stereo. Carved ivy, looking suspiciously like the potted plant on the balcony, curled up the corners from the legs of the piece to form the edge along the front, meeting in the middle to surround a small oval spot which sported the letters 'ADD'. It took a moment for Vance to realize that it was DiNozzo's initials, and about a half a second longer to realize that Gibbs was the most-likely source of the unusual piece of furniture.

"Here," DiNozzo's voice dragged Vance's attention back to his host. The agent handed him a plain white mug. Vance sipped at it, not breaking eye-contact with DiNozzo. Tony cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think I can dispense with the pleasantries. What are you doing here?" he said.

Vance took another sip of the coffee – it was surprisingly good, and figured it was probably Gibbs' influence. "Like I said, DiNozzo. I had to see if the rumors were true." He could see blatant skepticism on the agent's face and clarified, "And I will admit that you puzzle me. I don't much care for puzzles."

Tony scoffed. "Aren't you in the wrong line of work, then?"

Vance gave a slight shrug, "Perhaps."

"Why?" DiNozzo asked. "Why do I puzzle you?"

The director took another drink of his coffee before answering. "Mainly because you've outlasted every other teammate Gibbs has ever had. Nine years, DiNozzo, with eight as acting SFA… That's a long time to stick around."

"For someone with my track record, you mean."

Vance shook his head. "No – for anyone. Most people have ambitions, DiNozzo. Two or three years as SFA, then they ask for a promotion to Agent Afloat with an eye on obtaining their own team someday. Your file indicates you not only never requested a promotion, but you actually turned one down. This puzzles me."

It was Tony's turn to shrug a little. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Tony's mouth, but Vance was at a loss as to explain why. "Still seems like the right decision." Unknown to Vance, Tony's memory was supplying him with the little fact that had he accepted the position in Rota, just over a year later, Gibbs and Maddie Tyler would have drowned in the Potomac. Catching Vance's questioning gaze, Tony dropped his arms to his sides. "Oh, you want to know why?" Vance nodded. Tony gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat if you like. To answer the question…" he shrugged again. "I'm happy here, doing what I'm doing. No reason to change a good thing."

Vance accepted Tony's invitation to sit, and scooted a pile of white and green baby clothes off of a corner of the sofa. "I would think you'd want the pay increase if nothing else."

Tony chuckled, the sound both genuinely amused and completely unlike any other laugh Vance had heard from the man before. "I honestly don't need it, Director Vance." Vance sent an obvious 'explain' look towards Tony. "You think I could afford Armani and Hugo Boss on an SFA's salary? Sure, Dad might have cut me out of the will, but Grandpa Paddington never got the memo. He left me ten thousand shares in Google; the dividend pays out quarterly."

Even at home, comedic timing is everything, and Vance choked a little on his coffee. "Google?"

"And that's not touching on what Nonna – Dad's mom – left me." Tony's eyebrow quirked in amusement. "There is a reason I have a financial advisor."

A small detail – one of many which confused Vance at the time – from DiNozzo's file sprang forth in his memory: a receipt for $25,000 cash from three years earlier. The cash itself was still sitting in an evidence box back at HQ. If his memory was right, it had been used to bust a human trafficking ring. He made a mental note to check in on the status of the case and make sure the money was returned if it was no longer needed. This actually explains a lot. He isn't moving on, because – and I can't believe I'm thinking this – he really is happy here. While Vance was thinking, fussy baby noises began to emanate from the car seat on the breakfast bar. "Excuse me, Director." Vance absently made a 'go ahead' motion and returned to his thoughts. This actually does explain a lot. The goofball attitude first and foremost – it's not like he's going to wind up on the streets if he loses his job. But from just that one instance… He offered up cash money, from his own pocket, to finance that sting. Have the feeling he hasn't missed it, either.

"You'd pay to be allowed to do this job, wouldn't you?" Vance asked, turning slightly on the sofa cushion to watch the now somewhat understandable agent removing the 'rumor' from the car seat.

"Shush, girl," Tony murmured, wondering what had her fussing now. He met Vance's eyes and grinned. "Probably so, Director. Probably so."

Vance climbed to his feet, satisfied he'd finally figured out a large portion of what made DiNozzo tick. "And this, I feel safe in assuming, is the source of the rumors circulating at work?" He maneuvered around the furniture and assorted detritus from that morning's excursion to WalMart.

"Yeah," Tony replied. From his posture, Vance could tell that though he was still nervous about inadvertently hurting the baby, he was rapidly learning how to deal with it.

"May I?" Vance held his hands out to take her.

With obvious hesitation, Tony handed the baby to the director.

While Vance distracted the baby – quite admirably so, even if the mental image of him talking gibberish was one which had Tony wishing brain-bleach existed – Tony set about mixing up another bottle of formula. When the microwave dinged, Tony made to take the baby back, but Vance said, "I've got this." Tony handed over the bottle. "And Tony? Off hours, the name's Leon."

Tony's blank stare of confusion was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Answering it, he listened to the person on the other end for a moment, simultaneously wondering what the hell had just happened, before speaking, "Yeah, Jimmy – it's safe to come back up." Ending the call with Palmer, Tony took a long look at… Leon and finally just asked. "What?"

