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: Sorry this took so long to upload, but free Wi-Fi is getting harder and harder to come by!

When it Rains

Tony sat, staring at the spot where the short hallway connected the living room to the apartment door, for what simultaneously seemed to be both mere moments and eons before knocking at said door jerked him out of his daze. "It's open!" he called out, and seconds later, Ziva rounded the corner from the hall.

"Good evening, Tony," she said.

"Hey, Ziva. Ya need something?"

She shook her head and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "Not particularly, though I did want to see how you were doing. I heard you are taking six weeks' leave."

Tony smiled, "Yeah. I'm keeping her. Wasn't going to and hadn't planned on it, but…" He shrugged in a 'there you have it' gesture. "Thanks for the food you brought by the other day – you're going to have to give me your lasagna recipe."

"Perhaps," Ziva smirked. "But then again, perhaps not."

"Oh, come on, please?" Tony made a comically pathetic expression. "I'll trade you for Nonna's pasta recipe."

Ziva laughed and ducked around the columnesque end to the bar and into the kitchen. "Speaking of food, have you had dinner yet?" she asked, opening the freezer and checking to see what-all had yet to be consumed of the foods she'd brought.

"Nope," Tony replied, finally setting down the ink pen he'd been hanging on to since before Palmer had shown up. The thought of food had his mouth watering and his stomach gurgled noisily. "But I think it's getting on towards dinnertime. You staying?"

Ziva rolled her eyes, "No, I thought I'd come all the way over here, heat you a meal I'd already cooked, and go home to order pizza."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, or so I've been told."

Ziva shrugged and moved a plastic container of what appeared to be some sort of rice dish from the freezer to the counter. "Since you will be keeping the baby, have you decided what to name her?"

Tony shook his head. "Not yet. I've ruled out a few names, but nothing's seemed right yet."

"You could always name her after yourself," she said, removing the lid from the rice and putting the container in the microwave. After hitting the start button, she then began refilling the tea kettle she'd brought along with the food.

Tony wrinkled his nose. "No way. It's bad enough being a 'junior'. No way I'd saddle a girl with that!"

"I meant to call her Antonia," Ziva clarified. She turned off the faucet and sat the kettle on the stove. "And I didn't know you were named for your father."

Tony shrugged, "Not many people do. Actually, if you want to get really technical about it, the name on my birth certificate is Anthony D. DiNozzo IV. Great-grandpa went by his middle name, Dominic, and so did Grampa DiNozzo, though the 'D' in his case stood for Dario. Dad's 'D' – and mine – is just the initial, and to avoid confusion after I started school, he started tacking 'senior' on to his name." And he always did call me 'junior', though there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna admit that.

Ziva leaned against the counter, listening to Tony with a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was only rarely that Tony actually spoke about his family, and this time he wasn't even trying to disguise it as a joke. "If not Antonia, then why not something else similarly Italian? You seem proud of your heritage, so why not allow it to show in her name?"

Tony shrugged again. "Could, but… Well, I've already gone over the whole list of girl names from Dad's side of the family, and nothing really sounds right. And most of the names on Mom's side are dull and lifeless – a mess of Alices and Marys and Elizabeths."

Ziva frowned and thought about it for a moment. "And I assume you have already considered the more popular American names…?"

Tony nodded, "Yeah, though most of them are pretty identical to the girl-names from both sides of my family, except for the ones like Crystal, Hope, and Charity."

"And what is wrong with those?" Ziva asked.

Tony grimaced, "You can't honestly think that 'Charity DiNozzo' sounds even remotely appealing."

"I see what you mean," Ziva chuckled. "Naming a child is far more difficult than I would have thought."

Tony nodded emphatically, "Yes, it is! I mean, I don't want her having a name that's common as dirt, but I don't want to make her hate me later, either. And it'd be best not to come up with anything that'd lead to horrible teasing in school." Tony gave a little melodramatic shudder, "I remember a kid by the name of January when I was in elementary school. He had a sister called October."

Ziva shot a look that clearly said 'you have got to be kidding me' in Tony's direction before helping herself to some plates and mugs from the cupboards. "Okay, so nothing too… odd. I can understand that." Rummaging around in the cabinet where Tony kept his sugar, she distractedly murmured, "Jarah… jarah…" Louder, she asked, "Do you not have any honey?" Turning around to see Tony blinking somewhat contemplatively in her direction, Ziva repeated the question.

