Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; original character in Scene I my own. The original story and scenario from "Believe Again" by Montana-Rosalie, FFN story ID #5047152 .

A/N: Please see A/N in first chapter about my shameful theft of Montana-Rosalie's beautiful Believe Again for this "sequel." I guess just one chapter wasn't enough to get it out if my system! This one takes even more liberties and encroaches even further, but she's still been kind enough to encourage it and vote for posting. So many, many thanks again to M-R for her generous and gracious sharing of her story and to Mari83 for reading and psychoanalysis ;}

And FYI, although each chapter can stand alone from each other, they're posted backward chronologically, as this would have happened first. Sorry 'bout that.

I'm still pretty new at writing NCIS, especially Gibbs, and though this is an AU, would appreciate any and all reviews, comments, and thoughts about this one –

Believing still

I.

In his years as a leader – as gunnery sergeant and as team leader at NCIS, once Franks had gone – Gibbs had always done whatever it took to do the right thing for his men – for his people, he reminded himself. He'd gone to more funerals than should have; even one was too many, but at least after all this time he had been spared more than a half dozen. He'd done hospital visits and more stops in the ER than he liked.

But this was a first, and he wasn't exactly sure how it should go.

He looked around the small, otherwise empty waiting room and saw the familiar posters listing his rights – and DiNozzo's rights – as a government employee, all of them taking on a new edge in light of recent events. This room was more frequently populated with those wanting to address a perceived wrong done to them by their employer, the federal government, and Gibbs found himself wondering how many of them had a legitimate claim or were just too soft to take whatever workload or discipline or direction their superior handed them.

And it struck him again why he was there, poking around in DiNozzo's behalf, and grimaced at his earlier thought. Maybe a little too quick to jump to conclusions about all those others, without having all the facts?

The door opened, and an attractive woman with an open file in her hand paused just one more moment, scanning its contents, before looking up to make eye contact. "Special Agent Gibbs?"

He rose, nodding soberly, without speaking, and was rewarded with an easy smile.

"C'mon back."

As he approached her, she didn't move from the doorway right away, but extended a hand and offered "Claire Avery" before turning and leading Gibbs down a short corridor lined with familiar looking, government issue carpet and cubicle dividers and file cabinets. At an office with an open door bearing the nameplate, "Claire Avery, Director," she turned in and came around a desk flanked by bookshelves full of statute books and legal-looking circulars.

"Have a seat, Agent Gibbs. My assistant said you had some questions about one of your employees."

"One of my team, yes..." He wasn't certain how much this woman would have been told, and hadn't been all that confident that the information he'd left with the receptionist was what he needed to give them. Still, somehow it had managed to get him into the Director's office.

"What's up?"

He looked up at the clear blue eyes, focused on him in open curiosity and interest, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Even though this was worlds away from an interrogation, Gibbs still felt decidedly out of place being the one interviewed, by someone so clearly used to being in charge of such discussions. He tried reminding himself that she was on DiNozzo's side; hers would be the office to take up his case on his behalf, at least internally, should it be needed. He even tried to remind himself that if he weren't so concerned about DiNozzo's immediate future he'd make note that a very attractive woman was focused entirely on what he had to say, looking as if she would be a good listener, and that if he'd been himself he might even speculate that she'd make an effective interrogator...

So maybe he was starting to relax, a little.

He drew a breath, refocused on why he was there, and said evenly, "I have a man who was injured on the job, and is in rehabilitation now. He's scheduled to receive his medical release to return to duty by the end of the month," Gibbs paused, then added, "but he won't meet all the qualifications to be a field agent anymore. I don't want to badger him into returning to work if NCIS won't take him back, at least in another capacity."

"What was his injury?" the Director asked.

"Head injury. Coma for four months, but ..." Had he not said it out loud before? Gibbs suddenly found himself suspecting that he had not. "He's blind now."

"No sight at all?"

"None." Why did that matter? And why did it make him want to cringe as he answered?

"And it's permanent?"

