Wednesday, 1136, NCIS Headquarters
McGee sat back, staring at the screen, stunned. All this time, the CIA watching Harris assault man after man, and the reason for the connection gave them nothing – no help whatsoever.
"McGee, what are you doing?" Gibbs demanded, and McGee realized that he'd been sitting still for a longish time.
"I found the connection between Vargas and Harris, Boss," McGee said. Gibbs' eyebrows rose and Ziva got up and walked over.
"What?" she asked.
"In 1993, Harris saved a little girl named Magdalena Abelardo from a serial killer," McGee said, and they both looked at him impatiently, waiting for the connection. "Magdalena Abelardo is Eliseo Vargas' niece."
Gibbs stared at him, and Ziva's eyes went wide. "Harris rescued Vargas' niece?" Ziva said, clearly looking for clarification.
"Yes," McGee said.
"So, the connection is that Harris was a good cop?" Gibbs asked.
"Apparently," McGee said with a grimace.
Ziva laughed aloud, and McGee raised his eyebrows at her, giving Gibbs a sidelong look, expecting their boss to freak out. "Something to share, David?"
"The CIA believes that they can make use of this connection to learn information of interest to their investigations into Eliseo Vargas. It is amusing to me."
Gibbs snorted and shot his most junior agent a calculating look. "McGee, document this information and get it to Agent Preston."
"Yes, Boss," McGee said with a grin. "I could also send it to his supervisor, to make certain it doesn't get overlooked."
Gibbs gave him an approving glance. "You do that, McGee," he said.
McGee suppressed the urge to gloat. For one thing, with Tony not present it wasn't nearly as much fun. For another, Gibbs tended to say cutting things when he felt they were enjoying themselves too much. Instead he just reveled internally in the implied praise and did his job.
Wednesday, 1512, Georgetown
"When can we move in?" Jeanne asked Margie once the papers were signed.
"Now, so far as I'm concerned," Margie said, and Tony grinned at Jeanne. "Here are the keys. Call me if you have any questions or need anything." She took Jeanne's arm and led her away slightly. "And we need to do lunch," she said as they moved away.
Tony walked into the next room. They'd signed the papers in the kitchen, on the counter. He wandered through the dining room into the front hall, looking around. There was a hall tree in storage that would do nicely in here. He couldn't believe he was actually doing it – actually moving in with Jeanne. He opened the front door and stepped out into the small areaway in front of the house. The only thing that marred his pleasure in this turn of events was the knowledge that his father and many of the people he knew would believe that he was only after the money and the lifestyle. Even some of his friends might believe it.
Then he thought of Jeanne, and his heart warmed. It didn't matter what anyone else thought, so long as they knew the truth.
"Tony?"
He turned back into the house and closed the door. "I'm in the front hall!" he called. Footsteps echoed in the empty room. He put out his arm as she approached and she slid right into his embrace, into a spot that felt to him like it was made for her. "Are you happy?" he asked.
"Yes," she said a little breathlessly. "And terrified."
"I think that's healthy," he said, and Jeanne laughed. "So, do you want to start planning rooms, or do you want to do something completely unconnected?"
"What did you have in mind?"
Tony shrugged. "Miniature golf?"
After locking the front door, they went out the back way. After window shopping, they'd taken a cab to Tony's apartment building to pick up his car. "I'm surprised you didn't go with another Mustang," she said.
"I did," Tony replied, thinking nostalgically of the cherry Mustang he'd bought with the insurance money and danger bonus. "But it got totally trashed a while back, so I've elected not to buy any more classic cars. I just don't seem to have good luck with them. I mean, the Mustang you knew was even part of the frame for my first accusation of murder."
"You mentioned that before. What happened?"
Tony shrugged. "It dates a long way back, to when I was a Baltimore cop."
"You were accused of murder in Baltimore?" Jeanne asked. "That didn't turn up in any of my Google searches."
"No, the problem originated in Baltimore," Tony said. "See, there was a case where the forensics wound up totally screwed, and I went to check out the lab to see what had happened. I found all sorts of stupid violations, and that got the head of the lab fired."
"Good," Jeanne said, and Tony raised an eyebrow. "Did someone get off because of what he did?"