"Jarah?" Tony asked.

"Yes, it is the Hebrew word for honey. I did not realize I said it out loud."

"Hmm…" Tony trailed off, twisting in his seat to look at the bassinet next to the couch. "Not as a first name, but it'd be kinda cool as a middle name…"

"Tony?"

"What?" he didn't bother looking back in Ziva's direction.

"Do you have any honey?"

"Oh," he glanced in her direction. "Yeah, it's above the fridge." He made a dismissive gesture in the general direction of his refrigerator and returned his gaze to where his daughter lay sleeping. As his partner busied herself in his kitchen, Tony let his mind wander, flitting back and forth between trying to figure out a good first name and mulling over what Jimmy had said.

By the time supper was served and eaten, he was no closer to an answer on either question. Ziva let herself out when the baby started whimpering for her own dinner at about seven-thirty. Once she was fed, burped, and changed, Tony took to pacing the length of his living room. About the sixth time he passed the couch, Tony sighed. "Come on, sweetheart – I don't know about you, but I could do with a change of scene."

He bundled her into the car seat, pulled on his sneakers and old varsity jacket, and headed for his car. Tony drove aimlessly for about an hour before realizing he was only a couple of blocks from McGee's apartment. Why not? It's not like he's got work in the morning. Tony easily located a parking space within walking distance and unhooked the car seat from the seatbelt. It was second nature now to sling the diaper bag over his shoulder, the strap crossing his chest, and to carry the car seat by tucking the handle in the crook of his elbow.

Tim's place lacked a doorman or security door, so it was simplicity itself to let himself into the building. He made short work of the stairs that led to Tim's walk-up. He knocked persistently on reaching the door. When it swung open, however, Tim was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Tony," Sarah said. "Tim's out running with Jethro right now and probably won't be back for another hour."

Tony smiled, "McGeekette! How've you been?"

Sarah laughed at Tony's little-boy grin. "I've been good. I got into the masters' program I wanted and I met this really nice guy that even Tim approves of. Tim tells me you're a dad now?"

Tony's grin brightened. "Yeah," he nodded down to the car seat. Sarah stepped aside and let Tony into her brother's apartment. She claimed the computer chair, leaving a new addition of an overstuffed rocker-recliner for Tony. Tony sank down on it and quickly unstrapped his daughter from the carrier. "Sarah, this is my daughter," his voice took on a nearly-comical formal tone. "Sweetheart, this is Sarah McGee – Timmy-boy's baby sister."

Sarah scooted the office chair closer to Tony. "Aww! She's adorable. What's her name?"

Tony shrugged, "No clue. I've ruled out just about every name in my family, though I think I've got her middle name."

"Can I…?" Sarah held her arms out.

"Sure," Tony replied, handing the baby over to the grad student.

While Sarah made cooing noises over the baby, Tony looked around Tim's place. After a few moments, he decided that the only new addition was the recliner, though he was pretty sure that a box of computer gunk had been cleared out. "She looks just like a mini-you," Sarah said.

"So people keep telling me," Tony teased. "But at least we know she'll be beautiful."

Sarah snorted, "Modest much?" Tony held up his hand, thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Bullshit," Sarah sneezed. "Oh, excuse me," an exaggerated-innocent look surfaced on her face.

Tony chuckled, "How come I don't work with you? I mean, Tim's fun and all, but he's too easy to wind up."

Sarah nodded knowingly. "Well, probably because I would rather undergo root-canal without anesthetic than to run around trying to fix the world."

"Takes all kinds, huh?"

"I suppose so," she replied. The pair chatted amicably, getting to know one another a little better than had been allowed when Sarah was under investigation, while Sarah doted on the baby. About fifteen minutes later, Sarah interrupted Tony's description of the time he'd superglued Tim's face to his desk to ask, "You're really into movies, right?"

"Yeah," Tony admitted, wondering where this was leading.

"What's that one movie with what's-her-name from Mamma Mia!, Goldie Hawn, and Bruce Willis – the one where Bruce Willis plays the undertaker who uses spray-paint instead of make-up?"

