American Heavy Metal

by Yanagi-wa

Gibbs and Co have to take leave time or lose it. They decide to take a road trip on motorcycles. They visit Gibbs Dad and go camping and fishing.

2. Chapter 2

. Chapter Two .

Gibbs got up early―Marine training still stuck― and managed a shower before the rest of his housemates were organized. He barely made it out of the shower before Remy was knocking. "Hey! Come on, I gotta piss."

"Hold your water, LeBeau, gimme a sec." Gibbs finished rinsing quickly and grabbed a towel off the rack. "Damn impatient asshole."

Remy started his business, grumbling, "Well, shit, Viper, you won't let us go in the back yard, and Dean's in the other head."

Gibbs just started drying off. "No pissing in the back yard. Mrs. Landers got an eyeful last month. Called the homeowners' association. I do not need another call from that bunch of busybodies." He dragged on shorts and jeans, muttering about 'damn nosy, busybody control freaks'.

It wasn't long before the whole group was gathered in the kitchen, drinking coffee and waiting for Gibbs to finish breakfast. He'd taken over much of the cooking and left cleanup to the others. He'd gotten tired of the arguments about who could and couldn't cook and who could make what better. Not to mention the grumbling about guacamole in the chili and other things.

Remy's phone rang while he had a mouth full of eggs. He answered it anyway. "Ya." He listened while he chewed and swallowed. "Okay. We'll be ready." He hung up without saying good-bye. "That was AJ. He and Tim'll be here in about thirty. Need to finalize plans on who's bringing what and what we all need to bring for ourselves." He got up. "I'll make more coffee."

Tim and Tony showed up exactly twenty minutes later and just walked in. One of the first things Gibbs did every morning was unlock the front door. None of his roomies was comfortable with his habit of leaving the doors unlocked, so they were now locked at exactly 2100 every night and unlocked by the first person, Gibbs, up in the morning.

"Good morning. I come bearing ... bearclaws." Tony dropped the pastry box on the table with a small flourish. "And do not Bogart all the apple fritters. Pigs." He flopped down in a chair, was presented with a cup of coffee and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

Tim cringed. "AJ! Damn it, how to you keep from blistering your mouth?"

Tony shrugged. "Asbestos mouth. I've always been able to drink nearly boiling stuff." He finished his coffee in another gulp, then crammed half a fritter into his mouth.

Tim sighed and changed the subject. "Where's Jimmy? He should be here."

Gibbs frowned at his phone. "I think I got a text from him ... but I have no idea how to read it. Here," he shoved his phone into Tim's hand. "Show me. AJ tried but ... he doesn't make any sense. What the hell is a soft button? They're all hard plastic."

Tim glowered. "Damn it, I've explained this at least a dozen times. I swear, if you were one of my Webelos I'd make you write it out ten times."

Gibbs flushed. "I know. But ... well, I'm a stubborn asshole. So ... show me again. Slowly. And explain. If I forget again, I'll take my lumps like a Marine."

So Tim went through it all again, slowly, explaining soft buttons and functions for what felt like the thousandth time.

It only took a couple of minutes to retrieve the message; Jimmy's text said he'd be there shortly after 8 a.m., as soon as he saw Ducky and Abby off.

He showed up at exactly five minutes after, apologizing for being late.

He was given a cup of coffee, just as he liked it, and his favorite doughnut. "Okay. I've checked; I can borrow a tent from a cousin, but it's small. Three-man, but four will fit," he grinned, "If you're really friendly. It's old and bulky; heavy as lead too."

Tim shook his head. "Best leave it. I've got one that's better. Five-man, light-weight, low-bulk. It fits into a compression pack, turns out about eight-by-twelve. Not counting the poles, but they break down into a tube that's about the same length and three inches in diameter. And I've got four sleeping bags; they'll take up about nine cubic inches each. Titanium cook set that all fits into the biggest pot. About another cubic foot. So ... my gear, including personal stuff, takes up about two cubic feet. Jimmy?"

Jimmy shrugged. "I'll use one of your sleeping bags, if I can. The rest of my stuff fits into a duffel, about a cubic foot. So that leaves about ..." he paused as he did some mental math.

Tim consulted his iPad. "The trunk of the trike holds two cubic feet, the trailer three and a half. We put our personal stuff, that includes sleeping bags, ground cloth, blue pad and pillows, in the trunk. We've still got about enough space for the cook set. That leaves the trailer for the tent and ..." he fiddled a moment. "Two and a half cubic feet of space for other stuff. I'd suggest another tent, slop chest and food, first aid kit, that sort of thing."

Gibbs couldn't help a quick smile. "Jimmy and Ducky fixed up a kit. Swear it looks like a field medic kit."

Jimmy interjected. "It's not. It's a full tactical kit. I can do anything a field hospital can do, right out of that and it's only a cubic foot. There's not a whole lot of anything, but there's a lot of different stuff."

Tony snickered. "I'm bringing my tac-pack."

Remy, Dean and Cosmo announced that they were doing the same. Gibbs just smirked at Tim.

Tim handed over a folded $50 bill. "Okay, okay. I give. Here. Jerk."