"Yeah, a murderer," Tony replied.
"As I said, good."
Tony shrugged. "Well, it turns out he wasn't actually responsible for the specific problem that screwed my case, so I guess he got his name cleared. I don't know why, the other issues I saw were his responsibility, but whatever. The whole thing screwed up his life, though, and he wound up changing his name and getting a job in another jurisdiction. Anyway, his proving that he wasn't the culprit meant he had to show who was, and that guy got fired. This second guy blamed both of us, but I guess because I was doing better than poor George Stewart, his anger focused on me."
"What did he do?"
"Well, first he got a job as Abby's assistant, which was a problem to start with," Tony said, and Jeanne's eyebrows went up. "Long story, Abby doesn't like assistants. Anyway, he started collecting things that he could use to create evidence. An apple for teeth marks, the bloody rag from when I got punched by an assassin."
"Assassin?" Jeanne exclaimed.
"Again, long story," Tony said. "So, he gets all the evidence together, creates his props, and then goes to George Stewart's place of employment – how he got in I still don't know – and cut the legs off a female cadaver."
"He cut the legs off?"
"Yes, and planted them, along with a rubber glove tip with my fingerprint on the inside, in a back lot out at Quantico. They had my teeth marks in a neatly excised bite, my blood, glue and fibers from my car's trunk and . . . I'm trying to think . . . that might be it. He was counting on the skills of Abby and Ducky to get the job done for him, and they came through in spades. Ducky managed to get a bite mark off underlying tissue, Abby matched it to my teeth, she found my fingerprint, my blood, and Chip himself found the glue from my trunk carpet. I was arrested and put in holding until they located the source of the legs. At that point, George Stewart was arrested."
"Thus getting the other guy responsible for . . . Chip? Is that the name?" Tony nodded. "For Chip's getting fired."
"Exactly. If Abby weren't a perfectionist, he might have tried again, but she kept testing to verify that Georgie boy acted alone. As it happened, he wasn't even involved. Chip was trying to take one or the other of us down, he wanted me, but George would do."
"So where is he now?"
"In prison, serving time for a number of crimes, not least of which is interfering with a corpse."
"That should be least," Jeanne said militantly. "You might have gotten the death penalty for that kind of murder."
Tony shrugged. "It was three years ago, over and done with, though I will get an alert when they release him, just to be on the safe side." He reached out and patted her leg. "So, being accused of a murder I didn't commit isn't exactly unfamiliar to me, and you didn't even do half as good a job as Chip did."
Jeanne gave him an anxious look. "That's always going to stand between us, isn't it?" she asked.
"As is the fact that I seduced you to get close to your father," Tony pointed out, his heart sinking. If she was already thinking that way . . . he shoved the negative thinking away. "I was just explaining. Besides, Chip tried to have me convicted as a serial killer, and an incompetent one at that. I like a crime of passion way better."
Jeanne laughed, which Tony interpreted as a good sign. It was what he'd been aiming for, and if the laugh was a little weak and emotionally charged, that was only to be expected. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. Nothing worth doing was easy.
Wednesday, 1705, NCIS Headquarters
Gibbs looked up when his desk phone rang. He'd sent McGee and Ziva home. Their perp was in jail and staying there, and there was no point in both of them working themselves into the ground. Picking up the phone, he said, "Gibbs."
"Boss, I . . ." DiNozzo's voice trailed off, and Gibbs sat up straight, abruptly worried. "I wondered if we could have dinner."
Gibbs blinked, disconcerted by the suggestion. His immediate response was to ask why, but he squelched that. Under the circumstances he thought he'd do better to give DiNozzo a little more leeway than usual. "You're not going out with Jeanne?" he asked.
"She's getting together with some friends from before, and I suspect I'm going to be one of the main topics of conversation, so I'd just as soon not be there."
"Do you want to go out, or would barbecue at my place work?"
DiNozzo was silent for a moment, as if Gibbs had startled him. "Your place would be fine," he said, and he sounded oddly relieved. "I've got my car, so I can meet you there."
