Gibbs was perched on the workbench in the basement fiddling with the blueprints for a woodworking project he had in mind when he heard the front door open and Ducky's distinctive voice call out, "Jethro."

"Down here, Duck," he shouted up the stairs and through the open door. When he heard Ducky's steps on the basement stairs, he twisted around to look over his shoulder at him and said," I didn't hurt your boy, Duck."

"I daresay Mr. Palmer might disagree with that assessment," Ducky replied.

Gibbs resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You know what I mean. Sure he'll be sore for a day or two, but it didn't do him any harm. At least, you've never seemed to think so when it was any of the others."

"No, no," Ducky assured him, "you know I don't disagree with your methods."

Gibbs turned around, settling back against the work surface and leveling Ducky with a look. "Then why are you here? You know you're always welcome, but we both know this isn't a random social call."

Ducky sighed. "Must we always dispense with the social niceties, Jethro. There is a time and a place for small talk and easing into a conversation, you know." Gibbs just arched an eyebrow. Ducky sighed again and shuffled awkwardly. "Mr. Palmer isn't one of your agents."

"No, he's not," Gibbs agreed, "and if he'd kept his ass in autopsy where he belongs instead of sneaking to my crime scene and trying to play the hero, I wouldn't have had to treat him like one." Ducky started to speak again, but Gibbs cut him off, "Don't try to tell me he didn't deserve it. He disobeyed a direct order, Duck. He's damn lucky all he got was a busted nose. It could've been far, far worse, Duck, and you know it."

Ducky nodded reluctantly. "Yes, you're right. Young Jimmy made some extremely poor choices, and I understand why you think he needed to be disciplined. The lad doubtless deserved a thrashing. I even understand why you felt the need to handle it yourself this time. After all, it was, as you said, your crime scene and your order he disobeyed."

"Damn right it was," Gibbs growled.

"However," Ducky continued, "as you have also pointed out, Mr. Palmer is my assistant."

With a sudden flash of insight, Gibbs understood. He picked up his coffee and took a sip to cover the urge to laugh. He regarded Ducky over the rim of his cup. It was like he'd fallen through Alice's damned rabbit hole or something. First, the autopsy gremlin pops up on the damned crime scene and runs over the perp with a car, and now Ducky was getting territorial.

"What are you getting at?" Gibbs asked, fighting hard to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"In the future," Ducky said stiffly, "I'd appreciate it if you would leave whatever discipline Mr. Palmer might require to me."

"It's not as if I'm lining up to bust their butts, Duck. I don't enjoy it, but they're my responsibility," Gibbs told him.

"No," Ducky countered, "Mr. Palmer is my responsibility."

"Not as far as the director is concerned," Gibbs replied, "he made it very clear that he considers you both part of my team."

Now it was Ducky's turn to look amused. "Does that mean you're going to try to punish me as well?"

"Am I going to need to?" Gibbs asked.

" Of course not," Ducky answered. "My point is, your role as my supervisor, and by extension, Mr. Palmer's, is somewhat limited and of a different nature than your supervision of your agents. While we both officially report to you, I am Mr. Palmer's direct supervisor, just as you are for Timothy and Anthony. I'm sure you realize how awkward it would be if someone else felt the need to discipline them."

The strength of the fury that ripped through Gibbs stunned him with its intensity. No one touched his kids but him. He tipped his cup at Ducky in silent acknowledgment. "Point taken," he said. "I'll leave Palmer to you, as long as he stays out of my crime scenes."

Ducky nodded. "Of course."

"Put your boy on a short leash, Duck," Gibbs said grimly.

"Don't worry, Jethro," Ducky said, heading back up the stairs, "Young Jimmy is about to find his wings severely clipped."

Gibbs chuckled. Palmer wasn't going to know what hit him.