Monday, 0924, Chalmers Hotel, Washington DC

Tony let the water stream over him in steaming torrents. He'd washed and rinsed thoroughly, but now he wished that the water could sweep away the last four months – or if not that, at least the memory of that phone call and the sense of having Brody, who was miles away, in bed with him again. Finally, he admitted to himself that all the water was doing was getting him wet, and he turned off the faucet. He climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel . . . it was luxuriously soft, and the robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door looked like pure heaven. He scrubbed his hair dry, pulled on the robe, and went out into the living room.

Jeanne offered him a cup of coffee that smelled wonderful. He took a sip. It had just the right amount of sugar and cream, and it was his favorite blend. Somehow he doubted that the hotel stocked it, so she had to have had them put it in just for him. He looked up at her once the caffeine had hit his system and smiled. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, and she looked beautiful. "Did Gibbs say he'd call Fornell?" he asked.

"How did you know I called Agent Gibbs?"

"Stands to reason," he replied, shrugging.

"Come, sit down," she said, pulling him over to the sofa and sitting close beside him. "Agent Fornell showed up while I was on the phone with Agent Gibbs. Your boss sure does hang up abruptly."

Tony nodded. "Oh yeah." He took another swallow of coffee and tried not to think too hard about what the next few weeks were going to be like.

"Are you okay?"

He turned and looked down into her anxious eyes. "Sure," he said easily, and her eyes widened.

"Tony, don't lie to me," she said intently. "Never lie to me. Not even to make me feel better."

He blinked at her. "I'm not . . ." He faltered as her eyes narrowed. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth, Tony," she said, reaching up and cupping his cheek. "I'm not going to break, and I'm not a co-worker you have to put on a good front for."

Closing his eyes, he took another swallow of coffee, buying time. "I feel like shit," he said finally. "I ache all over, the back of my head itches like crazy and I don't dare scratch it. Meanwhile, I just got a phone call from someone who shouldn't be able to call me on phone whose number he shouldn't have, and I don't know how that happened. For all I know some idiot let him loose, and he's on his way here."

"I'm sure that Agent Gibbs would have told us if he'd been released," Jeanne said, taking his arm and squeezing. "And he can't easily get onto this floor. I'd lay odds that Gibbs stopped by the security office on his way out last night to give them Brody's photo and instructions not to let him into the hotel."

"With him under arrest?" Tony replied.

"Unless I'm very wrong about him, Agent Gibbs doesn't make assumptions about things he doesn't control," she said, and Tony snorted.

"You're not wrong," Tony said.

She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes," she said, and she disappeared into her room.

There was a knock at the door, and Tony's mouth went dry. Jeanne's reasoning was sound, but Brody had gotten by Gibbs' defenses once, at the hospital. He stood up and walked over to the door, peering out through the peephole. His shoulders slumped. He didn't particularly want to see the man who stood outside, but he couldn't leave him in the hallway, either. Girding himself, he opened the door. "McGoo, great to see you, come right in."

"Hey, Tony," McGee said. He walked in a little awkwardly. "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy keen," Tony replied irritably, and he could see McGee's internal cursing of the stupid question. It made him feel a little less annoyed at the probie. "What'cha doing here?"

"Gibbs sent me to collect your old phone and bring you a new one."

Tony froze for a second, then tried to play it off, but the pause was long enough for McGee to notice. Tony saw his eyes crinkle with worry and barged on to head off any possible expressions of sympathy. "It's in there," he said. "I'm afraid you'll find it's a little the worse for wear."

McGee walked into the bedroom, then looked out again. "It's shattered," he said, sounding stunned.

"I threw it," Tony said. "It made a very satisfying crunch."

"But . . . why?"

Tony stared at him. "Gibbs didn't tell you?"

McGee shook his head. "I mean, he was pissed, and he started yelling at one of the techs because she gave your number to someone over the phone, but he didn't say why while I was there."

"Agent McGee," Jeanne said, and Tony turned in surprise, suddenly aware that he was wearing nothing more than a robe. McGee would undoubtedly find that odd. "Did Agent Gibbs send you?"

"Yes." McGee looked from her to Tony, then back to her and flushed. "I need to . . . I have to collect the phone."

"Got an evidence bag, McGoo?"

"Yeah, Tony, but it's not exactly evidence in that sense, is it?"

"No," Tony replied, shaking his head. He walked around behind the sofa and stopped, staring at his suitcases, which were bulging full. "That's . . . a lot of stuff," he said.