"I'll be there in an hour," Gibbs said, and he hung up the phone. The only reason he could think of for DiNozzo to want to have dinner with him was that he had something to tell him. Couple that with an apparent preference for privacy, and Gibbs suspected he'd be smacking DiNozzo upside the head before long.
He finished things up and headed home, picking up a couple of steaks on the way. When he got there, he found DiNozzo's car out front and the lights on inside. Evidently, DiNozzo had taken advantage of the knowledge that Gibbs never locked his front door. Gibbs went in and found DiNozzo in the kitchen. He appeared to be making a salad.
"How are you feeling?" Gibbs asked.
DiNozzo didn't jump, but the front door made noise and his senior agent was used to his tendency to sneak up on people. "On average, I'm feeling pretty good," DiNozzo said. He tossed a double handful of sliced cucumbers into the bowl with lettuce and tomatoes, then turned around. His eyes were sparkling, but he had an oddly tentative air about him. Gibbs wasn't sure how to read it, and he wasn't used to that.
He put down the grocery bag and pulled out the steaks. "Have you heard back about that place?" he asked.
DiNozzo nodded, a touch of anxiety entering his eyes. "Actually, yes. That's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you."
"Oh yeah?" Gibbs glanced towards the back door. "I don't suppose you started the barbecue?" he asked.
DiNozzo snorted. "Too many years of anticipating your least little instruction," he said sardonically. "It's ready for grilling."
"How long have you been here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, ripping the steaks out of their packaging and heading out the back door.
"Long enough to get the grill ready for you," DiNozzo countered, which was a non-answer if Gibbs had ever heard one. "Want a beer?"
"Sure."
They set about the business of grilling meat, potatoes and corn, which DiNozzo had left, already wrapped in tinfoil, on the picnic table by the grill. DiNozzo was unusually quiet, and Gibbs wondered what was on his mind. He seemed a little edgy, but nothing out of line for his recent experiences. They drank beer and waited for the meat to cook in a companionable silence. Odd for DiNozzo, but not unprecedented. The man was more complex than most people gave him credit for.
"You want to eat out here?" Gibbs asked.
DiNozzo shrugged, but Gibbs sensed reluctance, so he loaded up the platter with the cooked food and they went inside to eat at the kitchen table. DiNozzo started chatting airily about sports, and Gibbs decided that he'd waited long enough. "So, what is it about this place you wanted to talk to me about, DiNozzo?" he asked in the middle of a story.
DiNozzo broke off and looked down at his plate. "I'm not sure how you'll feel about this, Boss, but I'm moving in with Jeanne."
Gibbs blinked at him. It was sooner than he'd expected, but that might just be a good sign. "Does she know?" he asked facetiously, just to see DiNozzo flounder.
The younger man's eyebrows drew together. "Of course, she . . . oh." He rolled his eyes. "We've signed lease papers on a house in Georgetown."
"Georgetown, huh?" Gibbs repeated. "Nice neighborhood."
"Mostly," Tony replied, seeming relieved. Gibbs knew what he'd been expecting, but he should have known his boss better than that. "All those embassies, though, it's kind of a rough crowd." They ate in silence for a few moments, then DiNozzo cleared his throat. "I kind of expected you to object," he said.
"None of my business, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, glancing up.
DiNozzo's brows drew together again. "But Brody was?"
"Jeanne's not going to pick you up and body slam you into a wall," Gibbs said. DiNozzo gazed at him for a moment, then his eyes dropped to his plate again. Gibbs could see the slight smile on his lips, however, and was satisfied that he understood the point.
"So, Boss, if I requested a week off at the end of my sick leave, would you grant it?"
Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "I don't know, DiNozzo, are you going to?"
DiNozzo nodded. "We need to go to New York."
"Visiting your dad?" Gibbs asked, startled.
"God, no," Tony replied. He scowled. "Though I suppose we might have to have dinner if he's in town."
"Then why are you going?" Gibbs asked.
"I've got a bunch of furniture in storage that will be perfect for the new place, and we need to check it out."
"Furniture in storage?" Gibbs repeated. If DiNozzo was pulling out the stuff he'd had in storage since 1994, then he was serious as a heart attack about this move.
DiNozzo just grinned and kept eating.