Tony glanced at Gibbs, who explained, with every evidence of satisfaction, "Bet him we'd all wind up just bringing our field packs. He swore no one would think of it."

Cosmo snorted. "That's stupid, we're practically married to them. I've carried the same stuff for ... six years. Two different packs."

Dean nodded. "Me too. Shame about our first kits."

Jimmy blinked, "Oh? what happened to them?"

"Got blown up." Cosmo's calm answer made Jimmy blink.

"Oh ... too bad. But you said you had to abandon your equipment on the last op."

Tony nodded. "Did, but that's GI equipment, not our packs. We don't drop those unless it's absolutely the last resort."

Jimmy frowned for a moment then shrugged, "Okay. Whatever. Just make sure that the medical stuff doesn't get shoved to the back. I need it right up front so I don't have to rummage for it. Seconds can make a big difference."

Remy nodded. "Okay. There's a compartment on the back of the trunk lid, we'll put it there. Anything else anyone can think of?"

They passed lists and iPads around. No one found anything else they thought needed to be dragged along with them. Someone offered a can of fuel but that was moaned down as stinking up everything else in wherever they carried it. The suggestion of service pieces and extra magazines was approved, but Gibbs warned that anyone not having a carry permit better not carry, or get caught.

It turned out that everyone had either a federal permit through NCIS or permits issued by the Navy. Everyone was green on carry.

Tony sat Jimmy at the kitchen table and handed him a pile of boxes of ammo and a bag of magazines. "Here, load these, then put them all in the bag again. Keep the boxes for reloads."

Jimmy opened the first box of ammo, saying, "Okay. We putting them in the trailer?"

"Yeah. We've also all got a couple or three mags extra."

Gibbs interjected, "There's no such thing as too much ammo."

Remy nodded. "True fact."

Dean grabbed for the last jelly doughnut at the same time Tony did. Cosmo snatched it away before they could squash it.

Dean tried to get it back, exclaiming, "Hey! Hands off!"

Tony ducked the rather wild grab. "Watch it! Standing here!"

The resulting wresting match ended with all three men rolling on the floor in the squashed pastry.

Gibbs sighed. "Three years old, I swear." He whistled shrilly; all three men froze. "Okay, you dipsticks ... UP!" They scrambled to their feet. "All three of you: strip." All three men scrambled to obey, they could tell that Jet was ticked, not a good thing. "AJ, get a mop and bucket. Dean, start wiping up the jelly. Cosmo, take the clothing and get it in the wash."

Jimmy eyed the mess sadly. "It was grape too. Um ..." he eyed the naked men. "They gonna get dressed?"

Gibbs gave him a stern look. "Do you think they deserve clothing just yet?"

After a moment's thought Jimmy allowed, "Probably not. But ... um ..." he shrugged, "Never mind."

Gibbs, well aware of what Jimmy was thinking, told him, "If someone knocks, you answer."

Tony came back with a mop and bucket. "Ok, where's the cleaner?"

"Under the sink. Use the Lysol." Gibbs only used four cleaners: Lysol, bleach, ammonia and white vinegar, mixed in various proportions.

Tony set the bucket in the sink and started the water, adding the cleaner. He eyed the bucket while it filled. "Um ... Boss? Is it supposed to suds that much?"

Gibbs glanced up. "Yeah, I think that's enough water. Get busy."

Tim just got up and got out of the way. He was glad he hadn't made a grab for the jelly-filled, he'd've lost. He thought about that for a moment then asked, "Jet? In a match between me and AJ, who'd win?"

Gibbs didn't hesitate for a second. "You and AJ? AJ. Someone with AJ's same skill set? You."

Tim looked blank for a moment then asked, "Why? That doesn't make sense."

"Does. AJ knows you, knows your skill set and style. And he's got a bit of a PD on you. Anyone else, doesn't know you... your skill set and that baby-face of yours'll fool 'em."

Tim thought about that for a moment then sighed. "I know AJ has a PD on me. How do I break it?"

Remy looked from Tim to Tony then back. "Probably don't. Wouldn't worry about it. Doesn't matter in practice, and he'd never get serious with you. Fugedabodit."

Tony groaned at Remy's imitation of a New Jersey accent. "No, just no. Do not. You're no mobster at the best of times."

Remy snickered. "True, too true."

Gibbs emptied his cup. "Coffee?"

Jimmy made a long arm to reach the pot. "Yeah, just one more cup. Who else wants more coffee?"

Dean and Cosmo both did, so Jimmy got up to make another pot. "I don't see how the hell you can go through half a dozen commercial pots in ... what? ... half an hour?"

Tony replied while he mopped up the mess of jelly and pastry still on the floor. "Gremlin, think about it. We've got a doctor, four SEALs, a Marine, and an NCIS agent. That's seven caffeine addicts in one place."

Jimmy chuckled. "Point." He started making coffee. "I'll just make up this and fill both pressure pots. Okay?" Taking the grunt from Gibbs as assent, he started the first pot. The pot wasn't actually a pot as such; it was a restaurant-quality multi-pot set up that was capable of making a pot in three minutes; the three heating elements could keep that many pots hot. They didn't use the elements that much, though, as Gibbs said leaving coffee on the heat scorched it. They used two two-quart pressure pots instead.