"I hung your garment bag in my closet because you were already asleep when I got here and I didn't want to wake you."

Tony looked at the bags, then looked at Jeanne. "Did you pack everything?"

Her smile faltered. "Don't be silly," she said. "Everything wouldn't fit."

"Why?"

"You said you didn't want to go back, and I figured this would make that simpler," she said, and he could see that she was afraid she'd done the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, I wasn't –"

"No, it's fine, I just wouldn't have asked you to do that much work."

"Ziva helped," she offered, as if that mitigated the amount of work the two of them had to have done to get his clothing packed up.

"No doubt," Tony said dryly, trying to think what he might have in his drawers that he wouldn't want either of them to see. "A garment bag . . . so you packed my suits?"

"I did."

"And what about my ties? Who packed my ties?"

Jeanne flushed, and Tony knew she'd seen it. "I did," she said. She paused, moistening her lips. "I found . . . it. And Ziva saw it, too, so I'm sorry if you didn't want her to know."

"Ziva must have found that interesting," Tony said. He cleared his throat and aimed for a change of subject. "Is there any breakfast?" he asked briskly.

"I was going to order when you woke up," Jeanne said, matching his tone. "What do you want?"

"Food," he said. "You know what I like for breakfast." As he said that, he turned and saw McGee exiting the bedroom, his face again going scarlet. Fortunately, Jeanne didn't see because she'd turned away to make the call to room service.

"I think I've got all the pieces," McGee said, not meeting Tony's eyes. "There may be a few elsewhere in the room. You really smashed it."

"I was angry," Tony said.

"What . . . what happened?"

Tony shrugged. "Brody called."

"What did he say?"

"You read the notes you found in my desk, right?"

"Ziva found them," McGee said quickly, as if that made it better. Tony raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I read them, after I stopped her from reading them out loud."

Tony shuddered. "Ugh, reading them silently is bad enough," he said, and McGee nodded with feeling. "Well, if you've read those, you've got an idea of what he said."

"No wonder Gibbs was pissed."

Tony nodded. "You said you had a new phone for me?"

"Yes." McGee dug in the pocket of his trench coat. "Here. I've already beamed all the work numbers you need into it, got Fornell's and Glick's so you have them, too."

"Who has this number?" Tony asked, his tone not quite as nonchalant as he'd aimed for.

"Gibbs ordered the techs not to give out your number without consulting him," McGee said. "In that tone that nobody disobeys. I have it, I'm going to give it to Ziva and Gibbs, and he'll probably give it to Fornell and maybe Glick, and probably the director."

"Right." Tony gulped. "You'd better get Jeanne's just in case I do something crazy and smash my phone again."

"Okay." McGee walked over to do that errand, and Tony bent down to pick up the larger of his two duffels. When he tried to lift it, he discovered just why the doctors had warned him to go easy on his abused muscles. He tried and failed to suppress a groan that brought both McGee and Jeanne over instantly.

"I'm fine," he snapped when they tried to ask him what was wrong. He continued to lift the bag and walked into his room with it. Placing it on the bed, he closed the door, only then realizing that he had no idea if he had enough clothes in it to get dressed. He unzipped it and started pulling things out. Fortunately, it contained jeans and underwear, and he found a couple of turtlenecks deep inside. He got dressed hastily and went back out into the living room. McGee was waiting. He carried Tony's other bag into the room and put it onto the luggage rack, then went back for the garment bag, actually taking it from Jeanne. Tony pretended not to notice, and said, "So, where are my shoes?"

"I put three or four pair in the smaller bag," Jeanne said. "Socks too. They're under the ties."

"Okay. And the . . ."

"In there, too," she said.

"You leaving now, McGoo?" Tony asked.

"Yeah – unless you need anything else." McGee looked around the living room as if he expected to find chores popping out of the woodwork.

Tony put a hand on his back and propelled him towards the door. "I didn't need that. Be seeing you."

"Yeah, Tony, see you later."

Tony shut the door on him and went back in his room to unearth some socks.

"Why do you call him McGoo?" she asked. "He doesn't seem nearsighted."

"For the same reason I call him Probie, McGeek, McGoofy and a host of other silly nicknames."

"What's that?"

"To get him to stand up for himself and tell me to stop," Tony said absently. He blinked. "And because it's really, really fun," he added with a demented grin.

"We're not going anywhere, Tony," she said, grabbing his hand to stop him from rooting around in the bag. "If Glick wants to see you, she can come here."

