"She's lying."

"I know."

"Then why is she sitting in your interview room, Jethro?"

"I want to know why she's lying."

Ducky jabbed a finger at the X-rays of the dead man. "Look at the damage to the ribs and the back of the head. A fifteen year old girl could simply not have done this."

"She didn't, Ducky. I checked with the mother, who swears that at eleven thirty, her daughter was 'blowing up aliens' on her computer. I just want to know why she tried to tell us it was her."

Ducky sighed. "Just don't grill her, Jethro."

"I know. She's not a steak." Gibbs was already backing towards the lift.

"She's just a child!"

Gibbs nodded.

His wife had said that to him once. Only her voice had been so different from Ducky's reproachful intonation, her face so far from his disapproving frown.

He'd been deployed when she was pregnant: a parachute training exercise with the Royal Marines in Scotland. He'd buggered up his knee for the first time, and hobbled into the house early. He'd seen the three month old Kelly crawling across the patio. And then he'd said; "She can't walk."

Shannon had put her arms round his neck, and giggled. "She's just a child, Jethro. Not a superhuman."

And then he'd laughed too.

But Kelly was a superhuman. He knew it now more than ever.

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"What've you got?"

Tony flicked the remote. A picture of the girl downstairs appeared on the screen. She looked different. Happy. Grinning. Less pale. He hair was blonder and straighter, falling almost to her elbows. She had her arm around someone else, but they'd been cut from the picture.

"Alex Chelmonska. Boarding school in Northern England. I spoke to some of her teachers just now…"

Kate read from her notes. "Said she is initially painfully shy, but having known someone for a while she has a tendency to become outgoing. She's exceptionally talented in English and History, and has so far scored full marks on every piece of GCSE coursework for those subjects. However, they said she 'struggles' with Maths and all three Sciences, although Physics isn't as bad. She has a reputation as a prankster, and was recently put on report for filling the school's newly installed air ventilation system with sulphur…"

"Damn, that's a good idea," said Tony. "Now why didn't I think of that?"

The slap was not unexpected.

"If there are any unexplained eggy smells, Tony, I'll know who to blame." Abby had come up to the bull pen.

"Don't you normally wait for me to come down, Abs?" said Gibbs. He seemed to have produced a coffee from nowhere, as he sure as hell hadn't been out, and he hadn't sent McGee. Tony finally settled on the conclusion that Gibbs had hauled out some unsuspecting Probie from somewhere for his caffeine fix.

"Yeah, Gibbs. But you didn't get my brain signals."

"I was just about to come down. So have you found something?"

"That's just it, Gibbs. Absolutely nothing's hinky, which I suppose must be hinky in itself, because what are the chances of there being nothing hinky at all?"

The team needed a few seconds to digest an Abby Speech. She took it as an indication to carry on.

"But I did find a blob of spilt Portsmouth Dry. But it's not like it's that unusual so near the bar. I'm running it for DNA, but unless someone, like, spat in their glass or something…"

"My mum always drank Portsmouth Dry."

"From what I've heard, DiNozzo, I really ought to ask if she drank Portsmouth Dry or Portsmouth dry?"

"I'd have to say probably both, Boss. She had a three month fling with our pool man in Portsmouth."

"Maybe she drank Portsmouth dry of Portsmouth Dry?" suggested Abby.

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"What is she doing?"

Alex Chelmonska was drumming the interview table with her fingers. She wasn't nervous. She gave a final closure to her tune, yawned, stretched out her arms ahead of her, a reflex action to interlock her palms and flip them over the wrong way. Then she began to drum the table again, her fingertips flowing into one another. She had a look of intense concentration on her face.

Then Kate realised. She was watching the suspect through the observation room window. The girl was still in her tartan pyjamas and socks.

"She's playing the piano."

McGee squinted through the glass. "Does she know we can see her?"

"Her housemistress told me she was a crime novel and film buff. She'd know about the two-way mirrors from there, I expect."

"I don't think she cares much."

And frankly, Kate agreed. The girl propped her head in her hand and her elbow on the table, and scratched the back of her head with her other hand.

The door closed behind them. "Man, she looks like shit," said Tony.

"So do you," said Kate.

"Been up since three, didn't get to bed till two."

"And what were you doing up till two, Tony?" said McGee.

"Having a life, Probalicious. I don't think I'm the only one who isn't in bed by seven thirty."

"Okay, Tony, that was just once. And I had a headache."

Tony laughed, put his hands in his pockets, and gazed through the screen.

Kate said nothing. She had a suspicion she knew where Tony had been up till two. She'd come into the office at twelve a few weeks ago, looking for her phone, which she'd stupidly dumped in her drawer with her badge and gun. Tony had been at his desk, rattling away at his keyboard. He stared up at her as if she'd caught him putting a whoopee cushion on the president's chair. He mumbled something about Gibbs chewing him up if he didn't get a report finished. But they were right in the middle of a case, and the last one had been months ago.

She smiled fondly. It was always Tony that had fresh results in the morning.

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The interrogation room door opened and Gibbs stepped in with a coffee.

Alex leapt to her feet and stood at what, if she hadn't been wearing tartan pyjamas and bed hair, might have been called attention.

"Do they really teach you to do that in English boarding schools?" said McGee.

"She was… is in her school CCF."

Tony looked blank. "Combined Cadet Force, Tony. Like in the military, but still at school. Like you when you were at Military School."

Tony gave McGee a dark, sidelong look. "You wouldn't have survived three minutes in military school, Probette."

"Sit down," said Gibbs.

Alex sat as if the seat and her ass were polar ends of a magnet.

Gibbs scraped back a chair, and sat down himself.

She studied him in silence, squinting and leaning slightly over the table.

"Special Agent …Gibbs," she said at last.

Gibbs nodded. "Where are your glasses?"

She squinted at him again. "I think I… I think one of the agents that arrested me might've accidentally trodden on them."

"I'll speak to them about it."

Alex was clearly perceptive enough to understand what 'speak to them' entailed. "No, please, Mr Gibbs. I'm sure I probably just dropped them."

Tony nearly choked. "Mr Gibbs!"

McGee frowned. "Who arrested her?"

"Some Probies." Tony laughed. "Gibbs is gonna kick their butts. I'm just glad its not me."

"Oh believe me, Tony. So am I."

And he really was. It even happened to computer specialists. He vividly remembered his early days, when he'd been called upon to arrest a Navy funds embezzler. He'd kicked the guy so hard and left a bruise so purple, the lawyers got the guy off. Nearly got the guy off.

Tony and McGee laughed. They looked at Kate.

But Kate had gone pale, even in the dark blue lighting of the observation room. She was staring through the window.

Gibbs had stood up, and was bending over Alex, who was slumped over the table.

"Shit," said Tony. "Call Ducky."