A/N: Hello, sorry for the long delay, again. Guess who's got new supervisors at work? Again.

So I've been working on this particular chapter pretty much since I posted the last one several months ago. It's gone through so many changes and grown to gargantuan proportions, at least by my usual standard. Every time I intended to post this chapter, I thought of something else to add or just deleted part cause I wasn't happy with it. Currently I'm on 28 pages so you should get another chapter in the near future.

Although certain aspects may resemble events from the show, most of the chapter has not been influenced directly by recent episodes (meaning I wrote it before I saw aforementioned episodes). I'm not certain if the similarities I see are because the writers on NCIS are being cliché, my own writing is getting better, I have ESP or I'm just crazy. Most likely it's the last one.

For some reason I got really stuck when I read that Michael Weatherly is leaving after this current season and just kept adding more to the chapter as my indecision grew. I keep telling myself I'm not too invested in this show but there I was having stress dreams because my favorite character is leaving.

In any case, Michael Weatherly has brought Tony DiNozzo to life and stuck with it for 13 years despite less than desirable moments on the part of the writers and I am eternally grateful.

Disclaimer: I have no time to own terribly popular shows, I'm an indebted twenty-some year old who has fanfiction to read. Actually made it through all 1300-plus pages of NCIS fanfics on . And now I am sad.

Reviews: Thank you all for your comments and support. Hopefully this chapter and the next will answer some questions and fulfill some of your wishes for the future of this story.

VG LittleBear: Rest assured, Gibbs is coming soon, in the next chapter which I will attempt to post tomorrow. I'm not quite sure how his injuries will play into this story. Since I wrote the last chapter I have reconsidered some things, but I would like to explain some of Gibbs' less than admirable and friendly behavior. (At least that's how I see him these days).

Let me know what you think and bless you if you made through this horrendously long author's note. Thanks for reading!

Breakfast at Tony's

Tony woke with an aching head, a fuzzy tongue he usually associated with too much tequila and absolutely no idea what occurred the night before. It had been years since he got so wasted he couldn't remember an entire evening and night. As a matter of fact he'd given up drinking excessive quantities of alcohol a few years ago when he decided that he was way too old for hangovers and drowning his sorrows in a bottle of scotch would either leave him jobless or building boats in a basement he didn't even own.

It took a few minutes for Tony to flush out the events from the day before and even then everything after Tim shooting the hulk wannabe was a little fuzzy. He vaguely recalled Ducky lecturing him on the importance of rest after a violent altercation ("Head wounds are not to be messed with young man. Why I knew a…") which somehow led into a story about the time his mother stabbed the TV repair man with a pair of garden shears and eventually ended with an order to take a day of sick leave.

Reluctantly he rolled to his feet and slipped on a pair of sweatpants. Brushing his teeth was definitely the first order of business he decided and headed for the bathroom, his steps surprisingly well-balanced. After popping a couple Ibuprofen he examined the bruising that arched over his cheekbone and across his temple, not certain if the glow of the lights hanging above his bathroom mirror extenuated the deep purple splotches or not. At least he hadn't broken his nose this time, an experience he was unfortunately all too familiar with. Assessing the rest of his abrasions and carefully avoiding his split lip while he brushed, Tony decided that this was far from the worst injuries he'd received in his many years with NCIS.

From there he headed for the kitchen to put his rarely used coffee maker, some fancy thing Senior had bought during his last visit and presented with his Cheshire grin in full force, to work. As much as Tony liked the finer things in life, the chrome and plastic bit of machinery was a little excessive for a man who enjoyed about one out of ten breakfasts at home. With the coffee maker set and whirring away like something from an old sci-fi show he checked his phone for missed calls.

Fortunately there were none although McGee had sent him a text asking if he was ok. Tony had the instantaneous urge to fire back with 'no' just to see what the probie would do but instead chose to go with the more mature 'yeah, I look like a banana that's been sitting in the sun for too long but I'm good. '.

A sudden noise from somewhere outside the kitchen, the living room he estimated, made him stiffen mid-text. He froze, listening closely for any other sounds. Just when he thought it was his imagination he heard the definite creak of someone walking. Silently he slipped his phone into his pocket and reached for the farthest drawer to his right, removing his spare gun. Automatically he took up a defensive position as he peered around the corner of doorway. There was no one in his immediate view. He heard the sound of footsteps from the other direction and quickly spun, aiming his gun at,

"Jeanne?"