"Yes." He answered quickly, flatly, without emotion. Like pulling off a band-aid, the thought came unbidden...

But Director Avery was nodding, apparently weighing all the details. "Any other remaining effects of the coma or his head injury?"

"No; he has a clean bill of health otherwise – or will. His doctor said it was a done deal, no surprises expected."

"Good." She smiled a little. "And he was a regular employee up until then, full time, no problem, would have kept going as he was if not for this injury?" Gibbs simply nodded this time, and the woman's expression seemed to soften just sightly so her smile was more settled. "Then it's up to the agency – to NCIS's Director – to determine if there's a vacancy in the agency that he can fill, given all his qualifications. They have to make reasonable accommodation to his blindness – switch whatever the work might be from a print source to auditory, for example."

"But if there's no vacancy?" Gibbs brow darkened. He thought he knew most of the goings on in NCIS and didn't think there were too many openings at the moment. There were none connected with investigation or law enforcement ...

"Well, that could be a problem," the Director said. "Would he be willing to relocate?"

Relocate? Alone? And now, without sight? Or maybe not alone after all ... DiNozzo relocates, and the team loses Ziva too? "I don't know," he replied honestly, looking her straight in the eye.

Gibbs' focus on the problem at hand was redirected only slightly by the woman's reaction to that, and he knew he'd telegraphed his own thoughts on the question. "Just another part of the options," she offered with a sympathetic look. "It has to be a real review for vacancies, Agent Gibbs. They can't force your man to relocate, and they'd have to go through some hoops before they could tell him it was the only way he could stay at NCIS."

Gibbs nodded again, again silently, mulling over the information he'd just obtained. Of course he'd thought about the sort of work Tony might do, there at the Yard, where he'd still be on site with everyone from the team, and where, even if he wasn't in the field anymore, he'd have Abby and Ducky there just as always. But the positions Gibbs had considered were either full at the moment – or existed only in his head as something he'd concocted, suiting DiNozzo's talents, but not something they'd ever had as an actual position...

"Agent Gibbs..." The Director interrupted his thoughts. "You don't know yet if your man is interested in coming back?"

"I know my agent. He'll want to." His reply was quiet but left no room for doubt.

"Well, then I suggest this. Your coming here today to ask about his employment rights was admirable. No matter what happens, you should suggest he stop by himself. I have some information for him that he probably won't get anywhere else – what he has a right to expect, what he can and can't anticipate being accommodated for him, what sort of adaptive equipment the Service will have to provide for him if he needs it and what they won't. A lot of people don't know that they can come here first and be armed with that information, so you've done him a big service there. And your next step – or, his, if you don't want to take the next step on his behalf – is to see your Director about vacancies within the Service, at whichever site or sites he's interested in working. He may have to make some of those decisions based on transportation availability, that sort of thing."

Gibbs could see that she was watching him closely for his reaction, and for a moment thought she acted as if it were he and not DiNozzo who had been injured...

"... the Director can determine the job requirements for each vacancy, and from there assess what if any adjustments have to be made for your man to do the job. It has to be an honest appraisal; we find that many times what the agency head thinks can't be reasonably accommodated just needs a bit more creative planning – we can be pretty useful at that part of the process as well." She offered him an encouraging smile, and Gibbs finally started to believe this might just be possible – because Claire Avery seemed to think it was, and she clearly knew what hoops lay ahead for DiNozzo to jump through...

"At that point, your guy and the Director put their heads together and with luck, they'll agree on a job placement. If their luck needs a boost – again, we're on call for that too. If that doesn't work out ... we can get with your agent and see about the next step."

Gibbs nodded again, nothing else to add, then finally looked back to her and shrugged. "I suspect – you have quite a way with the 'next step,' Director Avery."

She grinned a quick and winning smile. "My track record is pretty okay."

Gibbs finally chuckled – maybe the first time he had since he'd gotten the news that he had two agents down, all those months ago. He stood. "I just bet it is." He paused another awkward minute and added, "thank you."