More coffee seemed to be a good thing as everyone settled at the kitchen table again. Tony was still mopping, Dean came back from emptying the trash, which he'd filled up with paper towels. Cosmo was in the laundry, sorting clothing.

Gibbs called, "When you're done, get some damn clothes on and come sit down."

All three men quickly finished their tasks, dressed and came back to the table. Gibbs eyed them with frank disfavor. "Now, what the hell? You three know better than to get into a fight of any kind in this house. You wanna pay for a new kitchen table and chairs?"

Tony flushed hotly. "Sorry. Got carried away. And no, I definitely do not want to pay for a new table." He thought for a moment. "What would you make it out of?"

Gibbs also thought for a moment then said, "Top-rank, fine-grain mahogany. And a leaf, or two, and twelve chairs."

Dean grimaced. He remembered how much the wood for the new coffee table had cost. But he admitted that the table was beautiful.

Cosmo thought for a moment then said. "We really do need a new table. But I was thinking more along the lines of a trestle table, a real one. And eight chairs. Oak. I'll chip in."

Gibbs eyed the rickety '50's style chrome thing he now had. They'd been saying they needed to get something better for months. "Okay. I'll start it when we get back."

Tony offered to chip in too, which led to everyone offering to help out. Gibbs acknowledged the offers with a smile and said, "I'll look into wood and give you all an amount after leave."

They settled down then, waiting for a call. While they waited they swapped stories, wishes, dreams.

They made lunch, cleaned up the kitchen and decided that they'd waited long enough. Tony announced, "We'll finish the last of the shopping. Jimmy, you take Tim in your truck and get the rest of the gear you're borrowing. And thank your ... uncle?"

"Uncle Don for the trike, already done. He actually just gave it to me. And Cousin Jay for the ground cover and mess kits. He's a good guy. Hunts a lot. I already thanked him too." Jimmy headed for the door with Tim right beside him. "It's way out in the counties so we'll be gone at least three hours. Call you if it's gonna be longer."

They left, and the others prepared to go to a military surplus store. Their inventory had revealed that they needed several ground cloths and one new blue pad. They also had some odds and ends on the list. They finally decided that Gibbs and Tony should go to the store while the others finished cleaning the house and doing laundry.

.

The spring-bell over the door gave a merry jingle as the two friends entered the store. They'd picked a different store from the last visit—spreading the wealth, Dean said. A voice from the back yelled, "Be out in a minute."

Gibbs called back, "Take your time. We know what we want." He headed for the camping gear area.

Tony tossed over the ground cloths; they were all used, but in good to excellent condition. "These should have been re-issued; they're still good."

Gibbs nodded but explained, "True, but when they pull an issue they sell the whole thing. Cheaper to let someone else do the sorting, and that way no one gets a bad issue. Their loss, our gain."

They decided to get a couple of extras; no telling when they might come in handy.

Tony eyed a mess of canvas and rope. "Might want to get one of these. Never can tell when it might come in useful."

Gibbs glanced up. "What is it?"

"Old-fashioned utility tarp. Fur Trade Era re-enactors call it a Diamond Shelter. It's a square of canvas and some rope and tent pegs. You can make half a dozen different shelters with it. I learned on one of those damn Civil War things Father used to drag me to. Only thing I ever learned worth knowing. Saved my ass a few times." He tossed the canvas back. "I'd rather have one in the package."

Gibbs looked at the pile. "Why can't we use a standard ground cloth?"

Tony replied absently as he sorted through the packages. "Not enough tie-offs on the edges and most aren't really big enough for what I want. But you can do a lot with the standard size, only for one man."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. "Ought to buy a bag of marbles."

Tony blinked, "I'd forgotten all about that. But ..." he grinned. "Lots of pebbles on the ground over there."

Neither man needed more details about where Tony meant.

They were interrupted by the clerk. "Hey. Thanks for waiting. What can I help you with?"

Gibbs eyed the clerk then wondered why all of the people who worked in surplus seemed to fit into two categories: ex-military, or skinny wanna-be's. This one was a skinny, pimply kid of about 18 who so obviously didn't want to be here that it was painful.

"Nothing. If you have something you need to be doing, go take care of it. If we need you, we'll yell." Gibbs managed a smile for the kid.

"Okay. Thanks. I've got a physics test to study for but my ass *ahem* brother got drunk last night and couldn't make it in today. So ... I'm stuck." The kid looked justifiably pissed. "I'll be at the register. Excuse me." He scurried off to the front of the store.

Tony sighed. "Damn. Poor kid. Probably got dragged, kicking and screaming, out of a study daze to come in here and cope."

Gibbs adjusted his attitude. Tony was right, the kid obviously wasn't some snot-nosed wise-ass. He probably only worked the family business when there was no one else available.

They wandered the store, checking things out and adding a few things to the growing pile on the counter. One thing they both agreed on was a solar shower bag. Tony shrugged, saying, "Couldn't hurt. Not that there's enough sun on some days. But still..."

Gibbs eyed the thing for a moment then added another. "Not that they're huge or anything." He ambled on. One thing caught his eye. "Camper soap. A bar each?"