"My god, Tony." Breathed the startled woman. "Who did you think I was?" Tony sheepishly lowered the gun.

"Well, obviously not you." He answered honestly. "Why are you here, by the way?" He added, less sure of himself now that the perceived threat was gone. He knew Jeanne was eager to talk but breaking and entering seemed a little excessive. Jeanne's eyebrows furrowed for a second as she studied him. Understanding flashed across her face and her eyes closed briefly before she nodded.

"You don't remember anything from last night, do you?" Tony gave a hesitant chuckle while on the inside he was quickly panicking. He had absolutely no idea why Jeanne would be in his home at 7:00 in the morning and he noted somewhat worriedly, wearing what appeared to be a pair of his sweat pants and a giant T-shirt. Belatedly he looked down and remembered that he hadn't felt the need to where a shirt himself. He just barely resisted the urge cross his arms over his bare chest. "Don't look so terrified," Jeanne said dismissively. "After we met up last night, we talked for a while and then I drove you home…ringing any bells?" She paused for a moment, apparently giving him time to chime in should he have the urge. Tony pressed his palm against his head, willing his brain to cough up the necessary information.

"You insisted we order Chinese…" Tony's head sprang up slowly, a look of horror spreading across his face.

"They're the most beautiful, expressive eyes I've ever seen. Like tiny oceans."

"Oh, god…" He moaned softly. "Please tell me I didn't say anything incredibly weird or inappropriate." Tony begged desperately.

"I thought you liked saying inappropriate things." Jeanne mused, not at all sympathetic to his mortification.

"Yeah, only when I can remember what they were and why I said them." Tony replied acerbically.

"Don't worry, Tony, you were a perfect gentleman." Jeanne assured him. Tony snorted, fairly certain that his name and that particular phrase had never been used in the same sentence before. "You were pretty chatty though." He groaned again and briefly considered using the gun hanging loosely from his fingers to put him out of his misery.

"What did I say?" He muttered against his better judgment and covered his face as though it would block out the embarrassment.

"Well…" Jeanne began, pausing as though to consider what she wanted to say. "You compared me to the Mona Lisa, except you said I was prettier and more mysterious. And you told a very long story about the time your M.E. had tea with the Queen and her favorite Corgi ate his shoe."

"Ugh, that story takes forever even when Ducky isn't telling it." Tony bemoaned. Apparently unconcerned by his imminent death by embarrassment, Jeanne shrugged.

"It wasn't so bad, I especially liked your reenactment of the Queen chasing after the dog and knocking over the footman."

"I'm going to kill Ducky." Tony muttered fervently amidst Jeanne's quiet laughter.

"I thought it was rather cute." Jeanne persisted with a grin. Tony merely glared.

"He knows I shouldn't be around people when I'm on pain meds." Jeanne nodded sagely.

"A likely excuse."

"Hey, it's the tr–" He broke of as he realized that Jeanne was doing her best not to laugh and failing miserably. "Oh you better watch yourself, Miss Benoit, or I won't share my coffee with you." She grinned impishly and shrugged again.

"I like tea."

"Then I'll hide the teabags." Tony persisted stubbornly. Somewhere in their mini-debate he had drawn closer to Jeanne so he now stood roughly six inches away with his head bent towards her, the better to intimidate. Jeanne couldn't seem to wipe the smile off her face and despite his best efforts, Tony found himself grinning broadly as well.

Jeanne closed the last few inches between them and reached out, brushing a hand through Tony's sleep-mussed hair. He froze as her fingers made contact, just barely touching his scalp. Jeanne seemed to realize a second too late exactly what she was doing, quickly pulling her hand back as though she had been burnt and leaving Tony with the feeling of electricity lightly coursing down his spine.

"Your hair was…um…" Jeanne gestured vaguely to her own head which was fairly neat and turned away to hide the blush quickly creeping up her neck. Tony's cheeks instantly burned as well. He felt ridiculous but somehow the simple touch felt entirely too intimate, no matter that he and Jeanne had shared so much more. An awkward silence had descended in the dimly lit room with both of them behaving like teenagers on their first date. Somewhat desperately, Tony grabbed onto the first thought that came to mind.

"I think the coffee's done, I'll make you some tea."