"Best of luck to your man, Agent Gibbs. I'd say he's pretty lucky to have you looking out for him."

At that, Gibbs sighed – you can't be there with them every moment, Jethro, he heard Ducky's voice replay yet again in his head – but this time managed to believe it, maybe just a little. He tipped his head at her words and said softly, "he's one of my best – whatever you can do for him here, whatever he needs – he's earned it all, and more. Whatever we can offer him, if he wants it – he'll do the job proud, no question."

"I believe you." She cocked her head slightly, assessing him, and her smile again warmed the room. She leaned across her desk to lift a couple of her business cards from their holder and hand them to him. "Any questions either of you have – or if Director Vance needs to discuss any of this – just give me a call."

And once again, a rusty but genuine smile touched Gibbs lips as he took a step toward the door. "We'll let you know."

II.

At least the week had been quiet, and as the team finished their reports and offered their assistance to another major case team working through an especially long list of witnesses, Gibbs glanced at his watch – just past 4:00 p.m., and an optimal time to see Vance. While the Director worked late often enough, and was out of town more time than he liked, he was also a family man and wouldn't be as apt to think kindly of granting favors when the person seeking them was keeping him from dinner with his wife and kids.

With an involuntary glance to the stairs first, before watching Ziva and McGee disappear into the elevator as they left to join Grayson's team for interviews, Gibbs rose to cross the squad room quickly and take the stairs two at a time. He decided not to push his luck, letting Cynthia announce him, although he hovered close behind her at the open door. Vance seemed to be in a fairly good mood, nodding him in immediately. "Gibbs," he offered.

"Leon." Gibbs waited for Cynthia to close the door behind her, then began, "Tony's scheduled to be released from rehab a week from Friday. He'll be medically cleared then too," Gibbs added, watching the Director for any slip in his deadpan demeanor. "If he wants to come back to work – what will you tell him?"

Vance tipped his head slightly in curiosity. "It wouldn't do me any good to suggest that's a conversation that I ought to have with DiNozzo, not you..."

"C'mon, Leon, hasn't he been through enough? If Tony wants to work, I want to be here to get his six on it, as much as I can do for him to get him back up to speed. If not, then I want to back him on whatever he decides to do. But I'm not going to let him get his hopes up that he can come back if you don't have a place for him."

"And getting his six includes a trip to EEOC?" Vance asked mildly, eyebrows lifting.

"I wasn't trying to go behind your back, Leon," Gibbs said tiredly, barely concerned how the Director knew, given the weight of his reasons for his trip there, "just gathering information."

"I understand. And I admire your dedication to your agent."

"They said you have to reassign him..." Gibbs began.

Vance considered the senior agent, the traces of strain still lingering around his eyes and mouth, never quite gone from the time DiNozzo had first been injured and deepened once the agent awoke again with less than a completely clear bill of health. "Did they? Or did they say I have to determine what vacancies are available in the Service that he could do, and assess him for reassignment?" He watched for any sign that Gibbs conceded him the point. "I'm familiar with Section 501, Jethro, it comes with the territory."

He anticipated what would come next in that bare moment before Gibbs focused on the next issue to growl, "well, there aren't exactly any vacancies around here, are there, Leon, other than DiNozzo's old desk? You got anything for him anywhere close, or are you going to offer him something out in some Godforsaken prairie state?"

"What makes you think there aren't any vacancies?" Vance's voice did not raise, and his calm didn't break, but the sound was a bit more brittle and stiff, until he drew a breath to add, "and what makes you think I wouldn't find a way for DiNozzo to stay on here – assuming he wants to," he probed.

"He'll want to." The reply was terse.

"He will? Or you'll make him want it?"

"Do you have something to offer him to come back to, Leon? 'Cause if I go out there and convince him to come back to work and there's nothing here for him – "

"If you go out and convince him to come back to work, yeah, I have a couple ideas. He can come see me when he gets out of rehab."

"Real jobs, though, right? You give him some phonied up make-work job, he's gonna know."