Vance glanced over at Tony. "She really does look just like you, you know," he smiled – an act which was, on some unidentifiable level, disturbing – and returned the majority of his attention to the newborn he held. "I know a really great family lawyer; I'll have her give you a call. You want me to give her your cell or home number?"

If Tony hadn't already been leaning on the counter, he would have backed away slowly. "Who are you and what have you done with the director? Should I check for pods?"

Vance laughed. "Left the director at work, Tony. Think I can keep him there for the duration, too, except for a couple more little things. Firstly," he looked up from the baby and met Tony's eyes, "sending you off as Agent Afloat wasn't in any way a punishment. I honestly thought I was doing you a favor, getting you the experience you need if you expected to head your own team. I need you to know that."

"Duly noted."

"Secondly, for all your antics at work, I do see the good in the work you do."

Tony scoffed, but wisely remained silent.

"I can even, at times, see why you took on the role of 'class clown', so to speak. What we do can wear, and wear heavily. You help lighten that." The sound of the apartment door opening didn't seem to register as Vance finished speaking. "And the effort, while not always appreciated at the time, is appreciated. Lastly, well… As long as I'm in the big chair, I won't move you, not unless you ask for it first."

"Can I get that last part in writing?"

Vance grinned, and the image was just as disturbing as the smile. "I'll even have it notarized for you."

"Have what notarized?" Palmer asked, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen, Tony's mail in hand.

Tony answered, "I'll explain later, Jimmy."

For the next half-hour, conversation was somewhat stilted and forced, though it gradually managed to become less so over the duration. Most of the talk centered on either sports or stories from… Leon about when his kids were babies or similar stories from Jimmy about his plethora of cousins. While talking, Leon kept hold of the baby while Jimmy and Tony set about cleaning up the mess.

About the same time the baby was finally settling back into sleep, Leon checked his watch and let out a hiss. "Damn it. Lunch's over. Gotta head back to the office." He climbed to his feet and gently handed the newborn to Palmer – an act over which Leon would be scratching his head in that 'who'd'a thunk it' sort of way for weeks – and headed for the door, Tony not far behind. Pausing just outside the door to the apartment, he turned and addressed Tony one more time. "So, you never did answer me. Want me to give Liza your home number or your cell?"

Tony sighed a little. "Despite rule thirteen, I think this time, I have to. So, cell – haven't had a home phone since I got back from the Seahawk."

Leon nodded and started to say something else before just closing his mouth and shaking his head.

"What?" Tony asked. "I think we've come a little to far to mince words at this late date."

"Just… If you plan to keep her, you do realize you'll need a bigger place, right?"

That caused the first flash of a true DiNozzo smile, teeth and all. "Hell, if I need to, I'll just remodel. Jeremiah Wingerson in 5B's lease will be up next month, and 5C's still on the market. Easy enough to pull the ads."

Closing his eyes in resigned acceptance that he'd rarely, if ever, truly have the upper hand around Tony outside of work, Leon said, "You own the building, don't you?"

Still smiling at the director, Tony slowly closed his door while saying, "I'll see you at work," a nearly-imperceptible pause, "Leon."

Between winnowing down the suspect list on their murder victim, Tim, Ziva, and Abby all had the chance to have three separate conversations wherein the consensus was reached that A.) none of them were all that surprised at what happened to their friend and teammate, B.) none of them could really imagine Tony as a dad, C.) all of them agreed that Gibbs was definitely living up to that second 'B' in his name more so than normal, though none of them were too sure on the reason, and D.) all of them wanted to know why he'd called Palmer, of all people, when he'd found his… guest that morning.

On Gibbs' part, though, he was not unaware of the conversations, at least those between Tim and Abby and Ziva and Abby. Both times, he'd been outside the lab doors, and he knew his people well enough to realize that Tim and Ziva had likely already spoken to each other about the situation. As to his own reaction… Well, he knew he was being harsher than normal, but damnit! This was Tony, not just some random coworker.

Despite not really wanting the knowledge, thanks to Tony's bragging about his conquests, Gibbs knew the man was normally exceedingly cautious regarding his sex-life, so his initial reaction was best described as 'how the hell did that happen?', but then common sense asserted itself and pointed out that even pairing birth control and condoms, his neighbors down the street had had a baby boy two years earlier, so nothing was absolutely foolproof, unless it involved abstinence and that was something Gibbs wasn't too sure Tony even knew the meaning of. And then he had to wonder just what Tony planned to do about it. The most-logical course of action would be for him to simply call CPS, even if the thought of it made Gibbs angry. He was enough of a realist, though, to know that this was Tony, and logic in his personal life was another of those things that Gibbs wasn't too sure Tony knew the meaning of, so he couldn't be certain that's what Tony would do.

Actually, round about lunchtime, Gibbs realized that if Tony was going to go the logical, easy route, he would have done so already. This left him with the wholly disliked feeling of not being able to anticipate what one of his people was going to do.