Tony glanced at the bar. "Better get two each. Is it cold water?"

"Any other kind of camper soap?" Gibbs picked out a mesh soap bag for each of them and stuffed two bars of soap into each one. "There. That takes care of that."

"We're taking our usual kit. Anything else we might need?" Gibbs looked around one last time.

"Tent pegs? No, got doubles on those. Underwear? Socks? Got plenty of those too. Nope. Can't think of a thing." Tony started for the front, reaching for his wallet. "I'll pay for this mess."

Gibbs objected. "I thought I was. I've got plenty."

"Not the question. I took up a collection. You owe me fifty."

Gibbs fished out his money clip and handed over two twenties and a ten. "Here. How'd I miss that?"

"You were on a coffee run." Tony smacked his forehead with one palm. "Damn. Coffee pot."

"Got a percolator in my camping gear. It's pretty big." Gibbs thought about that for a moment. "Um ... never mind. We need to look for a bigger one."

Tony about-faced and headed for the back of the store. "I saw one of those porcelain-coated monsters in here somewhere. I'll get it."

The kid spoke up. "It's not a perk; it's just a boiler," he said as he looked up from his book. "You know ... boil the water then toss in the grounds?"

Gibbs shrugged. "That's fine. We'll deal. We can always strain out the grounds."

"Okay. You ready to check out?" The kid put his book aside.

Tony put the boiler down. "Yeah. I think so. Jet?"

"Ready as we'll ever be." he eyed the book for a moment. Since it was face down he could read the name on the protective cover. "Joe."

Joe graced him with a beaming smile. "How'd you know?"

Gibbs silently pointed to the book. "Name's on the cover. How's the studying going?"

"Not so good. I do well in every class, then ... bam. I get hit with ballistics and I just don't get it." Joe frowned as Gibbs picked up the book.

Tony looked over his shoulder for a second then shrugged. "Just standard shit. Not that hard. What's the problem?"

Joe sighed. "I just don't get it. It looks okay until I try to work a problem ... then ... I just don't get the right answer."

Tony eyed the problem Joe was working. "Let me try." He took the book, read quickly, consulted the charts provided and said, "This is the answer."

Joe eyed the numbers Tony had written on the edge of his answer sheet. "That's what I keep getting, but the key says something different."

Gibbs did the problem himself. "Well, I get the same answer as both of you, so something's wrong with the key."

Joe sighed. "Well, that sucks. Prof is one of those by-the-book assholes that can't be convinced that the book can possibly be wrong."

Tony made a call, Gibbs did the same. Joe kept ringing them up.

It wasn't long before both phones rang. Gibbs answered with a short, "yeah," while Tony was a bit more polite, announcing his name, "DiNozzo."

Gibbs snorted. "See that you do. It's ridiculous that you can't publish a correct key, the cost of books today is outrageous."

Tony, meanwhile, listened then barked, "Well, fax him a corrected one. Or I'll make one myself." He listened again then edged behind Joe to look at the fax behind the check out. He read off the number then hung up. Turning to Joe, he said, "You should have a corrected key in a few. If you don't have one by the time we leave, I'll make you one."

Joe grinned, "Thanks, man. I'd really hate to fail ballistics, of all things. How'd you know that shit?"

Gibbs gestured to himself. "Marine Scout Sniper, RED." He gestured to Tony. "Active duty SEAL. Kinda goes with the territory."

"Oh, man. Thanks again. Here." Joe dropped several objects on the pile. "Free. Just some camp matches and safes. And a signal mirror." He finished his entries, punched the total button and told them the damage. "I'll have that bagged up in a sec."

The back door banged open, startling everyone. This resulted in two drawn small arms and a very startled big brother. "What the fuck?" He raised his hands. "Easy. Joe, give 'em whatever they want."

Joe sighed. "That's Frank. My idiot big brother. He's mostly harmless."

Gibbs and Tony fished out their NCIS ID and flashed it, one handed, while putting their arms away. Tony offered, "Not robbing the place. Come on in."

Frank put his hands down, sighing in relief. "That's good. Joe's a geek, but I'd still hate to see him hurt. He doesn't usually work the shop but ... well ... I'm still hung over, and Dad's at a show. We're hoping Geek-boy takes a step up in the world."

Joe made a face at his brother. "Geek-boy? Better than being a redneck, you jerk."

Frank swatted Joe on the back of the head. "Get this done, then head back home. Did you get that problem?"

Joe started bagging alongside Frank. "Yeah. The fuckin' key is wrong. Mr. Gibbs and Mr. DiNozzo helped a lot. I got a correct key on the way to the fax."

Frank echoed Gibbs, saying, "With the cost of that damn book, you'd think they'd make sure the key is right."

"Yeah, I mean, seriously. That one book was, like, two hundred bucks." Joe finished his bagging, handed the bag to Gibbs, and grinned. "There you go. Last one."

Tony eyed the fax. "And no key yet."

Frank sighed. "Well, that figures." He picked up several bags. "Here, let me help you with that mess." He headed for the door, Tony on his heels. "Where's the truck?"

Tony pointed with his chin. "There, black SUV, NCIS plates."