Vance considered his senior field agent, letting the man continue once again to skirt the edge of insubordination because he understood and even sympathized with its source – not a disrespect for the office or even for him personally, but a fierce protectiveness for his fallen man. Maintaining a level tone, his voice lost some of its casual tone and he spoke more firmly. "I don't have either the time or the inclination to invent something for him when he can be an asset. Now – is there anything else?" Vance asked, clearly done with the encounter.

"Yeah," Gibbs snapped. Vance merely looked at him, waiting, finally gesturing in a shrug as if to ask what he had. Gibbs looked him in the eye, his brow drew again, and he again looked more tired than Vance had ever seen him. "Thanks."

"DiNozzo's a good man, one I'd rather not lose if we can work something out."

Gibbs nodded, finally letting a bit of the relief he felt trickle into his thoughts. "Yeah, Leon – me too."

III.

On arrival on Bethesda's campus, Gibbs drove past the hospital facilities to the rehab complex and, cleared through the front desk, made his way past the expected physical therapy rooms, classrooms and activity rooms to the dorm-like common room with TV, computer stations, and a large coffee machine he'd noted on his one previous trip here.

Had it really been six weeks? No matter how often he told himself he'd stayed away because Tony was busy here, working on both learning the skills he needed to cope with his blindness and rebuilding muscle atrophied by months in a coma, he knew deep down that it had been in good part because it was far harder for him visiting here than in any hospital room or emergency department. Was it the finality it represented, a submission to the fact that things – that Tony – wouldn't miraculously recover?

Gibbs found himself wondering if Tony would be driven as crazy in his place as he would be, and allowed that Tony might be even more so. He also suspected DiNozzo would find ways to stick it out longer than he would – maybe more vocal about his irritation, true – but ultimately, he would be stubborn enough to outlast even him. Hell, he'd always beat the odds; not even the plague could make him give up...

His eyes closed involuntarily at the memory for a moment, until he drew a sharp breath as he reminded himself why he was here...

The moment passed quickly, and Gibbs glanced around the open room, empty in the late afternoon, the faint sounds of people coming from a few directions. "DiNozzo?" a staffer he'd stopped had repeated, glancing at his watch. "Try the gym, all the way at the end of the main corridor."

Gibbs heard the sound before he saw him through the gym's large window, the soft, rhythmic pounding of feet on a treadmill – and Gibbs looked in to see DiNozzo in an otherwise empty gym, jogging doggedly. He was pushing himself; he looked worn, his grey t-shirt drenched in sweat, his hair damp now too. Four months in a coma had left even the larger than life special agent thinner, his muscles wasted through disuse, and it had taken many days before Tony could manage more than a few halting steps on shaky limbs. And that hadn't even been a full two months ago.

Gibbs wasn't surprised to see his senior field agent – his former senior field agent, he had to remember – pushing things, pushing hard, pushing to get back his strength, working to restore as much of himself as he could. He was still too thin, but he was gaining back some muscle mass, which was good. But seeing him in shorts and his thin t-shirt, Gibbs couldn't help remember the concerns of his doctors, of Abby and Ziva, in those first weeks after he awoke – that DiNozzo wasn't eating much.

DiNozzo, not eating? DiNozzo, who could happily live on food others over the age of twelve found indigestible, not eating? That may have worried Gibbs more than the coma did.

Tony still, reportedly, found it hard to eat more than a small amount at each meal, enough that his doctors ordered regular, high-calorie snacks through the day. Now this apparent drive to get back in shape, running even after exhaustion, barely two months after a four month coma ...

Gibbs moved on from the large window into the doorway. "DiNozzo – " he barked.

DiNozzo's head popped up in surprise and stopped as immediately as the treadmill allowed. "Boss?"

It wasn't a question. At least, it wasn't the 'is that you?' someone unenlightened might have expected him to ask. Gibbs knew with all certainty that Tony knew damn well who it was, and that the question was more like 'what are you doing here?' He felt a sudden, brief regret that he hadn't come back earlier – DiNozzo would understand his reasoning, if he ever decided to explain, however unlikely – but the look on DiNozzo's face, an almost adolescent hope for his acceptance, even now, made him want to head-slap himself for the oversight...