But, then again, it was Tony, and Gibbs never was able to predict his senior field agent's actions 100% of the time.

Resolving to head over to Tony's place as soon as an opportunity presented itself, Gibbs tried not to think on the matter.

But it was damn hard.

"Mark today on the calendar," Tony said after closing the door on… Leon.

"What? Why?" Jimmy, though still a little fluttery because of Vance's unscheduled visit, was now more amused than nervous. Vance was a completely different person away from the job, and from what Jimmy saw, he could easily see himself being friends with the man in the future, even if they weren't there yet.

"Because today has been the single weirdest day of my life to date. I want to make sure I mark the date, that way next year, I'll have a little warning and won't bother getting out of bed."

Jimmy laughed, "Come on, Tony. It hasn't been too bad."

Slumping into his recliner, Tony argued back, albeit quietly so as not to wake the baby, "No? Well, let's count the tally – before today, the top spot on my weird shit-o-meter was the case on the Chimera, which scored a solid eighteen, before that was when I caught the plague, which scored a twelve; and keep in mind this used to be a ten-point scale! One: I couldn't for the life of me sleep last night, despite closing the Kai case. Two: A call-out at two-thirty in the morning, so even if I had been sleeping, I wouldn't have gotten any rest. Points three through twelve," he flung a melodramatic arm towards the baby sleeping in a 'crib' of pillows and blankets on the opposite end of the sofa from Jimmy's corner next to the chair. "Thirteen: We didn't end our call this morning, thus breaking Gibbs' rule three. Fourteen: I may not have witnessed it – but I wonder if Abby can pull it up from the surveillance footage? – but you yelled at Gibbs. Fifteen: I just had a civil-bordering-on-friendly chat with Vance. Hell, that one deserves to be points sixteen through twenty, too, just on the basis of him showing up here to begin with!"

Before Tony could go much farther into working himself into a tizzy, the tirade was interrupted by a knock on the apartment door. Jimmy quickly stood and headed down the short hall while saying, "That's probably Doctor Mallard – you stay there. Remember what I said this morning about panic attacks and ambulances."

Jimmy cracked the door open to check that he was right, which he was, before stepping out into the hallway to greet Ducky. "Hey," he said. "I'm glad you could come by so early."

"The autopsy was relatively straightforward – cause of death, asphyxiation, most likely by a bicycle chain. It will be up to Team Gibbs to determine the whys, of course," Ducky replied. "And speaking of Team Gibbs, how is Anthony?"

Jimmy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Been walking an edge between forced-normal and panic almost all day. He doesn't show it much, but this has got him completely freaked out."

"And the child?"

Jimmy smiled a little. "Even without a DNA test, you can tell she's his. Otherwise, as far as I can tell, she's fine."

Ducky gripped his black doctor's bag a little tighter and straightened, "Well, then. Shall we see if perhaps we cannot lend a little more support to Tony?" He gestured to the door and followed Jimmy into the apartment.

Tony was slumped forwards, sitting on the edge of his recliner, his elbows on his knees, and his hands cradling his head almost as though he had the worst headache of his life. He looked up at the sound of their footsteps and forced a smile. "Hey, Ducky. How's the case going?"

"For full details, I suggest you speak with your team," it was obvious from Ducky's tone that the doctor believed this to be the best course of action, "but Staff Sergeant Bryce McCall was strangled to death with, of all things, what appears to have been a bicycle chain."

"And the point total increases by another one," was Tony's reply. He didn't notice the flash of confusion from Ducky, nor the eye-roll from Palmer. Tony simply sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. "She's on the sofa."

Knowing that the whole of Team Gibbs, as well as Abby, Jimmy, and himself had standing open invitations to treat Tony's apartment like their own home, Ducky thought nothing of the lack of any semblance of formal hospitality. He knew if he needed something to drink or anything like that, all he need do is ask, and only that much if he didn't feel like helping himself, so he turned the majority of his attention to the latest complication in Tony's life, but kept an eye on the man himself.

Ten minutes of gentle inspection later and he was in complete agreement with Jimmy – the baby was completely healthy and Tony was hanging on to his sanity by the skin of his teeth. Sharing a sidelong glance of communication with his assistant, Ducky gave Tony the number for a very reputable pediatrician and made his excuses before heading back to NCIS. At least he now had something useful to pass along to the four very worried remaining members of the team.

Once Ducky had gone, Tony moved back to his desk. Before he could hit a button to wake his sleeping computer, Jimmy crossed the room and laid a hand on his shoulders. "Not now, Tony. It can wait. Why don't you go to bed? You're obviously exhausted, and you know that everyone else will be by as soon as they can, so you should rest while you have the chance. I'll keep an eye on her."

Jimmy's hand was warm and heavy and his words made the most sense of anything that he'd gone through that day, so Tony simply nodded. He retreated to his room and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

A/N2: I have more written, but not yet reviewed - and if any of the italicized words missed their spaces, I'm sorry. I'll try to fix any issues later. (I thought FFN had that glitch fixed? What the fuckity fuck?) Anyway, remember to lemme know what y'all think.

03/13/2012: Reread and assassinated a name continuity issue.