Frank looked at the SUV with envious eyes. "Man, I wish I could afford one of those. No way, not now."

Tony side-eyed Frank. "Why not?"

"Business is gone to hell. Dad's sick and sellin' off all the good stuff as fast as he can. Mom don't give a damn about it, all she wants is out from under. And what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know anything but this, and Joe's in college. How're we supposed to pay tuition and shit?"

Tony thought as they put the bags into the SUV. "You sit down an' talk to your ol' man? He might just think you want out too."

"Tried. Mom busted into the middle of it and they got into a fight. Now he's all 'I just want peace'." Frank leaned against the side of the SUV, looking like he was about to cry.

Meanwhile, Joe was telling Tony more or less the same story. "And I don't know what to do. Dad's not telling anyone what's wrong with him. Frank is going crazy. Mom's being a bitch. And I'm no help at all. I want an education so bad. And, when I said I could take a semester off, Frank threatened to whip my ass. So ... But tuition is coming up in six weeks and I don't have it. I don't know what to do."

Tony shrugged. "Don't sweat it. Gibbs and I'll see what we can do. Maybe talk to your Dad."

"About what?" The older man who had just walked up was obviously Frank and Joe's father.

"About selling off their heritage." Tony eyed the man. He really didn't look well, his shoulders slumped, skin grey.

He offered Tony his hand, saying tiredly, "Name's Bill," he sighed and leaned against the SUV. "So. You wanna tell me why you're buttin' into family business?" He didn't seem hostile, just weary.

"Well, because you got one son grieving for his education and the other for his business; both for their family. Wanna fill me in?" Tony put on his officer face and waited.

Bill eyed Frank, who was obviously hung over and distraught. "Okay. Damn. Come back inside. Maybe we're too close to things." He just pushed off the SUV and headed back for the store.

Gibbs looked up when the bell jingled. "Okay?"

Tony eyed Joe then Frank. He turned to Bill and demanded, "Wanna explain to all of us why you're basically disinheriting them?"

Bill sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "I've got a good chance of makin' it. Insurance will pay. But Maria doesn't want to deal with any of this. She gave me until the end of the month to ... get out from under."

Frank blinked, then exclaimed, "Dad! Man, how the hell are we supposed to keep up the insurance payments, utilities, pay Joe's tuition and just live without the store?"

Joe glowered then just demanded. "Okay. I don't give a fuck. Start at the beginning, explain exactly what's wrong with you, then why, exactly, Mom thinks she's got to deal with anything more than lunch."

Bill started to get indignant but a sharp throat-clear from Gibbs got him talking. It seemed that Bill had kidney failure brought on by chemical exposure. He needed dialysis for six months so that his kidneys could rest. If they were lucky, he'd recover completely; if not, he'd be on dialysis until he could find a match.

Maria, his wife, didn't want to deal with the store; she had no head for business. And she wasn't capable of paying bills, had never learned to deal with a credit card, and was, in general, financially helpless.

Frank sighed. "Dad. I'm twenty-four; I can run the store, get merchandise, and all that. Joe will help out. He can study right there at the register. We'll cut back on hours, stay open a half-day on Saturday. We'll make it work. Just make sure that Mom understands that I'm paying the bills; not you, not her. Joe can cut back on his class hours a bit. I mean, he's taking twenty-one this semester so, if he takes fifteen, that'll keep him at full-time. He'll still get a grant, but the tuition will be less, and books will cost less. And he'll be available for more hours here."

Gibbs nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. Man, rely on your boys; they're both level-headed." He eyed Frank for a moment. "Sort of."

Frank rubbed the back of his head. "So I got trashed last night. Not like I make a habit of it. Just so worried about what's been going on that I sat and worried and lost track. Dad?"

Bill eyed his sons who eyed him right back with hopeful looks. "Okay, okay. I hated to let this go, so if you boys really want to help out ..." he grinned. "I got a deal on a dozen AK-47's and some accessories. Go out to the van and start bringing them in."

Tony and Gibbs wandered out to help, just to hang for a bit and maybe relieve a bit more of the tension between father and sons.

They didn't need much help as Joe and Frank grabbed an end of the crate each and walked it in through the wide back door. Tony picked up a box, then handed it off to Gibbs. He handed the next one to Bill, then got the last one and carried it in, kicking the door shut on his way.

"Okay, here you go." Tony turned to Bill. "Take it from an ignored son. Those boys need input. If your wife is as fiscally challenged as you say, let Frank do it. Help him learn. He's going to take over one day; make sure he's ready. Don't shield him or shelter him. See?"

Bill nodded. "You're right. It's just ... Maria could nag a saint to drink."

Gibbs added his advice. "I've been married four times. Widowed once, divorced three. Don't let her. Put your foot down and just explain that this is the way it is going to be. She'll either deal or leave." He rubbed his face with both hands. "If she leaves ... well, I'm sorry to say, it wasn't real in the first place."

Bill looked sad for a moment then said, "I really do think she loves me, she just doesn't understand. I ... I've been keeping the worst from her so she wouldn't worry. Maybe I'm shielding her, too."