"What are ya doin'?" His demeanor tough, as if nothing was different, Gibbs came close to the treadmill and peered over on the console – 6.2 miles. He winced, involuntarily, at both the read-out and the slight wheezing he heard in DiNozzo's soft panting. "Does Dr. Pitt know you're abusing your lungs out here?"

All through DiNozzo's coma, the doctor who had seen Tony through the plague and afterward had been a steady presence, checking his lungs, the fear of pneumonia bad enough for any comatose patient but especially for one whose lungs had been so compromised not all that long ago. Once Tony awoke, still in the main part of the hospital, Brad continued to check in on occasion, and Gibbs hoped he'd kept it up even though Tony had moved across campus to the rehab unit.

DiNozzo reached for the towel he'd draped on the treadmill's console arm and snorted softly, "he comes out and runs with us sometimes. I think he does it just so he can call on days like today – pollution index goes over a certain point, he orders them not to let me run outside." He scrubbed the towel over his face and across his neck. "I'm kinda sweaty, Gibbs, sorry – if I'd known you were coming..."

Gibbs refused to let himself hear any level of accusation in the younger man's tone, and drawled, "hell, DiNozzo, I'm used to ya." He nodded back toward the treadmill, "keep moving – walk some or you'll stiffen up."

With an awkward smile, the younger man nodded as he started up again, now just walking at a smooth, easy pace. After just a moment, though, he smiled a little sadly and said, "this isn't just a social visit, is it, Bos – uh, Gibbs..."

Again, not a question, and not a simple slip of the tongue. DiNozzo must have expected the visit and what he was likely to hear now from Gibbs. The senior agent fought the urge to tell Tony right then and there that he'd happily be "Boss" to him for as long as he wanted. But it would mean far more to just show him, he reminded himself, so tried a smirk. "Well, you tell me, DiNozzo – you're coming off medical status tomorrow, and..."

"... and you get to do the honors?" Tony stopped again, and again grabbed the towel, now around his neck, to swipe the sweat from his face. He stepped off the treadmill and faced Gibbs. " Look, let me save you the trouble. I know why you're here. NCIS special agents have to have 20/20 vision to be field agents. That old 20/10 I used to have has changed a bit."

Gibbs paused a moment then tried, "you done, DiNozzo?"

"Yes. No." Tony frowned and shook his head. "Boss, I'm sorry..."

"DiNozzo – "

"No, Gibbs, I want to apologize. I need to apologize. I apologize for apologizing, but... I messed up, and ... I'm sorry. I'm not sorry I did what I did, but ... I'm sorry I didn't duck. That was a probie move."

Another pause, and again, Gibbs spoke mildly. "You done?"

DiNozzo wavered, then said "No." His breathing sped up again slightly, not only from running. "Look – I know the requirements are correctable to 20/20; hell, there are only five requirements to be a field agent, Gibbs, and none of the others are physical requirements! And did you know, while we're at it, there are no I.Q. requirements – I could be as dumb as a rock and still be a special agent; hell, if it wasn't for this I'd've qualified in a coma, because there's no requirement that you even be conscious or non-vegetative or..."

The smack on the back of his head brought immediate silence to the room.

"You done now?" Gibbs tried once more.

There was a pause, a gulp amid DiNozzo's gradually quieting breaths. "Yeah, Boss."

"Well, then," Gibbs started speaking again, his voice still quieter than usual. "As I was saying – you're off medical status tomorrow. You coming back?"

DiNozzo blinked, stunned. "What?"

"They get your ears, too, DiNozzo, or did you just slip back into that coma?" Gibbs griped, the sound sweetly familiar to the injured agent. "Are – you – coming – ba..."

"I got that, Gibbs," Tony paused, as if to process. "But ... not on your team..."