"Oh, that's Death Becomes Her, and the one actress is Meryl Streep. Why?"

"Who's the actress who gives Goldie Hawn and Meryl Streep the magic de-aging, live-forever potion?"

"Isabella Rossellini. Again, I ask why?"

Sarah smiled. "Because you're right," she said. "She," she indicated Tony's daughter, "is going to be really beautiful. Classically beautiful, even, but with this exotic air, like Isabella Rossellini." She shook her head as though to derail the random train of thought and returned their conversation back to its original track. "But, you were saying about the superglue?"

Tony obliged and continued with his story, managing to finish up just as Tim got back with his dog, though a small portion of his brain latched on to what Sarah'd said and filed in the 'warm fuzzy' box in his mental filing system.

"Tony," Tim nearly yelped on seeing just who his sister was chatting with. "What are you doing here?"

Tony had to smirk at the barely-concealed panic on Probie's face. Don't ever change, McGee – you're always gonna be suspicious when I drop by unannounced. Out loud, he shrugged and said, "Well, I talked to Ziva earlier today, and I think I've bugged Gibbs enough for the week already, and I know Abby's got something bowling-related tonight, and I had to get out of the apartment or lose what little mind I've got left. Personally, I think coming here was a good move – Sarah and I have managed to get to know one another a little better. It's obvious she really did inherit all the cool genes in your family, huh?"

The suspicious look on Tim's face kicked itself into 'damage-control' mode. "Oh… So, what did you guys talk about?" he asked, putting Jethro's leash away and busying himself with providing kibble for the mutt.

Simultaneously, both Sarah and Tony replied with, "You," before bursting out into unrestrained giggles – though Tony might just have shot anyone who dared insinuate that he did anything so unmanly as giggle.

Tim simply sighed in resignation and refilled his dog's water bowl. "And I suppose it's too much to hope that you were discussing my dedication to work or the time I won the Mathletics competition in high school." Tony's eyes lit up at 'Mathletics'. Sensing Tony's glee, Tim turned around and held up a hand in a shushing gesture. "If I ever hear so much as a single word about Mathletics or Mathletes or any derivation thereof, DiNozzo, I swear I will program your computer to do nothing but broadcast the Michigan fight song all day long."

Tony's mouth snapped shut. He briefly weighed the pros and cons of Mathlete-related ribbing versus his own irritation at his alma mater's arch-rival's theme and the irritation Gibbs would bring to bear on the entire situation once it started playing in the squad room. "Got it," he allowed. "But you owe me one free shot at some point in the future."

Tim's left eyebrow crept a little higher than his right. "That so?" Tony simply leveled his best 'innocent grin' at his friend and teammate. Tim sighed, letting Tony win this round simply to speed things along. "You didn't answer my question earlier, though. How come you're here?"

"Didn't I?" Tony replied, scratching the back of his head. "Thought I mentioned I had to get out of the house for a while and everyone else was busy. Figured you'd either be writing or leveling up that online elf of yours – either way, you'd be home."

"Still doesn't answer the question, Tony." Tim hung up his jacket and dug into his fridge for a can of soda.

Tony squirmed in the armchair, suddenly uncomfortable – he knew precisely what Tim was asking, but he wasn't about to get into it with Sarah in the room. "Hey, Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you watch her for me for a little bit?" Tony asked.

Sarah smiled, "Sure, but if you're gone longer than thirty minutes, I start charging ten bucks an hour."

Tony blinked. "Extortionist."

Sarah shook her head. "Nope. Mercenary, sure, but not quite extortionist, not when day-cares tend to charge almost sixty per day."

"Eek," he grimaced, then pushed aside the thought. "Something else to look into later, I suppose." He climbed to his feet and made a beckoning motion towards Tim. "Walk with me, McGee."

Curious, Tim sat his unopened can of Diet Coke on the counter and followed Tony out into the hall. "I've got my laundry down in the basement," Tim said, taking the lead and trying to be patient while a suddenly silent DiNozzo gathered his thoughts.

Halfway down the first staircase, Tony finally sighed. "What's next?" he questioned. Tim wasn't too sure he was talking to him, so he stayed quiet for the moment. Tony continued, "I mean, first the baby shows up, and now Palmer… What's next, I wanna know, 'cause shit like this always happens in threes."