Frank, overhearing the conversation, interjected, "Mom loves us all. But she's oblivious; you have to slap her in the face with things just so she gets it. I've tried to be gentle with her but we're going to have to lay it all out for her and make sure she has a good grasp of the situation. She'll help out, when she realizes that it's do or ... whatever."

Everyone realized that he was avoiding the 'die' part of the saying.

Gibbs and Tony hung around for a few more minutes, just chewing the fat. Tony finally said, "Boss, they should have called about the motors by now."

Gibbs nodded to Bill. "Keep in touch. I mean it."

Bill nodded. "I'll do that. Happy leave." He turned to swat Frank on the shoulder and drape his other arm over Joe's shoulders. Joe turned to look back. He called, "Thanks, guys," then headed for his perch behind the register. Bill led Frank deeper into the store.

Tony grinned at Gibbs. "Well, that went well. We better get a move on. I'll call them while you drive."

.

Tony's call yielded unexpected results: he was told that they could come in anytime to approve the paint jobs. He said they were on their way. He called Remy, who called Dean, who called Tim, who called Jimmy. Typical phone chain. Each man then checked in with Tony.

Tony called Wynona back and told her they'd all be there by 1300. When she said, "'Scuse me?" he explained, "Damn. Sorry, I forgot you're a civvie. One p.m. We'll all come in one SUV so we can take the bikes with us, if we approve them."

Wynona talked for a bit, then Tony said, "Tim has decided that he's no biker, he's just passengering, so he can drive the SUV back. Jimmy will be driving the trike exclusively." He listened again, then smirked, "And if you actually believe that, I've got some beachfront property in the Everglades for sale, reasonable." He shut the phone on Wynona's laughter.

Gibbs snorted at Tony's joke. "You really believe that Tim won't try that trike at least?"

"No, but he says he's not going to try a motor until he's sure he won't wreck it."

"Might get some sort of dirt bike for him to learn on." Gibbs' doubtful expression was matched by Tony's.

"Not sure about that, Jet. It's a whole different thing. Dirt biking is like ... apples, and road riding like oranges. Both are fruit, and that's all."

"Yeah, I know. Well, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

They spent the next forty minutes getting back to Gibbs' place to pick up everyone. Gibbs' place was now considered Team Gibbs HQ; everyone hung around there more than they did anywhere else. Tim and Tony usually left at about 2230, with Jimmy leaving whenever he needed to, to help Ducky. The elderly ME had finally admitted that driving his beloved Morgan was getting to be too much for him. Jimmy drove him in his truck much of the time, as Ducky said that getting in and out of the much higher framed pickup was easier.

Jimmy had admitted that he was a bit relieved that Ducky didn't drive that much anymore. Ducky was as sharp as they came, but his age was against him. His reaction time was bad, and he got stars around street lights now. Driving home at night was a bit more than just problematical. So Jimmy was designated driver for Ducky, which meant that he needed to be home in time to wake up and take him to work. Not that that was much of a problem, as Ducky was now obviously grooming Jimmy to take over for him, soon. He, Ducky, would stay on in an advisory position, but he was admitting that it was all getting a bit too much for his old bones.

When they arrived at GHQ, Gibbs Headquarters, everyone else was gathered in the kitchen, making a variety of salads. Tony had put everyone on another diet. He'd announced that he was appalled, even at himself, at the diets that everyone ate when they weren't building up to an op.

No one complained much. The salads were all very good and included chicken, tuna and egg. Each salad was dressed with low-cal mayo. Other salads were all-vegetable such as carrot, slaw and spring greens. Even Gibbs ate without complaining.

It didn't hurt that Friday was pizza day, and Sunday was steak. Hamburgers were every other Saturday. This was a healthy Saturday

Gibbs made himself a sandwich with whole-grain bread, chicken salad, lettuce, and tomatoes. He found a spoonful of carrot-raisin salad and another of slaw on his plate as well as a handful of some sort of chips. He glared.

"Need the veggies." Jimmy gave him an apologetic grimace. "I'm not that fond of raisins either."

Gibbs shrugged. "Ate way too many of 'em on deployment." He scrapped the orange mass onto Tony's plate. "Give me some of that pea salad instead."

Jimmy spooned some onto Gibbs' plate, saying, "It's got carrots in it."

"Not the carrots I don't like. Don't like rotten grapes." Gibbs picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

Tony snickered; he remembered his first experience with Gibbs' dislike of raisins. "Yeah. I remember. We were on a stakeout, and I was eating yoghurt-coated raisins. He rolled down the window and spat them out in the gutter. The look on his face."

Gibbs chewed and swallowed before saying, "I thought they were white chocolate."

Tim frowned, then said, "Ew. That would be a bit of a shock."

Gibbs nodded. "Really. White chocolate is okay. But yoghurt-covered raisins? Not on my good list."

"Then keep your hands out of my snacks." Tony nodded once as if that settled everything and chomped into his own sandwich.

Gibbs maturely gave him a bird, then went back to his food.

Jimmy snickered while Tim compared this more relaxed and laid-back Gibbs to the one of only six months ago. He liked the new Gibbs much better. He realized that one of Gibbs' problems was, he felt disconnected; as Team Lead he was expected to keep some distance from his team; but it had gone against the grain for the team-oriented Marine. Now he was dealing with equals again and was a much happier man.

