Author's note: To the guest who provided no name but expressed concerns about Jeanne's relationship with Tony, please see the note at the end of the chapter.

Sunday, 1347, NCIS Headquarters

Tony woke up slowly, feeling very warm and comfortable. Given that he knew where he'd gone to sleep, that seemed odd. He opened his eyes, and, lifting his head, he saw curly brown hair laying tumbled across his chest. His right fingers tightened automatically around the hand he held in his. The handclasp felt so familiar, so indefinably right that he had to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming. How on earth had this come about, he wondered.

Mundane needs intruded themselves on his mind, but he ignored them, wanting this moment to last as long as possible. In this bubble of time, he could pretend that nothing had changed between them. His squeezing hand must have awakened her, however, because she tilted her head up and their eyes met. A faint flush stole across her cheeks, but she didn't immediately move. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"Fine," he said. "I just . . . I need to . . ." She flushed again as the meaning of his unfinished sentence penetrated, and they disentangled themselves self-consciously. "I didn't want to wake you."

She shook her head. "No, don't worry about it. I . . . I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Stay here," he said, puzzling over what exactly that response meant. "I'll be back in a minute."

She nodded, and he rose to his feet. Abby was working in silence, which had to have been a concession to him. She looked up as he entered the main lab. "Tony, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."that

"Where's Jeanne?" Abby asked.

"Still waking up," Tony said. "Did . . . did anyone see us?"

Abby nodded. "Gibbs came in. That's the only reason I knew she was in there with you, actually. She must have snuck in."

Tony blinked. "I'll be back shortly. Don't let her leave."

"I won't," Abby said, glancing over at her office, seeming puzzled.

Jeanne brought her knees up to her chest and tried to contain her emotions. He hadn't seemed angry at her presumption. She couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep while trying to soothe his nightmare away. He'd have a perfect right to be furious with her invasion of his privacy.

Feeling his hand squeezing hers, his arm around her, she hadn't wanted to wake up. She squirmed a little with embarrassment. What must he think of her, lying down beside him while he was asleep and couldn't object?

Footsteps made her look up. Abby was looking down at her, the oddest expression on her face. Jeanne realized that she had also invaded Abby's privacy, and she felt her cheeks flush. She started to get up, but before she could, Abby collapsed down to sit beside her. "Did you have a nice nap?" she asked cheerily.

Jeanne flushed hotter, but she decided to brazen it out. "Yes, actually," she said. "Unexpected, but nice."

"You looked very comfortable."

Jeanne glanced over at her, a dreadful surmise coming into her mind. "Did anyone else see us?" she asked.

"Just Gibbs," Abby said, and Jeanne groaned. "Oh, he wasn't mad or anything," Abby said hastily. "He told me not to wake you guys up."

"I was just trying to stop his nightmare," Jeanne said. "I didn't set out to . . . to . . ."

"Get all cute and cuddly?" Abby suggested, and Jeanne felt her cheeks flush again. "I don't think Tony minded," she said. "So . . . still in love, huh?"

Jeanne's jaw dropped. "That's . . . very personal."

Abby nodded. "You were sleeping in my office."

Jeanne had to admit the truth of this, and that it lent a peculiar intimacy to the relationship, but she shook her head. "It's still very personal."

"Yes, but, see, you were sleeping in here with my Tony. You do remember that he's my Tony?"

Jeanne gave Abby a penetrating look. "But you're not dating him, and don't want to?" she asked.

"No."

"So, in what way is he yours?"

"Because I'm the person who's going to hurt you if you break his heart again."

Jeanne nodded slowly. "I see. I don't think you're the only one."

Abby shook her head. "No, I'm not. Isn't that nice?"

Jeanne gazed at her solemnly. "Actually, yes, I think it is. You and the others, you're Tony's only real family, aren't you?"

"Well, since his father would have to improve to be pondscum, yes," Abby replied, her eyes snapping. "But you've got to understand, I'm a forensic scientist. I have the best chance of anyone on earth of killing someone and not getting caught."

"That's . . . good to know," Jeanne said, not sure what else she should say. "How long have you known Tony?"

"Almost seven years," Abby replied. "I was here before he came, though not all that long."

"So you and he and Gibbs have been together for a long time?"

A cup was placed firmly on the desk in front of them. It was brightly colored and had the words "Caf-Pow!" inscribed on the side. Tony's hand was still wrapped around it.

"Tony! For me?" Abby exclaimed.

"On one condition," Tony said, his eyes calculating.

Abby drew back, looking mockingly suspicious. "What's the condition?" she asked.