Tony sat back on the bed. "I guess it's too late to make this a Brody-free space," he muttered. To his surprise, Jeanne opened one the drawers and started carefully placing his ties inside. "You don't have to do that," he said.

"Do you plan on living out of the suitcase?" she asked, not stopping.

"I had been, yeah, but that was when I was expecting a couple pairs of jeans, some shirts and maybe one suit, not four-fifths of my wardrobe."

She turned around, brows drawn together. "You are upset about that."

"No, I'm not," he said, taking her hand and leading her back into the living room. "I'm just startled. I don't really understand what's going on. You're trying awfully hard to take care of me. Why?"

Another knock on the door made him jerk with surprise. Jeanne hurried to get it. "It's room service," she called before she let them in. "I thought we'd eat on the balcony."

Tony looked around at the room they were in and wondered exactly how much it was costing. He certainly couldn't have afforded anything like it. He'd probably have found something like Motel 6 just to hold him until he could arrange for movers. Jeanne got the waiter to take the cart out onto the balcony, and Tony took stock of the room. When Jeanne had signed the bill and tipped the waiter and they were alone again, he said, "Executive suite?"

She nodded. "It's what they had available."

"Jeanne, this –"

"You need to eat," she said firmly. "Come out on the balcony."

He followed her and sat down. She'd ordered waffles and eggs and sausage, and it all looked great. "Trying to fatten me up?" he asked facetiously.

"Maybe," she replied. "Have you lost weight?"

He had a mouthful of waffle, so he couldn't answer immediately. He shook his head, chewing quickly and swallowing. "Maybe some. I've been working out."

"How well have you been eating?"

He shrugged. "Well enough, I guess," he said. "About this room, I'm not sure –"

Jeanne broke in on him. "I just wondered, because stress can do strange things to people's appetites."

"Jeanne, I can't afford a room like this," Tony said in a rush.

"So what?" she asked. "You wouldn't worry if it was an apartment."

"It's not an apartment," Tony replied. "It's a very expensive hotel room."

She shook her head. "Don't do this, Tony. Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't turn into the kind of guy who can't handle it when a woman has more money than he does."

"This has nothing to do with you being a woman," Tony protested. "I just don't like sponging on people, that's all. If this was your apartment, I'd talk about rent if I thought I was going to be in it for a while."

"Even if we were together? I mean, if you were living with someone, and you were together, would you . . . I mean . . ."

Tony watched her flounder for a moment, then reached out and took her hand. "Yes, Jeanne, I'd talk about rent if I was staying with a girlfriend long term."

"About rent, or about splitting the expenses?"

"About some kind of sharing of expenses, yes," Tony said. He let go of her hand and started eating again. "I mean, if you ask McGee and Ziva, they'll probably tell you that I'm a major mooch, but ten bucks here and there for lunch is entirely different from . . . from letting someone support you wholly."

Jeanne gazed at him thoughtfully. "What if . . . just say, if you were with someone who had a lot more money than you, would you want to live in a place that you could afford, or would you be willing to live someplace more . . . what she could afford?" He knit his brows, not sure what she was asking or why. Her eyes widened. "Not that your place . . . it was really nice, and it was kind of interesting to see it because I hadn't ever seen it before, and it was . . . while definitely a guy's apartment, it was elegant."

Tony snorted. "Grandma's antiques will do that for you."

Jeanne shook her head earnestly. "No, it was more than just that. It was well put together, a nice mix of modern and antique. Not at all the usual bachelor pad, or frat house. I think that's what I expected from . . . what little you said about your place."

"Well, I had to discourage you from wanting to come over. If you had, you might have seen my mail or any of a dozen things that said the wrong name. And we weren't funded to the point of having a separate dwelling for me." He took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know how soon I'll be able to move because I don't know when my place is going to be released by the FBI, and then I'll have to hire movers, not to mention finding the new place. It could take a while, and I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you." Nor did he want to feel like he was taking advantage of her, but he didn't say that aloud.

"You didn't ask, I offered," Jeanne said. "And if you're really worried about it, we can start looking for a place for you as soon as you want. I need to find a place myself. I'd planned to call a realtor today anyway."

"You'd planned . . ." Tony furrowed his brow, puzzled. "For me?"

"No, I'm moving back to the area," she replied, and Tony's heart stopped briefly, then started beating far too quickly. "My stint with Médecins Sans Frontières is up in another seven weeks, and I've already taken a job with George Washington University Hospital. I came back for the interview and . . . and to see you if I could swing it."