"Ah, no, Tony, I should get going–" Jeanne protested.

"Jeanne, please, it's the least I can do." Tony persisted, determined now, although he couldn't say exactly why, to have her stay. "I'll even make you breakfast." He added when it when appeared Jeanne was still uncertain.

"Tony, you really don't have to do this."

"I know. I want to. Do you like omelets?" Jeanne started to something but then closed her eyes briefly and shook her head.

"Ok, if it will make you happy then why not?" She agreed at last. Tony guessed that she was wondering if he'd incurred some type of brain damage the day before which was affecting his behavior. It was hardly the first time that someone had come to the same conclusion so he didn't take it to heart.

"Good, be ready in twenty minutes." Tony said and pointed in the direction of bathroom. Jeanne's eyes narrowed for a moment before she turned around and started gathering her clothes from around the room.

It was while Jeanne was standing in Tony's bathroom, half naked and holding her wrinkled sweater that the bizarreness of her current situation suddenly hit full force. She'd just spent the night on Tony's couch and now he was cooking her breakfast while she sifted through his toiletries for a clean toothbrush. Meeting her own gaze in the mirror over the sink, she gave a stern look to her reflection and attempted to reconcile the faint flush tinting her cheeks with the knowledge that this might just be a very, very stupid idea.

Of course she knew that she was being less than logical the moment she'd even thought of stepping foot inside of the infamous NCIS building and; presumably, letting Tony back into her carefully established life. Nor could she say that Tony hadn't done his best to keep her at arm's length which she blatantly and stubbornly ignored.

For unfathomable reason she'd forgotten how sweet and disarming Tony could be when he wasn't trying. The suave, calculating man of the world she could handle, but the one who watched her with such unreserved affection and completely without artifice was so much harder to resist. In those moments the years seemed to melt away and she might as well have been a naïve 20 some year old again. She sighed and shifted aside a pile of medical paraphernalia; bandages, ointment, Tylenol…and an inhaler? Jeanne picked the small, familiar device up, staring at the list of active ingredients with a frown.

As far as she had known Tony DiNardo didn't have any ongoing health problems. Granted, that meant very little but the prescription clearly stated that the medicine should be taken as needed in case of respiratory failure. The dose was strong too and as she looked at the dispenser with a practiced eye she estimated that it was at least six years old if not more. Glancing sheepishly behind her, as though Tony might burst in at any moment, she peeled back the now tacky label and peered at the blurred numbers. There was no way it said…06…wait, no that was a 5.

Jeanne stifled a curse and reminded herself that it wasn't her responsibility to make sure that Tony's medication was in date. No, if he wanted to poison himself that was his business. Firmly she tucked the inhaler beneath a box of bandaids and shoved the neon green toothbrush she found in her mouth, muttering darkly beneath her breath.

Glancing at the clock she noted that she'd been in the bathroom for roughly fifteen minutes. Tony had said twenty minutes and given their previously rocky interaction she wasn't about to upset the relative calm. Hastily she tugged her hair back into a bunch, securing it with a clip before she left to see what Tony had gotten up to in her absence. If she remembered correctly Tony's idea of a home cooked breakfast was a bowl of cereal and coffee; omelets seemed like a bit of a stretch.

As promised when Jeanne wandered back into the kitchen, wearing her clothes from the day before, Tony stood at the stove stirring something in a pan. Tony for his part seemed to have shaken off any lingering awkwardness and was softly humming to himself as he whipped a bowl of eggs. He appeared perfectly at ease cooking breakfast for her in his worn sweats and with a stubbled jaw.

She cleared her throat and Tony turned towards her with a soft smile.

"I hope you like mushroom and onion." He greeted and gestured slightly at the stove with his head. Without waiting for a reply, Tony poured the egg mixture into a pan positioned over a low flame.

"No, that sounds great." Jeanne responded quietly, slightly distracted by Tony's smooth and easy movements, suggesting this was something he had done before. "I didn't realize you cooked." Tony shrugged as he started calmly laying sautéed bits of mushroom and onion along with a healthy dose of cheese on top of the cooking egg.

"Eh, I don't get a lot of practice but I know a few things…it's considered a sin in the DiNozzo family if you can't cook at least one thing for each meal and if one of those meals doesn't include red sauce and pasta I've heard it said the gods cry." Jeanne rolled her eyes as she opened a cabinet, searching for plates, but coming up with a neat row of glasses instead. "Plates are in the top cabinet in the corner, forks in the drawer below it." Tony offered automatically. Following his directions Jeanne grabbed two plates and reached for the drawer he mentioned.