"No, Tony – and I'm sorry about that." Gibbs' tone shifted now to a sincere, direct one. "We tried. We looked into some things, to see if we could work out something, but the Feds and funding right now..."

"But ... not some 'meet and greet' job or PR desk or some pity-filler job, is it? 'Cos Boss, that would be worse..."

"I know, Tony."

"I mean, there was a guy on Reno 911 a couple years ago, a shot up cop; they played it all for laughs but brought him back in and he was just a mess, ya know? And they just..."

"DiNozzo, do I have to smack you again? You know I will..."

DiNozzo stopped short, then conceded, "I know you will, Boss."

Gibbs didn't know if it was his health, the jogging, or facing what was to come at work, but Tony looked pale and less steady than he should. Kindly, he said, "c'mon, DiNozzo, there's got to be someplace around here we can sit and talk for a few minutes..."

Tony blinked a little, the thought of actually sitting and chatting not dawning on him, with the surprise – and what he thought was the purpose – of Gibbs' visit. "Oh, yeah, sure – sorry," he added, almost under his breath to sneak in another apology. "There's a door out at the end of the hall, just to the right – it goes outside to an area with some tables and benches. This time of day we might even have it to ourselves."

"Okay," Gibbs watched as Tony crossed over to a nearby bench to pick up a jacket and a bundle of white cylinders Gibbs recognized as being a white cane, folded up in non-use. To his mild surprise, Tony didn't open it but simply crossed out of the gym, allowing his fingers to only occasionally flick along the wall toward the door. Familiar enough with the place, then, that it wasn't needed? Gibbs had noticed a couple others inside when he first arrived, negotiating without a cane. Maybe they're not for inside use, then...

They crossed the hall silently, and DiNozzo pushed though a large exit door leading outside, to a small, picnic-like area that, as he predicted, was empty. Gibbs saw Tony pause only a moment, assessing, then move with only a bit less certainty toward a table near the door. "We're it, Boss?" Tony asked, putting his things on the table.

Gibbs joined him. "We're it." He slipped onto the attached bench as DiNozzo did the same. "Director Vance has a few ideas for you, if you want to come back to work. He knows where your skills lie – you're a damn good investigator and interrogator. What you've done with the team over the past eight years should translate pretty easily into analysis." Gibbs watched his agent carefully as it all began to sink in for him, that the dismissal he thought was inevitable was not going to come. The realization appeared to make Tony forget that Gibbs wouldn't be his 'Boss' anymore – at least not technically. DiNozzo's grin appeared in stages, growing ever wider as he realized what he was hearing...

"Well?" Gibbs pressed, hoping he hid the relief and satisfaction he felt at the response – the only reason Tony would be so relieved and pleased was that he didn't want to leave NCIS if he could help it. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it, DiNozzo."

"Only about getting fired," Tony replied immediately.

Gibbs snorted softly. "Yeah, well, about that," Tony had no problem at all hearing Gibbs' trademark smirk. "Turns out they couldn't do that anyway, DoNozzo, and they have an office to walk you through everything to make sure that you get everything you need to do your job, even if you can't see."

His eyebrows lifted slowly as he considered the information. "EEOC," he mused.

"Yeah. You know about them already?"

"It's been mentioned here. I just figured, though, with what we do and all the requirements, it wouldn't work out..."

"It'll work out."

DiNozzo was quiet for a moment, then looked as if he might apologize again. "It won't be the same as your team, though..."

"Maybe not – but you won't be too far away for a head slapping any time you need it – and I don't care where you work or even if you get promoted to a higher pay grade than me, the back of your head's still mine, you got that, DiNozzo?"

The younger man's face shifted to a sudden awe that, for the first time in many, many months, carried the signs of the old Tony DiNozzo. "I could be promoted over you?"

He was answered with another head slap, softer this time, affectionate. "You got that?" Gibbs repeated.

"Got it, Boss. Back of my head. Yours. In perpetuity."

"You haven't been home in a while. You need anything?"