"You leave us alone and close the door."

Abby and Tony locked eyes for a moment, then she shrugged and got up. "I can do that. I'm going to have to tell Gibbs you're awake, though."

"You haven't already?" Tony asked.

"Not yet." She took the drink and left the room, flipping a switch that seemed to control the door, because it slid shut behind her.

Tony sat down next to Jeanne, mirroring her position, and they were both silent for several moments. Jeanne wasn't sure what to say, or what he wanted, and her stomach churned with anticipation. He'd definitely arranged for them to be alone together, which was a first since she'd come back, but she didn't really know what that meant.

"I didn't –" Jeanne said, but he spoke at the same moment, and they both broke off, looking away.

Tony dropped his head down on his knees, and Jeanne took advantage of the movement to get a peek at his stitches. The bandage was off, and she could see that they were healing well enough amid the stubble of regrowing hair. Not much inflammation. Unfortunately, she couldn't see any of his other injuries. He'd taken refuge in blue jeans and a dark red turtleneck with long sleeves, covering every inch of his skin beyond his hands and head. Tony looked up, and she noticed new bruises on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Checking your stitches for signs of infection," she said, hoping he hadn't noticed that she hadn't only looked at his head.

"You know, Ducky already checked me out pretty thoroughly," Tony pointed out.

"I assumed so," Jeanne said. Those bruises looked as if someone had clamped a hand over Tony's mouth. She tore her eyes away and looked at the drawers of the desk in front of her. "Agent Gibbs said he took you to autopsy."

"Then why were you looking?" he asked irritably.

"I'm a doctor, Tony, it's kind of automatic," she said. "Like the way you reached for the gun you didn't have that last night."

Tony didn't respond immediately. After a long moment, he sighed. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Hard to miss," she said. She turned her body to face him, crossing her legs and reaching out daringly to take one of his hands in hers. He didn't pull it back. "What happened, Tony?" she asked, infusing the question with all the compassion she could without sounding condescending.

He looked up, brow furrowed, his hand limp in hers. "What do you mean?"

"How did this . . . ." She waved her free hand in the air, uncertain what word encompassed recent events. "How did all this come about?"

Tony shrugged, his chin dropping. "I don't know," he said. "I screwed up. Again."

Jeanne reached forward and put a finger under his chin, lifting his face. "Tony?" His eyes met hers reluctantly. "Stop it. This isn't your fault."

"I'm a law enforcement professional, I have training in profiling, and I misread Brody altogether. That is my fault. If you'd misdiagnosed something you'd seen before, you would feel like it was your fault."

Jeanne shook her head. "I don't generally try to diagnose the people I'm dating," she replied. "You –"

"I wasn't dating him!" Tony replied heatedly, drawing his hand back from hers, leaving her hand feeling cold and bereft. "There was no dating."

"Then what were you doing with him?" Jeanne asked, clasping her hands together to keep from reaching for him immediately. "I mean, you're not gay, are you?" Ziva had already answered that, but even Ziva had to be wrong sometimes.

Tony crossed his arms on his knees and turned his head away, every line of his body informing her of his discomfort with the question. "No, I'm not gay. I'm not bi, either. I've never been interested in a guy before or since."

"So . . . what happened?"

Tony shook his head. "I needed . . . something." His voice was flat, and he was still looking away. What did 'something' equal? Sex? Jeanne really didn't like the thought of him with someone else, man or woman, but that wasn't the point. Jealousy wouldn't help him right now. She considered the question as dispassionately as she was able. She didn't think that sex could be the whole equation. "And I couldn't get it . . . the normal way."

Jeanne blinked at him, wondering what 'the normal way' implied beyond the obvious. How promiscuous was he – normally? "And?" she prompted when he fell silent.

"And Brody offered it in a way that was sufficiently different that it worked," Tony said, shrugging. The relaxed gesture was at odds with the tension in his voice and with the way his hands were fisted. "I guess. I don't know. I just couldn't . . ." He closed his eyes and put the heels of his hands against them. "I can't talk about this," he said in a strangled voice, but he didn't make any move to leave. Jeanne gave in to the temptation that had been plaguing her. She rose to her knees and gave him a tight hug. He stiffened briefly, then relaxed into the embrace, one of his hands reaching down to squeeze the arm he could easily reach. She held him for a long moment, then shifted to sit next to him, one arm still around him, offering comfort. When he didn't object, she reached out and took his hand again, and just sat, waiting. It was a struggle to keep her reactions off her face. She was angry with Brody, angry with herself, desperately worried about Tony, but he needed a calm supporter. Giving rein to those emotions would not help her provide that for him. He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes very dark green, reflecting his unsettled emotions. "Why are you here?" he asked.