"Ah, on second thought don't open that…" Tony's warning came a second too late. She glanced up at his panicked expression with a raised brow.

"You always keep your gun in with the silverware?" She asked lightly, ignoring Tony's assumption that she would be upset. Tony had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed and the non-bruised portions of his cheekbones flushed softly. He cleared his throat.

"No, usually I keep it under the dish towels." Tony replied in an even tone. Before Jeanne had time to reflect on the significance of a person needing a gun in their kitchen, Tony placed a steaming mug of tea in her hands and gestured to the table. "Take a seat, this will be ready in a few minutes."

"Shouldn't you be worrying about being late for work? It's almost 7:30." Jeanne asked. Tony was back to humming to himself as he flipped a pan full of hot eggs with an easy flick of his wrist.

"Nah, day off. Concussion, remember?" Tony pointed to his head as though Jeanne could forget about his injuries with his black and blue temple taunting her.

"I got the impression that nothing less than the plague would get you out of work." Tony smiled briefly and then shrugged as he plated the second omelet.

"Recently our director has jumped on board the whole danger-of- repetitive-concussions wagon thing."

"How annoying of him." Jeanne inserted. Tony ignored her sarcastic comment and continued as he brought the food over and took a seat at the head of the table.

"Anyway, now we're required to take at least one day of leave following a concussive episode. Ducky is definitely a fan." Tony said. Despite his dismissive tone he didn't seem overly put out by his unexpected vacation. Unceremoniously he cut into his steaming breakfast, brought a forkful to his nose, and sniffed it appreciatively.

"That you can remember." Jeanne muttered under her breath.

"Hey, in time I will remember everything…it may prove extremely embarrassing, but I will remember." Tony replied, punctuating his words with a wave of his fork. They descended into near silence for the next several minutes, the only sounds where of forks clinking against plates and the occasional noise of appreciation. It turned out that Tony was a surprisingly good cook, another thing that never made it into Tony DiNardo's file it seemed.

"Do you want to have dinner with me?" Tony asked as he speared the last piece of egg on his plate. Jeanne choked slightly on a half-chewed mushroom, grabbing her tea which was thankfully only lukewarm and took a large gulp.

"Excuse me?" She gasped out. Tony watched her with mild concern but mostly seemed unfazed by her reaction. The man seemed to live for keeping her off balance.

"Can I take you to dinner?" He calmly repeated once she was safely breathing again. "You know as repayment for making sure my drugged up body made it home without coming to perilous harm."

"Uh-huh, and you get absolutely nothing out of this." Jeanne said. Tony grinned unrepentantly.

"Of course not. It's simply another example of my deeply selfless personality." If anything, his smile grew even larger. It was the same beguiling smile he'd used to lure her away from a difficult shift for a romantic dinner in an abandoned room or convince her to spend just a few more minutes in bed. She appraised the man before her, sleep-mussed hair and all, managing to look elegant though he was slouched in his chair and sporting darkening bruises and barely healed over abrasions. He was so different from the forbidding and acerbic agent of the last few weeks. It was a bit disconcerting but Jeanne would be lying if she didn't admit how much she enjoyed this open and gentler version of Tony.

Jeanne's mother would tell her the obvious answer to Tony's question was 'no' and for good measure suggest she utilize her knowledge of infectious diseases. Of course, Helen Berkley would also be horrified her daughter was involved with Tony at all. Forgiving was not a word that applied to her mother and for some reason that solidified Jeanne's answer.

"Why do you really want to take me out?" Jeanne asked at last, fearing whatever answer she might receive. Or worse, that Tony would rescind the offer. He didn't answer immediately, his attention focused on his coffee mug. Tony finally met her gaze and murmured.

"It would make very happy if you did." Jeanne inhaled slightly at his complete sincerity. She swallowed in an effort to calm her suddenly pounding heart.

"Yes, I would love to, Tony." His answering smile was brilliant.

A/N: If you all think things changed awfully fast, there's a reason for it. Again similarities between this story and recent episodes are mostly coincidence which is getting really frustrating. Next chapter look for a helping of Gibbs and McGee. Not necessarily in that order.