Tony gave her a wry look. "You swung it," he said.

She grimaced. "I was hoping for something a little more casual," she said. "Not quite so dramatic."

"Is that why you were at that bar?" He shook his head. "But I never took you there. It's one of my old haunts, so it wouldn't have been smart."

"I know," she said, and she colored. "I hired a private detective to look into . . . a number of things. After I figured out that I was a complete idiot, I decided it was smarter to know . . ." She flushed hotter. "I'm not saying that . . . I mean . . ."

"Good," he said firmly, and she looked at him with startled eyes. "I sometimes think every woman should have her boyfriend investigated before she goes anywhere alone with him."

"Oh."

"I'm a cop, Jeanne, I see the aftermath when it goes wrong."

"I thought you'd be annoyed," she said.

He shrugged and finished off his breakfast. Then he stared down at his empty plate, a little surprised. He hadn't eaten a full meal like that in a while, but talking had let him just put it away.

A knock on the door made him look up. Jeanne was still eating, so he rose. "I'll get it," he said. She looked briefly concerned, but then subsided into her chair. He went to the door and checked through the peephole. With a sigh, he opened the door and let Agent Glick in. "Good morning, Agent Glick. I trust you had a more pleasant awakening than I did."

"I . . . probably did," she said, walking past as he stepped back to let her in. "That's actually what we came to talk to you about." She was followed by Fornell. Tony closed the door behind them and wondered how Jeanne was going to react to this invasion of what he definitely thought of as her space.

She had come in off the balcony when he got around the corner and was greeting the guests in her own, smooth fashion. Tony cleared his throat. "So, do you want to talk to me alone, or . . ."

"That would probably be better," Glick said. She turned to Jeanne. "If you don't mind, Dr. Benoit, or is there another room we can use?"

"I'll just go finish my breakfast," Jeanne said, and she went back out on the balcony, shutting the door behind her. Tony found he wanted to call her back, but he repressed the urge. Taking a seat on one of the chairs, he waited for them to ask their questions. He knew how he'd handle the situation if the case were his, but it wasn't.

"Agent DiNozzo, can –"

"Tony," he said, interrupting her. "Please, just call me Tony."

"Very well. Please tell me about the phone call you received this morning."

Tony grimaced. He didn't really want to talk about this. "I was asleep in bed when I heard the new phone ringing. I didn't recognize the ring tone, so it took me a minute to register that it was my phone." Glick was nodding. He was providing too much information about irrelevancies. He took a deep breath. "I answered, he . . . he said it was good to hear my voice and asked if I'd been asleep because I sounded sleepy. I asked him how he got the number, and he asked if I knew where he was. I said in holding with the FBI, I thought, and he told me I had to get him out because I knew he didn't belong there." He grit his teeth. "I pointed out that he'd attacked me in a number of ways and asked him where he thought he belonged. He said . . . he said in bed with me and started describing what he'd be doing if he were. I threw the phone across the room when . . ." He shook his head. "Do you really want the details of what he said?" he asked, knowing what the answer had to be.

"Word for word, please, Tony," she said.

Tony glanced at Fornell, who had the gall to look sympathetic, and stood up in a sudden motion. He stalked over to the desk under the window and sat down. In quick motions, he wrote out what the conversation had consisted off on both sides and threw the pen down. Rising again, he turned around and handed the page to Glick. "There. That's it."

"Thank you, Tony." She looked at the page. Tony walked across the room to grab himself a soda from the fridge so he wouldn't have to watch her read it. "It cuts off in the middle of a word," she said after a moment.

"That's all I heard," Tony said, still facing the refrigerator. "I threw the phone across the room because I didn't want to hear any more."

"I see. I think we can infer the rest of the –"

"Is that all?" Tony demanded, turning around. "Or did you have other questions? Questions you didn't get to ask yesterday because I freaked out and Director Shepard told you to beat it?"

Glick shook her head. "No, that's it. I would like to express my distress that Detective Harris was able to –"

"I don't really want to hear it, I'm sorry," Tony said. "If you're done, please . . . please just go."

"Okay, DiNutso," Fornell said. "Come on, Agent Glick."

"It will not happen again," Glick said, and then she left.

Tony downed the soda, then walked back out on the balcony. "Jeanne, have you ever visited the Smithsonian?" he asked.

"Some of it, why?"

"I want to go somewhere, and that seems like a nice neutral where."

"Then let's go," she said with a smile.