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: I hate winter.

When it Rains

It was relatively easy to track down Staff Sergeant Bryce McCall's killer – an old rival from his days in basic training had spotted McCall, and took the opportunity presented to exact revenge for a stolen girlfriend with the only flexible item at hand, his spare bicycle chain. Unfortunately, the team was unable to arrest former Petty Officer Alan Keegan, as the man had realized what he'd done and suicided by dropping a running hair-dryer into his bathwater. He'd even left a note, confessing to McCall's murder.

With all the loose ends neatly tied off, and the perpetrator beyond any justice they could administer, Gibbs let the team head home, though he seriously doubted that would be where they ended up. It was only four in the afternoon, after all. Palmer and Ducky were still wrapping up the autopsy on Keegan – which shouldn't take them too much longer – but Abby had already ran the blood work and confirmed that the man had been completely sloshed – his BAC was 0.15% – and hadn't been taking the anti-psychotics or anti-depressants found in his medicine chest.

He finished his own paperwork for the case by five, and rather than address any of the myriad additional forms that were inherent with government employment, he decided to call it an early night as well, and headed for the parking garage. As he pulled his pickup out of the garage, he headed for Brewster's, the small pub within walking distance of the Navy Yard. As he had assumed, Tim's Porsche, Ziva's Mini, and Abby's bright red hot rod were parked in the pub's lot. He found a space at the end of the row and headed inside.

All three were seated in their 'usual' positions at the bar, sharing a pitcher of beer and chatting. He was about to go join them when he overheard Tim say something completely unexpected. "So, Tony and Palmer? Always did think Tony's razzing on me about being gay was a cover – no one deflects that hard unless they've got something to hide."

Gibbs faded into the shadows cast by a half-wall room divider and a hanging plant. What? There was a tiny table in the nook, and he sat himself down. For all that the team was less than six feet away, they didn't notice him – yet the bartender did, and sent a waitress around for his order. He ordered a plate of nachos and a bottle of beer, keeping his ears on his team while doing so.

"We do not know if what we are assuming is, indeed, a fact," Ziva said. "But I think that if it is, they would be good for each other."

McGee laughed, "Yeah – they deserve each other." There was the distinctive sound of Abby's chains rattling, followed quickly by a soft smack. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Would you really wish Tony on poor, defenseless Jimmy?" Abby asked. Even though Gibbs couldn't see her face, he could imagine that her expression was similar to the one she wore when defending the dog that'd gnawed on Tim a while back.

"Hah!" Tim retorted. "Shouldn't that be the other way around? You two didn't see what I did – Palmer's got a backbone under all that stuttering and fumbling and bumbling. Who else can get away with ordering Tony to do something that he actually does?"

Without missing a beat, both Ziva and Abby replied with, "Gibbs."

"Yeah," McGee sounded like it was a given. Do they not remember or do they just not notice all the times DiNozzo doesn't follow my orders? "But, other than the boss, is there anyone else Tony listens to?"

"He listens to me," Abby said, then hedged, "sometimes."

"And me as well, but usually only if some sort of threat involving office supplies is used." Gibbs had to smile at that – he'd begun counting how often Ziva had threatened Tony with some sort of bodily harm, just in his hearing range, but gave up when the count had broached three hundred after Ziva had only been with them for a little less than a month.

"See what I mean? Why would Tony do something Palmer said to – in his own home, no less – if they were just friends?" Tim continued to argue his point. "I mean, the three of us count ourselves as Tony's friends, right?" Noises of assent came from both of the girls. "But none of us can say – with a hundred percent certainty – that Tony'd do something we said to do." McGee let out a small laugh. "Hell, he'd be more likely to do exactly the opposite of what we asked, just to rile us up." Both of the ladies echoed Tim's laugh.

"We are still assuming too much," Ziva said, then sighed.

Realizing that the three members of his team at the bar were talking themselves in circles, Gibbs decided not to interrupt – listening to them was proving entertaining. He waited for his nachos, but didn't linger. He ate quickly and was gone long before his team even realized he'd been there.