"Don't know," Tim replied. "And what about Palmer?" Sure, Tim was more than okay with discussing theories with Abby and Ziva, but he really did not want nor need any more details of DiNozzo's sex life than he had already, yet he couldn't stop the question from falling out of his mouth like a verbal brick.

Tony scrubbed a hand across his face and paused to lean against the rail two steps up from the first-floor landing. "Rule twelve," Tony said.

"Never assume?" Tim hazarded a guess, his mind so not on Gibbs' rules right then.

"No," Tony shook his head. "That one's eight. Twelve's 'never date a coworker'."

"Oh, yeah. What about it?"

"Is it worth it?" Tony asked.

"Is what worth it?" Tim turned around and faced his partner. A little alarm started pinging quietly in the corner of his mind – Tony actually looked more lost than he had the other day, when Tim had dropped by only to discover that Palmer was more than capable of handling a derailing DiNozzo. And isn't that just perfect? The freaking Autopsy Gremlin's better at handling my partner than I am.

Tony gave no indication that he noticed Tim's sudden unease and finally gave Tim the complete question that had spurred him into coming over to begin with. "Is breaking rule twelve worth it? I mean, I know you and Abby dated for a while there, and even though you're both still a little possessive about each other, you've managed to stay friends all these years after calling it quits…" He sighed again, "So, is it worth it?"

Tim joined Tony in leaning against the rail. He thought about it, then shrugged. "It depends on the people. I mean, me and Abby thought it was worth it – still think so, too – but I'm pretty sure we both know why Gibbs has the rule to begin with and in his case, I think he woulda been better off not to have broken it." McGee paused, ran the sentence back through his brain, and tried to rephrase. "I mean, if it had been a rule at the time, of course."

"We don't know that it wasn't," Tony said, knowing that McGee was referring to Gibbs' ill-concealed prior relationship with Jenny.

"True," Tim allowed. He then decided to bring this conversation under some semblance of control – Mainly because if I leave it up to Tony, we'll be standing here all night and he still won't have come to the point. "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"This is about you and Palmer, isn't it?"

Tony blinked at Tim. "What?"

Tim laughed a little. "Come on, Tony – it's obvious that you and Palmer have this weird thing – and no," he threw his hands up in the universal 'stop' gesture, "I do not want details! But you never blindly do something Abby, Ziva, or I tell you to, and you only do what Gibbs says to without question about eighty percent of the time. Repeatedly, Ziva, Abby, and I have seen you do something Palmer said to, and wonder of wonders, you actually did what he said to without arguing first." He paused and took a really close look at Tony and had to laugh. "Oh, my god…" the laughter bubbled out, beyond his control at this point. "You didn't know! NCIS' answer to Cassanova, and you didn't know you were in love!"

As Tim's laughter got stronger and stronger, all Tony could do was glare at him, but by the time McGee had sank to sitting on the top step leading down to the basement level, Tony could actually sorta see the humor in the situation. Choosing to ignore Tim's braying laughter, Tony rolled his eyes and left Tim in the stairwell.

Letting himself back into Tim's apartment, Sarah looked up. "Where's Tim?"

Tony rolled his eyes again, "Having a mental breakdown in the stairwell."

"What?"

"Oh, I asked him a question and he proceeded to start laughing his ass off," Tony grumbled.

"What question?"

Tony flopped into the recliner. "Oh, our boss has a bunch of rules that aren't part of official NCIS policy – stuff like rule three's 'never be unreachable', or rule eighteen's 'it's better to seek forgiveness than permission' – and I wanted Probie's opinion about one of them is all."

Sarah gave Tony the same incredulous look that Tim used so effectively. "Which rule and why'd you want Tim's opinion?"

Tony shrugged, "It's a rule he's broken before, and I wanted to know if it was worth it."

"What rule?"

"Never date a coworker."

"Tony…" a slightly predatory look surfaced on Sarah McGee's face. "Do you have a thing for my brother?"

Instead of winding him up like she'd thought would be the case, the question simply made Tony arch one eyebrow a little higher than the other and snort. "Not hardly – he's really not my type."