"I don't know." Again, his answer was immediate and this time, nakedly honest. "I mean ... we've gone over my place, and went through everything, and they think I'm set. But I guess I'll see when I get there."

"You know, don't you, that Abby was organizing a 'welcome home' party for you tomorrow – at your place."

Tony nodded wearily, a rueful edge to his voice. "I know – Ziva told me. I enlisted her to convince Abby to put it off a week."

"Well, you may be the victim of a compromise, DiNozzo – " Amusement colored Gibbs' voice. "I think she bought you one day." He watched the mixed reaction in the man across from him – appreciation for Abby's concern and excitement for his return, with the uncertainty about whether he was up to having a crowd of people in a home he hadn't had time to learn by touch yet. "So what will you be doing Saturday night?"

"Having a party, I guess." Tony sighed, even as a small smile colored his lips. "You comin'?"

"You got any bourbon?"

"If I don't I can find some." DiNozzo was quiet for a moment, clearly Gibbs' news working back through his thoughts, and he sobered again, slightly. "Boss?" he tried in a quiet voice, turning his face more fully toward him.

"Yeah, DiNozzo?"

"Your coming here to tell me about the Director having some ideas for me to keep working..." He was as sober and serious as Gibbs had ever seen him. "That means ... you think I can do this, right? 'Cause you wouldn't come here and jerk my chain if you didn't..."

"Tony ..." Gibbs said quietly, "I know you can do this – 'cause if I didn't ..." He paused.

"...you wouldn't be here." Tony nodded slowly, looking as if he was starting to believe it.

"I wouldn't be here," Gibbs confirmed.

Tony sat quietly, mulling it over. After a few moments, his somber expression softened very slightly and his brow cleared as he nodded again slightly, unconsciously. "You wouldn't be here," he echoed in a whisper, nodding once more, as he tucked away Gibbs' confidence in him, holding it close.

Seeing it, Gibbs felt a pride in the man who had come so far – at every turn proving Gibbs' confidence in him was justified, in hiring him so long ago, in trusting that he'd want to come back to work – even if so much of it was done on his own, unconventional terms. And it's that lack of convention in him that makes him an asset, augments the usual uncreative thinkers, Gibbs reminded himself. It wouldn't be long at all before DiNozzo got that better pay grade.

"I need coffee," he announced. "Why don't you wash off that stench and we'll go across the street – you look like you could use one of those Gawdawful concoctions that's more milkshake than coffee..."

DiNozzo brightened. "With real whipped cream," he agreed.

"Enjoy it while you can, DiNozzo – you have too many of 'em, they'll decide they're too many calories even for you."

"Sounds good." DiNozzo stood up and gathered up his things. Not hearing Gibbs move, he tried, "you comin,' Boss?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Nice out here. Why don't I just wait for you right here?"

"You got it... back in two minutes..." Gibbs didn't turn as Tony passed him and went back into the building.

He sighed, slumping slightly to lean on the table where he sat. It had gone well – maybe better than he'd expected, even though he'd had all confidence in DiNozzo and his choice to return to work – yet the meeting had drained him for the moment. He'd been right then, hadn't he, that it was the finality of what this place represented and the pain he felt that Tony had to go through this that made a visit here so hard. Tony would land on his feet and make lemonade of these lemons, as well as anyone he knew – and maybe that's why it felt so unfair that he had to...

Gibbs drew a deep breath and decided that he'd mourned Tony's loss long enough. Knowing DiNozzo, he was going to need some reassurance along the way, and needed someone around who wasn't afraid to kick a blind guy's ass. DiNozzo knew him well enough to trust that he'd do just that when it was called for. And as he shifted his long legs from under the table to the outside of the bench, Gibbs sat back to lean against the table, shaking off the last of his sadness for the agent, and felt his frame relax as he let go of the tension he'd carried with him all this time.

IV.

Once again, Gibbs found himself in the small waiting room of the District's EEOC office, but this time felt far less overwhelmed and worried than he had his last trip there. He even smiled a bit to himself as he remembered his not so subtle confession of thirty minutes earlier...