Once home, he headed for his basement and set to putting the finishing touches on the last few toys he'd been in the middle of making up for the Toys for Tots program. While varnishing and sanding and painting, he let his mind wander over the new bits of information he'd gleaned by his earlier eavesdropping.

DiNozzo and Palmer, huh? The thought didn't surprise him as much as it did his team; unlike them, he'd long ago learned to ignore ninety percent of what his SFA said and to focus more on what he did. The fact that Tony was just as likely to leer at a handsome man as a pretty woman was something Gibbs had known since shortly after meeting the then-detective in Baltimore, even if Tony wasn't aware that Gibbs knew. No, it wasn't the fact that Tony might possibly be attracted to and/or dating Palmer that gave Gibbs cause to pause. No, not that. It was more the fact that, of all the men in the DC area, it was Jimmy Palmer, the stuttering, stammering, awkward ME's assistant. What would Tony see in the kid? Gibbs wondered, then remembered how Palmer had seemed to reach the end of his rope and snapped at him, actually outright yelling at one point, but seeing as how it had taken years to get the kid to the point he'd stand up to him… Gibbs sighed and shook his head, acknowledging the fact that there were some things he would just never truly understand.

After tucking his cell phone back into a pocket, Jimmy quietly padded into the kitchen and set to examining what Ziva had brought over that morning. Some of the dishes he didn't recognize, but there was a pan of lasagna that had reheating instructions secured to it between the layers of cellophane in which it was wrapped. Jimmy followed the directions, somewhat amused that Ziva had 'remove plastic wrap' as number one on the list. There's gotta be a story behind the why on that one. Once it was warming in the oven, Jimmy dug back into the fridge and came up with a bag of mixed carrot sticks, celery, and fresh broccoli. By the time the lasagna was hot, the fresh veggies rinsed and put on a plate, and a small loaf of French bread converted to garlic toast, Tony was awake.

"Supper's ready," Jimmy said on seeing Tony now somewhat alert.

"What is it?"

"Lasagna, some veggies, and garlic toast."

"Sounds good," Tony replied, slowly stretching, reclaiming his hand from the baby in the process. "I think I have a bottle of red that would go well with it – check the rack."

For all that their childhoods were about as different as they could possibly be, one of the few bits they had in common on that front was that dinner was supposed to be served with wine. Granted, when in the middle of a case, and 'dinner' consisted of take-out or whatever could be scrounged from the vending machines, wine wasn't a possibility, but when having a real meal, be it at a restaurant or at home, wine was always on offer (even if no one did more than sip at it). Jimmy quickly located the bottle he knew Tony was talking about – an Austi Sputi Bordeaux – and hunted down the corkscrew while Tony finished setting out glasses and silverware on the breakfast bar. He didn't own a dining table, unless he counted the wrought-iron on his balcony, and it was either eat at the bar or on the sofa, and lasagna just isn't the kind of food one should eat in front of the television.

"How was work?" Tony asked while Jimmy retrieved the last of the food and placed it on the bar.

"Not too bad – they 'caught', so-to-speak, the guy who killed McCall," Jimmy replied.

"Huh?" Tony selected a handful of carrots and broccoli from the serving tray and added them to his plate.

"Oh, the guy'd already died on them – he dropped a hair dryer in his bathwater. Left a confessional note and everything," Jimmy dished out portions of the pasta for them both. "Apparently, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing over an old grudge about a stolen girlfriend."

Tony sighed and added garlic toast to both of their plates. "Nothing ever changes. Kinda figured it was gonna be something like that. It's always either love or money. I can count on one hand the number of investigations we've had that weren't about one or the other."

Jimmy, caught up in remembering one such investigation involving his ex-girlfriend – Lee – which covered both love and money, and could only nod in agreement while pouring the wine. "How about you? How was your day?"

Tony shrugged, "Busier than I figured a day at home could be. I tried to nap, but the lawyer Vance recommended called, and then came over." He smiled and took a quick bite of the lasagna. Savoring the flavor for a moment, he then swallowed and continued, "She's Vance's adopted sister – her name's Liza Crawford – and seems to really know her stuff. I can honestly say I'm glad for her help, but I'm dreading seeing her bill; she seems on the expensive side."