She ventured a smile. "Would you believe I'm under orders not to talk about it?" she asked.

His body jerked, and she realized he'd snorted. A mordant humor entered his eyes. "Gibbs, huh?" he asked, and she nodded. "You know, he's not your boss. You don't have to do what he says."

"No, but that's not why. And it's not that palpable air of authority he exudes either." She squeezed his hand, wishing he'd lose some of the tension that thrummed through his body. "It's the fact that he genuinely cares about you."

"Yeah, I'm a good agent," Tony said dryly, looking away.

"That's not what I mean," Jeanne said, frustrated by his immediate reinterpretation of her words. "He cares about you, not just your job."

Tony's lips tightened, and he turned to scan her face. After a moment, his eyes dropped. "I know."

He sounded strangely uneasy with this knowledge, and Jeanne found herself wondering just how hard that admission had been to make. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "What made Brody's offer okay?" she asked.

He tensed up again, and she thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he cleared his throat. "No strings," he said finally. "No expectations and no guilt." Jeanne felt a sinking feeling in her gut, and she concealed the reaction as best she could. What she'd suspected was true. It was her fault he'd wound up with that man. She had sent him out to find what he needed wherever he could, and he'd found an abusive bastard. Jeanne squeezed his hand tightly. Tony sighed. "If it had been what it was supposed to have been, it would have worked out, at least for a while."

"But what was it you needed?" Jeanne asked, and he gave her a startled look. "I can't believe it was sex. You went more than a month without it when we first started dating, and even though I knew you wanted me, it didn't seem to be that much of a struggle for you to hold back."

Tony was silent for a moment, then he spoke in a very neutral voice. "How do you know I went without?"

She butted him with her shoulder gently. "Because I know," she said. "Or are you saying you didn't?"

"No, I'm not." Tony blinked at the back of Abby's desk chair. This conversation had taken a surreal turn. What could she possibly be getting at? "I don't understand what you mean. Sex is what I was after."

"With Brody?" She asked the question neutrally, but he could tell the idea upset her.

"Yeah," he said, and he looked away.

"But you . . ." She paused and he wondered what she was thinking. He was afraid to look at her, afraid of what her expression would be, and upon realizing that, he forced himself to turn and study her face. Her brows were knit thoughtfully, her lips gently pursed. He wanted to know what was going on in her head. Finally she cleared her throat. "This may sound goofy, and I know it's touchy-feely, but you couldn't exactly ask Brody to hold you." She shook him gently, as though to remind him how readily he'd accepted her embrace, both waking and sleeping. "If there's one thing I learned about you over those months, it's that you crave touch, and not just sexual touch."

"I like sexual touch," Tony said, a tad defensively, though at the moment the whole idea made him want to hide in a corner.

"Duh," she said teasingly. "But adults don't get a lot of other kinds of touch, not unless they're in a committed relationship with someone who likes to cuddle."

Tony nodded slowly. What she was saying made some sense. Any number of the girls he'd taken to bed over the last fifteen or so years had been startled by his tendency to snuggle up after sex – or even before. He liked the warmth, the closeness. He was getting some of that right now, he realized self-consciously, from a woman he'd hurt and hurt badly. He started to pull away and was startled to find that she hung on.

Jeanne poked him gently on the knee. "You like to cuddle." He shrugged and relaxed. If she didn't object, why should he? She'd initiated the contact, after all.

"What does that have to do with Brody?" he asked.

"Have you ever had cuddling without physical intimacy?"

Tony blinked. His initial response was to dismiss the question with a joke, but Jeanne was really trying to make a connection, and he couldn't disregard that. He considered the question, thinking back over his life. His father had never touched him except to discipline him. His mother had shown him off, but he didn't remember ever sitting with her unless it was some kind of special event where he had to be on his best behavior. He cleared his throat, feeling obscurely ashamed of his answer. "There may have been one or two nannies when I was little," he said. "But I honestly don't remember. I spent most of my time at boarding school, where I was in trouble a lot."

Jeanne squeezed him tighter. "This is a basic human need, you know," she said. "Being touched like this, physical affection. Some people need it more than others, just like some people need vitamin D more than others."

"You think I wound up with Brody because I needed a hug?" Tony asked, more than a little appalled with himself.

She gave him an irritated glare. "That's a neat way to minimize a complex emotional need," she said, and he grimaced, looking away. "I know it's touchy-feely, and you're a big, tough federal agent, but there's nothing wrong with needing human contact. If sex is how you get it most of the time, then you're going to go after sex, and if Brody hadn't turned out to be a nut job, it would have been fine."