"Then who…"

"Abby," Tony clarified. "Tim and Abby dated for a while, back before he joined the team."

"And you?" Sarah prompted. "Who…?"

Tony simply smiled sweetly and stood up again. "I really need to get going. Let McGeek know I said 'bye', would ya?" He slung the diaper bag over a shoulder and relieved Sarah of the baby.

This did not stop Sarah from repeating her question, "Tony? Who at work were you considering dating?"

Tony's grin grew bigger as he resecured his daughter in the car seat. The faint sounds of McGee, still braying in the stairs, drifted through the hallway when he opened the door. "See ya later, McGeekette!" Tony said, disappearing down the hallway towards the stairs on the opposite end of the building from Tim.

"Tony!" Sarah called after his retreating back. "Coward," she grumbled good-naturedly, before turning to go see if her brother had broken anything during his latest bout of insanity.

Even though he was pretty sure Abby had something or other to do with her bowling nun friends, Tony still swung past her place. Her little red coupe wasn't in its customary parking place, so Tony continued on to the bowling alley not far from the sisters' convent. He'd tagged along a time or two in the past, and so Ritchie – the man behind the shoe-rental counter – recognized him. "Hey, Tony. They're back on lanes nine and ten tonight." He glanced at the baby-carrier, but didn't comment; it was hardly the weirdest thing he'd seen brought into his building.

"Thanks, Ritchie," Tony replied, but shook his head at the offer of shoes. "Not tonight, Rich. Gotta talk to Abby about something is all."

Ritchie, who was probably half again older than Tony, but who didn't look it, winced and ran a hand through his jet-black hair. "Look, if it's all that important, you might wanna run across to the 7-11 and pick her up some Red Bull – the Caf-Pow machine broke down yesterday and she's been having to make-do with coffee."

Tony echoed Ritchie's wince. "Yeah, good plan, man. Be right back."

Ten minutes later, Tony returned with a plastic sack from 7-11 containing four of the largest cans of Red Bull the convenience store kept in stock. He silently made his way back to the far corner of the facility. Abby was playing with Sisters Rosita and Bridgette, opposite the other three members of the highly-unorthodox team. All six of the women somehow managed to notice him at approximately the same time, and shouted out a greeting of "Tony!", not wholly unlike Norm's greeting on Cheers.

"Ladies," Tony cheerfully replied, bracing himself for the Abby-cannonball that hit his midsection and then wrapped around his chest. She was babbling a mile-a-minute about the broken Caf-Pow machine but how it hadn't had much of an impact on her game and was he going to stay and play, too, because Sister Therese had a small burn on her hand from working in the kitchen that afternoon that was causing her problems and could probably be convinced to sit out a round or two – and on and on in true Abby-fashion. Tony, unable to squeeze a word in edgeways, simply held up the hand with the plastic bag from 7-11 and shook it a little, making the cans it contained clink together.

Abby released him and seized the bag, recognizing the shape of the cans inside, and immediately cracked one open and drained it on the spot. While she was chugging away, Tony individually greeted the nuns, and introduced his daughter. While the nuns descended on her like a whole gaggle of mother-hens, Tony grabbed Abby's elbow and tugged her down a few lanes. She was still working on finishing the first can of Red Bull, but showed an extraordinary ability to walk and drink at the same time. Tony wasn't too sure he would have been able to replicate the feat.

With an 'aahhhh' noise and the scrunch of crushing an empty can, Abby sank onto the scorekeeper's seat for lane six. "Thanks, I needed that. Whacha need, Tony-boy?"

Tony gave her a half-smile and settled onto the hard plastic chair next to her. "Is breaking rule twelve worth it?"

"For me and Tim, it was. But for Bossman and Jenny? Not so much. Depends on the people."

"So what would make it a good idea?"

Abby shrugged, "Well… I can't answer that for you. It's something you have to ask yourself. What benefits would you have? What would the drawbacks be? If you start something and it goes sour, would you still be able to work with them?"

Tony sat silently for several minutes, his eyes tracking the nuns handing his girl from one set of arms to another, cooing over her. If I start something with Jimmy, and it goes south like every other relationship I've ever had, could I still work with him? He imagined all the ways a relationship could end, both those that he'd experienced and those he'd never experienced.