"How about her?" Jimmy made a gesture towards the baby, frowning a little. "You know, you really ought to think about a name for her."

Tony ignored the comment about names and shrugged again. "She ate, she slept, she manufactured some of the worst-smelling foulness ever to come out of a human being. She's what, a couple of days old? It's not like she's going to be up and doing much else."

Jimmy chuckled a little at Tony's description. "You say that now, but just you wait and see –"

"There's nothing to 'wait and see' about!" Tony interrupted, suddenly a little angry. "I'm not gonna keep her – thought you knew that."

Jimmy gave Tony an apologetic little nod, but was smirking inwardly. You might say that. You might even think that. But I know you better, Tony. You're already too attached to let her go and anyone who sees you with her will agree with me. Tony simply scowled and bit viciously into his toast. Jimmy was suddenly struck by the… domesticity of their shared meal. He sighed and echoed Tony's viciousness on a piece of celery. Dream on, Palmer. Never gonna happen and you know it.

The remainder of their dinner conversation focused on sports and work – neither man really wanted, nor did they particularly need, an argument right then. And for only being a couple of days old, the baby seemed to have impeccable timing, at least for one evening; she waited until the dishes were in the sink before demanding, rather loudly, her own supper.

Wednesday dawned clear and colder than was normal for the time of year, but since it had already snowed, perhaps it should have been expected. The baby had managed a full four-hour stretch of solid sleep, but it did no good for Tony. He'd already become accustomed to hearing her whimper or gurgle or outright scream every two hours, and his eyes had snapped open of their own accord at a quarter-past three in the morning. He didn't know why he'd woken up, even though most new parents could have told him it was normal, and was further confused (inasmuch as was possible in his state of sleep-deprivation) by the fact that he couldn't get back to sleep until he'd checked on the girl. Tony had a blurry memory of Jimmy leaving for work with a stern demand to call if he needed anything, which Tony didn't really need – if he needed help, he already knew who to call.

Sipping from a mug of coffee, trying desperately to get all his brain cells up and running for the day, Tony was struck with a sudden, nearly choking, sensation of gratefulness that of all the people he could have called about his latest bit of drama, Jimmy was the one who he'd wound up contacting. Even if Tim or Ziva'd had the same amount of experience with little kids that Jimmy had, Tony would have hesitated to call either of them – he liked his team, hell, he loved them like family, but they all had a habit of teasing each other mercilessly, and the last thing he needed right now was someone who'd laugh at him for not knowing how to change a diaper (even though that particular skill had been, by necessity, rapidly learned).

By the time he'd finished his coffee, most of his brain was working. A glance at the clock on his microwave indicated that the appointment with the pediatrician was rapidly approaching. If traffic cooperated, he might just squeak by with being on-time.

Of course, traffic didn't cooperate, and neither did the baby. Since it was cold out, Tony bundled her up in several layers, and then cranked the heat up in his car on the ride over. She started crying, a sound less pissed-off than when she needed changed, but more irritated than when she was hungry, about halfway to the doctor's office.

Since Tony had made a newbie mistake when installing the car seat, he wasn't able to do much, other than talk to her, but that just seemed to irritate the baby further – the car seat was directly behind the driver's. Tony blamed the unthinking mistake on lack of sleep.

They were ten minutes late to the doctor, and the seeds of a truly epic headache started sprouting in the back of Tony's mind. Tony parked next to a five year-old Saturn and climbed out of the car, rubbing a hand across the tension at the back of his neck, hoping that would serve to sever the headache before it could blossom. A tired, but still pretty, woman with long, dark hair and a sky-blue coat, got out of the Saturn. She smiled a greeting at Tony before heading around to the passenger side of her car to retrieve a curly-haired toddler in jeans and a tiny blue winter coat that matched his mother's. Tony couldn't even bring himself to smile back at her.