They cleaned the kitchen and headed out in one SUV. It was a bit cramped for seven fairly broad-shouldered men. After Dean accidentally elbowed Remy, who flinched and kicked the back of Gibbs seat, as Gibbs was driving again, Tony told them all to sit still and shut up. The usual bitching and moaning was giving him a headache. Gibbs side-eyed him then asked, "You getting a migraine?"

Tony thought about that for a moment. "Don't think so. I usually only get one when I'm concussed, or shortly after. Just ... it's like dealing with a bunch of kids some days."

Dean exclaimed, "Hey! Not like I'm the one who superglued the CO to the john seat."

Cosmo nodded. "So true. AJ, you're becoming a stick-in-the-mud. Lighten up."

Remy agreed. "Headache is caused by stress. Less stress, lower blood pressure, no headache. Relax, man, enjoy."

Tony snarled at him then leaned back in the seat to see if he couldn't get rid of the pounding in his temples. His team gave each other worried looks.

The Docs were always telling Tony that the next concussion might be his last. Gibbs had even quit smacking him in the head, mostly. Tony claimed that the DiNozzo head was way too hard for the Docs to be right. Everyone worried. He laughed at them.

Without even opening his eyes Tony mumbled, "You're all thinking way too loud. I'm fine. It's just eye strain. Shut up."

Since Tony needed reading glasses, as all long-sighted people did, and currently needed new glasses, it really was just eye strain.

Gibbs, who needed new glasses too, announced, "Tim, make an appointment for both of us. I'll drag AJ to it. Just make them same day, same time."

Tim grumbled but got out his tablet to do as he was told. A few minutes later he said, "You'll get a text and an email as a reminder. Read the damn things."

And then, they were there. The gate slid open, and one of the workers motioned them over to the shop. Gibbs pulled up at the end of the shop to keep the SUV in the shade and out of the way. They hurried in to see what their motors looked like.

It turned out that the motors were beautiful. The paint was that deep royal blue that was expected, with a perfect micro-flake gold undertone. The pin-striping was done by hand, not stenciled or a plastic machine-made appliqué. And the names were also hand-done. The helmets all matched the Marine blue, and the names on them had elegant scroll work around them.

They loved the trike. Jimmy grinned so hard that his face looked like it might split. It was done in the same blue as the motors, but the trunk was decorated with gold pin-striping and black flashing. It was elegant, sleek, and well-balanced. The trailer was decorated to match the trunk.

They exclaimed over the bikes and trike, helmets, and trailer. Dusty and his crew looked pleased and offered drinks all around.

Since they were driving or working soon, it was soda or sweet tea. They sat and visited for a few minutes, then Jimmy got up to wander around the shop to look at the fascinating equipment. He grinned when he saw a salmon ladder in one corner. He turned to Ed, who'd followed him, and said, "Anyone here actually master that?"

Ed shook his head. "No, one of those idiots decided to try it after he saw it on that TV show. You know, the one with the rich dude with a bow? Weird."

Jimmy shrugged. "It's really hard. Can I try yours?"

Ed laughed. "Sure, help yourself."

Jimmy picked up the pole and put it up on the first 'step'. "Okay, here goes." He kicked hard and got the pole into the next step. This attracted the attention of the other men.

Tony ambled over to watch, then offered, "Don't kick. Pull your legs up at the same time you pull with your arms. That'll give you more float time and make it easier to move the bar up. You're supposed to be using your abs, thighs, and biceps."

Jimmy hung for a moment while he thought about that. "Um ..." he dropped to the floor. "Show me?"

Tony went to the bar. "Okay. And, this whole rack is metal, so really, don't be afraid to slam that bar to the next step." Tony demonstrated, working his way up to the top.

This attracted the attention of the rest of the pack, and they all gathered around. Dean yelled, "Go, AJ!" while Cosmo turned to Remy to say, "Knew someone would start something. Swear."

Remy just kept taking bets from the mechanics. They were all convinced that Tony wouldn't make it all the way up, then back down. They were betting on which rung he would fall from. Since he didn't fall at all, they all paid up, grumbling good-naturedly. Since Remy didn't take a bet over five dollars, no one was out enough for hard feelings.

Then everyone decided that, if Tony could do it, they could too. Dean, Remy, and Cosmo could; they'd done it during training. Gibbs had never even tried, but he would now. Jimmy knew he could manage a few steps, with some coaching. Tim was doubtful, but knew he was going to at least try.

The mechanics all refused to even try. No one much blamed them, as the average age was beer-50. Except for Ed, who was only 29, but his activity was walking to work... all six blocks.

But all the SEALs did it, as did Gibbs, Jimmy, and Tim.

Dean and Cosmo managed all the way up and about halfway down before they missed. Remy managed up, but flubbed the flip to the 'down' side and fell from the top. He wasn't injured, as it wasn't any farther than he'd have dropped from a HALO jump. Tony snarked, "You'll be working that until you get it right." He turned his eyes to Dean and Cosmo. "You two as well." They all just grinned at him.