The first thing to pop into his mind was how it had ended with Wendy. Wendy Xu was the only person with whom Tony had ever initiated a romantic relationship after having known the person in question in any other capacity first. Wendy had been a first-year teacher during his senior year in high school – she taught music – and had reawakened his interest in the piano. He'd been forced into lessons when he'd been a kid, but other than 'Chopsticks', he hadn't been able to remember much until it was pointed out that he needed another half-credit in an art before he could graduate and Wendy had walked him through his barely-remembered lessons from when he'd been six, eventually getting him not only to the point he could play sheet-music with minimal errors, but to the point where he could improvise jazz and blues for hours. Though Wendy had been extraordinarily hot in the eyes of his eighteen year-old self, their relationship had remained one of student and teacher right up until he graduated. He hadn't really thought of her much until nearly nine years later when he got roped into an undercover gig playing at a blues bar in Baltimore. The same night they caught the bad guy they'd been after, Wendy had been in the audience and had recognized her former student as the man behind the piano on stage. She asked him out after the baddie had been tackled by a 'busboy' and all hell had broken loose.

They'd dated for nearly a year when Tony'd asked her to marry him. Sure, she'd said yes, but it obviously hadn't happened. Not too long after he'd met Gibbs and put his application in at NCIS, Tony had come home to find her screwing another man. He wouldn't have cared if she'd been honest with him – hell, he knew he wasn't very good at monogamy and never expected anyone else to be, either, but he was always honest with the people he dated and expected the same courtesy in return. Tony honestly hated liars. The relationship ended in a spectacular fight, complete with thrown crockery, and that was how Tony had started NCIS with an impressive black eye and a mild concussion.

Tony briefly wondered if the ring he'd bought for Wendy was still at the bottom of the Potomac, or if some lucky bastard had reeled it in while fishing or something, before returning his thoughts to Wendy. What had happened with her... Hell, the same damn thing had happened at least four or five times to him. But even with that less-than-wonderful track record, Tony simply couldn't see that happening with Jimmy.

Jimmy already knew how much Tony hated being lied to in his daily life.

And even if Tony did come home to find Jimmy in bed with another person, Jimmy was far more likely to invite him to join them than to get at all defensive – Tony could count on one hand the number of times Jimmy had dated just one person in their entire history together, Jimmy tended to prefer dating couples. Tony took a moment to think on that. Could he tolerate sharing? Yes. Not a problem. Jimmy, he knew, would be honest about it – no, more than that. He would be upfront about it.

Tony's brain sidetracked off through bad porn land for several heartbeats before he shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. Um, yeah. No problem 'sharing'. Especially not since Jimmy had excellent taste.

His brain tried to take another run back through pornoville, but Tony refused to let it. Okay, so the number one reason relationships don't work doesn't apply in this case – it's not infidelity if you've got permission, and it's definitely not infidelity if you invite the other party to join in. Number two reason is money. Will that be a problem?

Tony knew he was well-off – his team, if they knew about it, would probably one-and-all label him as 'rich', but Tony didn't consider himself rich and wouldn't until he could afford to buy his $200,000 Ferrari and not wince at the price tag. Jimmy came from a blue-collar background, and was the only one from work – Strike that, Vance knows now, too – who knew that he didn't rely on his SFA salary to live. Tony worried the question over in his mind, turning it this way and that, and only came up with a 'maybe' on it. He sat it aside to discuss with Jimmy if he decided to go ahead and start dating him.

Damnit, this is getting me nowhere. I think I need to sit down and talk with Jimmy. With one decision made, Tony rejoined the group of bowling nuns and 'rescued' his daughter from them. They convinced him to stick around and chat for a while, during which time Tony wound up explaining just how he had come to be a dad. Eventually, the women released him, and he headed back to his own apartment.

Once inside, he looked around and realized that the place could do with some straightening up. He'd been forced to let his cleaning lady go back when he'd been stationed as Agent Afloat, and hadn't gotten around to replacing her yet. He stuck a DVD copy of Disney's Fantasia in the player and turned it on. While the strains of classical music filled the apartment through the surround-sound speakers, Tony first addressed his daughter's needs. He fed her, burped her, cleaned up the wad-o'slime that occurred most times she let loose a belch, and then pulled out the plastic seatlike thingie he'd purchased for bathing her and the bottle of baby shampoo.