Wrestling with the car seat and diaper bag meant they were another five minutes late checking in with the moments-from-retirement receptionist wearing a sweatshirt printed with a Thanksgiving turkey holding up a sign that said This year, try ham. Of course, the very first step was filling out paperwork, but the baby was still crying, and was it Tony's imagination, or did that sound honestly whiny? No, he had to be imagining things. Hope she isn't getting sick. Just my luck, though, if she was – parent for less than two whole days and she gets sick… At least we're already at the doctor's. Maybe I shoulda just called CPS and had done with it. Sure, Gibbs woulda fired me when he found out, but… Please, girl, shush – I have to fill in the insurance stuff. I hate this part of doctors more than the actual visits themselves. Quiet, please.

"She's probably too warm," the driver of the Saturn said. Since the baby was wearing the pink watch-cap, it didn't surprise Tony any that she'd correctly identified the baby as a 'she'.

The thought hadn't even his mind. Tony forced his eyes to focus on his… The baby, and had to admit that he just might have gone a little overboard. She was wearing, from innermost layer to outermost: a diaper, two pairs of teeny socks, a newborn t-shirt, a long-sleeved shirtlike thing with built-in mittens, a pair of miniscule slacks, a snap-up thing with long sleeves and feet, and the last two clean baby blankets, in addition to her tiny watch-cap. He grimaced a little, "Yeah, probably." He sat the paperwork for the clinic aside for a moment, and got the baby's layers down to something a little less… arctic. Her crying quieted with each layer removed, until she was simply hiccoughing in her cap, t-shirt, slacks, diaper, and single pair of socks. "Thanks," he directed to the woman as she and her son were called back to an exam room.

"No problem," she replied before disappearing behind the door to the rest of the clinic.

With the crying stopped, Tony was able to focus on the paperwork, and quickly had it filled out and returned to the receptionist. A woman with three children, all under the age of five, arrived just before the nurse stepped out and called, "DiNozzo." As the new arrivals were anything but quiet, Tony was glad he didn't have to linger in their presence any longer than it took to cross the length of the toy-strewn waiting area.

The nurse was about twenty years younger than the receptionist – likely within a year or two of Tony's own age – and rather plain, with mousy features and hair that weird shade that was too light to be brown and too dark to be blonde. She wore traditional white scrubs, but her lab-jacket was covered with Dr. Seuss characters, specifically 'Thing One' and 'Thing Two' from The Cat in the Hat. She made polite chitchat which Tony ignored completely while she took the baby's temperature, weighed her, and measured her.

Eventually, the nurse left and the doctor showed up, looking like he'd just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell print. He did many of the same things the nurse had, but also drew a blood sample. He also was a bit more aware of the anxiousness (and Tony likely would have hit the old man if he'd heard it called that – Tony didn't do 'anxious') that newbie parents faced and helped alleviate that by narrating what he was doing and why – he also confirmed that the baby wasn't more than four days old and got the paperwork together to have a birth certificate readied. He told Tony he would hold off on filing it for a few weeks, to give Tony the chance to track down the mother's name. Eventually, the exam came to a close. Dr. Blair asked if Tony had any questions.

It was a credit to the good doctor's people skills that had Tony admitting, "God, where do I start?"

Dr. Blair, familiar with the story behind how his latest patient had come to be, chuckled lightly. "I won't even begin to guess how you must be feeling right now, most of my new patients' parents have had at least a couple of months to get used to the idea before suddenly being thrust into this." The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "However, when my receptionist, Martha, told me about your situation, I took the liberty of getting together a list of resources I think you might want to look into. Of course, I'll still be happy to answer any questions you might have, but I thought you might want a way to answer your own questions later."

Tony took the paper without looking at it. "Thanks, doc," he said. He tucked the slip into his own pocket. "This'll be helpful, I'm sure. But I do have a question for right now, though."

"What would that be?"

"Am I losing my mind, or does her crying sound different when she's hungry than when she needs clean clothes?"

The doctor laughed outright. "No, you're not going nuts. Most parents can tell the different tones to their babies' cries, even though it all sounds like unspecified crying to the rest of us."