"So, it doesn't bother you that I've been with a guy?" he asked.

"It bothers me that he treated you badly," Jeanne replied, evading the question. "I assume you used proper protection."

Tony froze, his gut twisting almost painfully. He'd managed not to think about that aspect of things for a while, but the memory of being dragged into his own bedroom and forced onto his bed flooded back with a vengeance. Jeanne's arms tightened around him, but she didn't speak. After several seconds, he found his voice again. "I . . . wasn't always given the option of choosing," he said.

"Have you been tested?" she asked. He nodded. "Anonymously, I suppose?"

He shook his head. "No need. What with my sex life, I get tested fairly regularly. You'll note, we always used protection."

"Your sex life?" she repeated, tilting her head.

Unaccountably, Tony flushed. He'd never ever been embarrassed about his sex life, but this moment seemed to be different. "Before you, I was kind of a busy guy," he said. "Remember me telling you I had commitment problems?"

She nodded. "And I remember telling you that I didn't see any."

"Well, they exist." Jeanne didn't seem to know what to say to that. She continued to lean against Tony, her head on his shoulder, her arm around his back, her other hand holding his. It felt like coming home after a long absence, and he wanted the moment to last as long as possible because he knew it would never come again.

"Do you mind if I ask about your test results?" she said.

He shook his head. "All negative, always," he replied. "I've never caught anything from a sex partner besides the flu."

She laughed. "Healthy as a horse, huh?" There was an odd tone in her voice, and Tony looked at her narrowly.

"Has someone been telling tales out of school?" he asked.

"Are there tales to tell?" He just gazed at her. "When they heard that Dr. Pitt was in your room, both McGee and Ziva came out of their chairs with worry."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I haven't had a problem with that in over a year," he groaned.

"A problem with what?" Jeanne asked. "Or is it classified like McGee said?"

Tony furrowed his brows. "I suppose it is, in a way."

"The illness is classified?"

"That it was possible, I think," Tony said. "I was the victim of an act of domestic terrorism."

Her eyes widened. "Anthrax?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Plague," he replied, watching to see how she reacted.

If anything, her eyes grew wider still. "Pneumonic?"

"That's the one. An antibiotic resistant strain that had been developed by scientists so they could come up with a defense against it."

She shook her head, seeming almost dumbfounded. Finally, she said, "How badly sick were you?"

"Oh, I was never in any real danger," Tony said airily. "Once Gibbs ordered me not to die, I was safe as houses."

Jeanne shook her head, brow crinkled up adorably. "He ordered you not to die?"

"That he did," Tony said. He cleared his throat. "So, you avoided the question when I asked if it bothered you that I'd been with a man."

"I didn't avoid it . . . exactly," she countered, her brows knitting.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, not sure why he was pressing the issue. It wasn't as if it made a difference. Her opinion shouldn't matter to him. He held his breath. It shouldn't, but it did.

She didn't answer right away, and he suffered agonies in the waiting. "It bothers me that you were with someone else," she said finally, and his eyes widened. "I know," she said defensively. "I resigned any right I ever had to an opinion on you seeing other people not once, but twice, but it still . . . I don't like to think of you with someone else. I . . . I still love you." Her cheeks flushed crimson, and Tony didn't know what to say. His heart exploded with joy, his head said that was idiotic, and his buttocks were going to sleep.

The door opened, and Tony got to his feet with alacrity when he saw Gibbs entering the room. He bent immediately to help Jeanne up, and held her hands a moment longer than necessary for the task, but then he turned his attention towards his boss very firmly.

Gibbs gave him a penetrating look. "DiNozzo, you okay?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that," Tony said. "I'm . . ." Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Tony knew that he was demanding an honest answer. "I'm going to be fine," he said, which was the closest he could manage to 'my world has turned upside down, I don't know which way's up, and the pins and needles in my butt make it uncomfortable to move.'

"Fornell is here to investigate the case." Tony nodded, but before he could ask the question on his lips, Gibbs answered it. "Agent Manton has been reassigned." Gibbs somehow managed to make that imply the outer rings of hell as the assignment. "There is a new agent investigating Harris's allegations."

"That hasn't been dropped after his new attack on Tony?" Jeanne asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Gibbs said, giving her an unreadable look. Turning back to Tony, he said, "They want to talk to you. I still can't be present, but Dr. Pitt is here." He glanced towards the lab and Tony saw that Abby was talking to Brad. "They're waiting in the conference room."