All went well – the baby seemed to truly love the water – until Tony ran a cup of water over her thick, curly hair. The expression on her face at the feel of the somewhat tepid water trickling over her scalp had Tony fighting off a case of the giggles. Working one-handed while he dug his cell out of his pocket, he managed to get the shampoo worked into her hair. Timing it just right rewarded him with a photo of the wide-eyed face she'd worn the first go-round as he gently rinsed the soap off.

Once she was clean, dry, and dressed in the miniscule Ohio-state jersey, he tucked her into the bassinet and spent the next few minutes folding the basket of clean laundry that was still sitting on the end of the sofa. He put her things away in either the diaper bag or in the drawer under his coffee table that had previously contained nothing more than back-issues of GSM. The old magazines were tossed in the trashcan in the kitchen. His own small bits of laundry that were machine-washable were put away in his bedroom. While there, he cleaned out his hamper and got his suits ready to send to the dry-cleaner in the morning and stripped the bed, making it up with a clean set of sheets and pillowcases in a rich emerald color that complemented his down-filled comforter's darker checks – the lighter squares in the checkerboard pattern were sky-blue.

He collected the dirty towels and washcloths from the bathroom and bundled them up with the bedding. Next, he scrubbed down the bathroom itself, idly wondering just what sorts of results would come up if he took a swab of the drain in the shower in to Abby before concluding that he probably didn't want to know. With the bathroom sparkling, Tony moved on to wiping down the dust from his bedroom – the green glass shades on the lamps to either side of his bed tended to collect and show the dust rather badly. He also ran one of those disposable mops – that always made Tony think of a giant wet-nap on a stick – over the hardwood floor and decided the two rugs he had that matched his comforter also needed laundered. The cries of the baby had him pausing long enough to feed her again, but she went back to sleep quickly.

By this time the DVD had reached an end, but instead of putting in something else or turning on his stereo, Tony simply re-started Fantasia, and started setting the living room to rights. Afterwards, he moved on to the kitchen, and was once again grateful beyond all meaning of the word that he had a dishwasher. Eventually, all that was left was to lug the bundle of sheets and towels and rugs down to the laundry room. A glance at the clock on the microwave showed that it was nearing three o'clock in the morning. Doorman Tom wouldn't be up for another two or three hours.

Tony sighed and looked from the pile of laundry to his daughter and back again. "How do I do this?" he mumbled.

He immediately dismissed the notion of running the laundry down and leaving the girl on her own. Sure, she might not be up and mobile yet, but she eventually would be, and leaving her on her own was a dangerous habit to start. He recalled ten separate times during his tenures at Philly and Baltimore and Peoria where a parent was home alone with a small child – usually one that was younger than three – and the parent had gone off to do something, thinking the kid would be fine for just a minute or two, only to come back and find that the kid had fallen in the swimming pool or gotten into the cleaning supplies under the sink, or something else similarly life-threatening. Tony vowed to himself to never be one of those stories.

Not able to come up with a way to carry both the bulky laundry bundle – in or out of a basket – and his girl – either by herself or in the car seat carrier – Tony gave up and decided to wait until someone was available to watch her to finish his laundry. He kicked back on the sofa and blindly watched the second half of his DVD while his brain tried to come up with an answer to the 'Jimmy Question'.

A/N2: Sarah showing up surprised me – I really wasn't expecting her to drop in, but it seems to work, so I'll go with it. I'd originally intended Abby to be the one to get Tony's thoughts on the train of thought Sarah served up, but whatever. I like Sarah, so I'm not too upset by it. In other news, just in case y'all haven't gotten the memo yet, updates to all my fics are, by necessity, sporadic – meaning, they're dependent on when or if I can grab a free Wi-Fi connection, which is no easy task when I live/work in a vehicle that doesn't allow me to simply park at the local Starbucks. Today's update is brought to you by the free Wi-Fi at a McDonalds in a WalMart in Salt Lake City, UT. Hopefully, the next update won't take so long to upload!

And please don't kill me for where I left off on this chapter. Really, it had to be done. I swear.

In any case, don't forget to remember to let me know what you think!