Feeling slightly better about his own mental state, and reassured that his girl was healthy and relatively happy, he wrestled the car seat and diaper bag back into his car – this time making sure that the baby was secured to the middle seat belt of his back seat, well within arm-reach and, if he tipped his rear-view down just a bit, within line-of-sight, as well. He started the car, shifted into first, and pulled back into traffic, heading towards work.

On reaching the Yard, he pulled around to park next to Ducky's Morgan, and went in through the back door. The last thing he really needed was a bunch of idiotic questions from people he barely knew. Pausing at the iris scanner, grateful that the door was automatic as both his hands were full, he then made his way down the hallway to Abby's lab.

The music thundering out into the hallway let him know she was in, and apparently the baby shared Abby's questionable taste in music, because she didn't start wailing. In fact, she seemed to be asleep. How can you sleep through this, girl? Tony peeked around the door and saw that Abby was messing around with the settings on a photograph displayed both on her main computer screen and on the plasma hanging on the wall. He snuck up behind her and leaned close to her ear, "Did the team catch another case already?"

Abby jumped, whirled around fast enough she made Tony dizzy, and grinned brightly. "Tony!" she squealed, throwing herself on him with a bear hug strong enough to steal his breath.

"Abby, can't breathe," Tony groaned out.

She let him go and grabbed her stereo remote to turn down the music. "You look tired," she accused.

"Well, yeah. I think I only got about five hours sleep over the last three days."

She frowned. "And just what do you think you're doing in here, mister?" she punctuated her question by repeatedly poking Tony's chest. "Go home and sleep."

Tony snorted, "Sure, Abs. I'll do that. But first, I still need the paternity test for the lawyer."

"Oh," Abby replied, a little chagrined. "I can do that, sure, but I promised Cassie I'd have this photo finished for her by three. How about you stretch out on the futon and catch a few zees while I finish this up? I'll keep an eye on her for you."

A feeling of relief washed through Tony. "Would you?" Abby nodded enthusiastically, making her pigtails sway. Tony thrust the diaper-duffle at her and sat the car seat on the steel table behind Abby's primary workstation. "Call Jimmy if you need help," he said, already half-asleep. Later, he couldn't say with certainty that he'd made it as far as the futon before passing out, DiNozzo rules be damned.

Several hours later, Tony's eyes pried themselves open. The headache that had been building had dissipated. He sat up, stretched, and scrubbed a hand across his face, wincing a little at the rasp of nearly three days' worth of stubble. It was the longest he'd ever gone without shaving. He also felt grimy, and hoped that Jimmy would be staying over again – he desperately needed a shower.

The faint sound of crying filtered into his brain and Tony's train of thought derailed as he quickly stood and strode over to the glass door to the main portion of Abby's lab. The door beeped and slid open, directly resulting in a major increase in volume. She's not hungry, she doesn't need a new diaper… This is the same irritated, whiny cry that she was using at the doctor's this morning. Abby, looking unaccountably frazzled, was holding the infant with one arm and trying to interest her in a bottle with her other hand.

"She's not hungry, Abs," Tony said. "She's pissed off about something."

Abby looked up at Tony with round eyes, "At least I know why you looked so tired. I've only had her for four hours and I'm tired!" Tony walked over and took the baby from her. "How do people do this for months and months at a time? It's a wonder anyone ever has more than one kid!"

Tony had to chuckle as he lifted the baby to his shoulder. Her crying slowly faded as he paced around the lab. "Yeah, I agree," he said, though a small voice at the back of his mind couldn't help but point out that even he thought she was adorable when she wasn't crying.

Unnoticed by either Tony or Abby, Gibbs was lurking just out-of-sight, watching silently around the doorway. He smiled to himself. Better start thinking about moving, Tony. You might not know it yet, but you're keeping her. He waited until both Abby's and Tony's attention was elsewhere before slipping into the lab and leaving Abby's Caf-Pow on her computer stand. He figured it would be about an hour or so before she noticed the refill.

A/N2: Bad news: The truck broke down and left us stranded in Cheyenne, Wyoming for Christmas. Good news: Update for the story!

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