"The conference room?" Tony asked. "But – what about the interview rooms?"

"Fornell thought it was the wrong environment," Gibbs said with a shrug.

"I see." Tony gave his own shrug. "I guess I'd better go." He turned to Jeanne. "I'll talk to you more later," he said, and she nodded, eyes downcast. He gave her a quick hug and left the room.

Gibbs watched DiNozzo collect Dr. Pitt and head out. Once they were gone, he turned back towards the woman who stood before him. She looked uneasy but mildly defiant. "How'd you wind up asleep in here?" he asked, wondering what her answer would be. If she was truthful, he might give her some leeway, but the biggest reason he hadn't separated them immediately was that he thought it would cause more trouble than it would solve.

Her eyes dropped. "I wanted to see him," she said, then she raised her eyes to his. "I don't work for you, and I wasn't given any specific instructions to stay anywhere in particular."

"You weren't?" he asked mildly, and Dr. Benoit flushed.

"Okay, I knew I was supposed to stay with Ziva," she said. "And I didn't. I snuck away while she was getting a file and I told McGee I was going to the lady's room."

"Right. And Abby?"

"She had her back to the room. I just walked through." Dr. Benoit shrugged. "I know it was rude, and I'm sorry about that, but Tony was having a nightmare when I got here."

"A nightmare?" Gibbs repeated, mildly concerned. So far as he knew, DiNozzo wasn't prone to nightmares.

"He used to have them when . . . when we were together. Only sometimes, but it's easy enough to soothe him out of them. I leaned down to try and help calm him without waking him, and I must have fallen asleep."

Gibbs snorted. It was just nutty enough to be true, and she looked heartily embarrassed. "So, you were in here alone together for a while. What did you talk about?"

Dr. Benoit blinked at him. "That's actually pretty private."

He waited in silence. It was a technique that worked most of the time. The pressure built on the person being questioned till it became unbearable, and they had to talk. More often than not, they answered the question. DiNozzo usually cracked in seconds, but he often talked in circles till Gibbs reined him in.

Dr. Benoit stared back at him, then she crossed her arms. When she finally spoke, it was in a tone of polite conviction. "Agent Gibbs, I know that you care about Tony, and I'm glad he has someone who's so firmly on his side." He nodded thoughtfully. This wasn't cracking. "But the conversation I had with Tony just now is entirely private."

Gibbs knew that he had just been warned off. It had been done with civility and respect, but it was no less firm for all of that. It was a boundary he could honor. He relaxed his stance slightly, and saw that she recognized that she had won her point. He cleared his throat. "They'll want to see you after they're done with DiNozzo."

"I see," she said. He started towards the door, but she spoke before it opened. "Can I ask you a question, Agent Gibbs?"

He turned around. "I don't promise to answer it, but ask away."

"How badly was he sick with the plague? He passed it off with a joke."

Gibbs blinked. "You're a doctor, you know how serious plague is."

She nodded. "He said he was never in any real danger, but both McGee and Ziva reacted to your mention of Dr. Pitt with a strength that makes me doubt that."

Gibbs snorted. "The scientist who created the bug that got him gave DiNozzo the same chances as people in 'plagues of the past,'" Gibbs said. "He was in danger, all right."

"What is that in numbers?" Dr. Benoit asked.

Because she seemed to be in earnest, and because DiNozzo seemed to be giving her his trust, Gibbs answered her truthfully. "Fifteen percent," he said.

"My God," she breathed, covering her hand with her mouth. "Was he the only one infected?"

"Fortunately, yes," Gibbs said, reflecting that Kate's cold might have made her less able to fight the deadly illness off. Not that it had muttered in the long run, he thought bleakly. Dr. Benoit seemed to be done. He started towards the door again.

"Did you really order him to live?"

Gibbs laughed and didn't answer. He left her in Abby's office, staring after him.

Guest: I would like to point out that Jeanne herself is disturbed by the fact that she's thinking about a physical relationship with Tony and expresses strong opinions that it's not appropriate at this time. I think you may be right in thinking that your dislike of the character could be getting in the way. Personally, I always liked Jeanne, and I like the Jeanne/Tony relationship as portrayed in the show, if you ignore all the questionable 'operation' parts of it. Also, I think Tony is a very strong character in many ways, but I also believe that he feels massive insecurity in a lot of personal areas. It's also my contention that he feels guilty for what happened between him and Jeanne, and he is at fault in some ways. In a real operation, an operative getting that involved emotionally would be expected to step back and bow out if possible. He let things get too intimate and they both paid the price. If you wish to discuss further, I am myself at that yahoo place.