It was 3:45 and with a glance first over toward his Mossad liaison officer, he called out, "David! Barrington! I need you two to go to DC Metro and escort a witness back here."

Ziva had looked up at him immediately and opened her mouth to protest, but immediately shut it and shook herself slightly. She pulled out her phone to say, "A fast call then, Gibbs? I was to pick up Tony at..."

'Yeah, I know, David. Why do you think I waited until now to send you?" He allowed a grin. "Tell him I'll pick him up at... ?"

"4:15," the woman replied with a grudging smile of her own starting. "Hello – Tony," she spoke into the phone. "Change of plans – Gibbs will pick you up at 4:15 instead of me." There was a short pause and she answered his unheard question, grinning slyly toward Gibbs, "he assigned me to transport duty apparently just so that he could come instead." The glance she shot at Gibbs, as if to challenge him for his action, actually made him chuckle. After another word or two she shut her phone, stood, and grabbed her jacket. "He said he does not know if his life is less or more in danger with the change."

Remembering the exchange, Gibbs chuckled again, willing to feel some hope that things would work out for Tony. Of course the younger man had babbled on to him about his insecurities and complaints and speculation about the new position – more than once – but it was all so perfectly DiNozzo, after too many months of a subdued and less frenetic Tony, that he couldn't help but think it was a good sign.

He had barely checked in with the receptionist, waiting only a couple minutes, before he heard some voices in the hall behind the door, one clearly DiNozzo's. The other he remembered from the last time. The door opened and DiNozzo was front and center – with Director Claire Avery only a step behind him. "DiNozzo," he said immediately, having gotten the hang of things with Ziva's frequent reminders – he was going to have to tell her she needed to relax, he mused – and smiled at the woman he remembered from before. "Director Avery."

"Special Agent Gibbs – it's nice to see you again."

He nodded, almost saying nothing, but couldn't help his smile from moving up a bit higher as he registered she really was as attractive as he'd remembered – maybe even more so. "Me too," he conceded.

Tony's eyebrows shot up in gleeful interest. "You two know each other?" he tried for an innocent delivery.

"We met only the one time, when he came in to see about getting information for you," the woman said smoothly. Tony beamed in response. Gibbs tried not to roll his eyes too noticeably in case Claire would think some of it was for her.

Gibbs was gratified to find that DiNozzo maintained some decorum as the three of them spoke for another few minutes, and even managed to make small talk on the way out to his car. But once buckled into the passenger seat in Gibbs' car, they'd barely made it out of the parking lot before he started in.

"So what was all that, back in the office, with the Director coming out and making all that small talk with you? You know her before?" Tony asked again.

"Nope," Gibbs replied.

"Well, she was friendly to me, but pretty businesslike, what with all the pamphlets and forms and all we decided I didn't need to get down to these." He jiggled the folder of federal forms and circulars he'd brought out with him. "You know, Boss," Tony started pestering in earnest, his voice shifting into the long unused sound usually more in keeping with picking on McGee or bugging Ziva for personal info, "when I hung up and said it was just a change of ride, that my old boss was coming, the Director asked if it was you. When I told her it was, we suddenly spent a lot more time talking about the team – and you – than anything about the new job." He let that sink in for a moment before he asked, curiosity clearly engaged, "so all of that was just from your one visit here before?"

"Guess so, DiNozzo," Gibbs grunted, smiling to himself.

And whatever Tony heard in the response, he suddenly grinned widely and turned to face him. "You didn't come here to check up on me at all, did you, Boss? This was all about you coming by to see the Director again!"

Gibbs glanced over to see a conspiratorial grin he hadn't seen since the long-absent, over-aged juvenile had last appeared in the squad room – and it did Gibbs worlds of good to see it again, to know that Tony – the real Tony – was on his way back. With a mock growl, he snapped, "what do you think, DiNozzo?" He turned onto the Beltway to take them back to the Navy Yard – and NCIS. "She's a redhead..."