Tim was next up and, as he'd never done this before, Tony coached him quietly through the exercise. He only made it up four steps; but, since he'd never done it before, Tony praised him, saying, "Good work for a first time. You'll do one step more each week until you make it to the top."

Tim eyed the contraption. "Yeah. Like we've got one at home."

Gibbs just smirked at him. "I can make a nice one in the back yard. Not that hard. The only piece that needs to be metal is the pole. My turn."

He managed all the way up and two steps down, then fell. "Well, shit. That's a lot harder than it looks."

One of the mechanics moaned, "Looks hard enough for me. Not a chance."

Gibbs rubbed his stinging hands on his pants, grinned, then said, "Well, if you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch."

Dean side-eyed Gibbs, demanding, "Jet, tell me that's not the first time you've done that."

Gibbs smirked at him. "Well, I would. But you hate it when people lie to you."

"Asshole."

"Everyone has one." Gibbs tossed an empty soda can at him.

Dean caught it and crushed it. He eyed the can for a moment then finished mashing it into a ball. "Scrap?" One of the mechanics pointed. Dean tossed it into the barrel, never noticing the looks he got.

Jimmy took his second try at the ladder with Cosmo coaching him while the rest of the men cheered him on. He was very happy to make it halfway up.

Tony grinned at Gibbs. "Great show. Now all you have to do is build us one."

Gibbs nodded. "I said I'd do it when we get off leave."

"Right. So." Tony popped his back. "We need to get going."

They all gathered around the motors to congratulate the mechanics one last time, get their helmets on, test the com system, and roll out the wide doors.

Gibbs, Tony, and Remy had ordered kickers, while Dean, Cosmo, and Jimmy had electric starters. Tim stayed out of it but vowed to learn to start both.

Gibbs knocked down the crank and gave it a primer stroke. He grinned widely as the motor started on the first kick. He let the motor idle as he plugged in the com system and said, "Viper on com."

Tim replied, "Got you, Viper. Digimon is also go."

Jimmy was still talking with one of the mechanics, getting a down and dirty explanation of what he could expect from towing a trailer. He realized that it made a bigger difference than he'd expected, including the fact that he couldn't back up, at all. He jumped when the man he was talking to plugged in his com and he heard, "Gremlin?" He turned to look at Tim who pointed to his ear. He fiddled with the volume for a moment then replied, "On and five-by-five."

Tim continued his radio checks, making sure that each com system was working properly. He found that the motors with electronic starters seemed to have a weaker signal than the kickers. He wondered at that, but decided it didn't make that much difference.

He glanced around then said, "All coms on and functioning properly. All systems go."

Gibbs and Tony had agreed that they would ride in staggered formation, but with partners. Tony led out in the right track with Gibbs about ten feet behind him and in the left. Remy went next with Jimmy and Tim on the trike taking up next position. Dean and Cosmo came last to be eyes behind for Jimmy.

The group rumbled out onto the street, waving farewell to the shop crew. Wynona came out of the office building to wave to them as well.

Gibbs voice came over the com. "Head for HQ; we'll pack and check. Over."

Tim replied, "Ten-four. I need to do some adjusting on the main com."

It was quiet after that, except for a few directions from Gibbs or comments about road conditions from one person or another.

They were oblivious to the stares of pedestrians and other drivers.

Gibbs eyed his garage and wondered where the hell he was going to park five motors and a trike plus a trailer. He grumbled as he realized that he was going to have to take his Challenger out of the garage and park it beside the garage, and that still wasn't going to be enough room.

The rest of the group pulled up beside him and dropped the kick stands. They dismounted and put away helmets and other gear.

Tony announced. "I'm going to look into some sort of storage. We need to put our bikes up, but I'm not in favor of taking up all of Gibbs' garage for our motors. Tim ..." Tim looked up from his iPad, an inquiring expression on his face. "See what you can find in the way of a secure storage that'll hold all the motors."

Jimmy called over, "Don't bother for me. Ducky has a garage the size of a hangar; he's already said that I can keep the trike and the trailer there."

Gibbs added, "I'll store my motor in front of the Challenger."

Tony nodded. "Okay. That means we need storage for four. If you can find something with roll-up doors on both sides, or ends ..." he waved a hand in a dismissive fashion. "Whatever ... we can park face-out and be able to get any one motor out without moving anything."

Tim tapped on his pad for a moment. "Okay. I've found a really nice one ... climate-controlled, easy access, doors on each end. It works out tooo ... $60 apiece and a one-time lock fee of $50. Not too shabby, and it's within walking distance of our apartment. Nice."

Remy patted Tim on the shoulder. "Did good. Lock it up. We'll take up a collection and pay you back inside."

Tim waved a hand. "Not a problem. Put it on my Discover card on delayed payment. We'll be able to put things off until we get back. All we have to do is pick up the lock at the office."

They trooped into the house to settle all over the kitchen. Gibbs eyed the table and realized that it was more than ready for replacement.

"No one sit on that table again. I'm afraid that it'll fall in." Gibbs reached for the coffee only to be stopped by Dean who just shoved a mug in his direction. "Thanks."

"Made both pots full before we left. Those pressure pots are great. Still hot, fresh, and ready for me." Dean grinned.

Tim got everyone's attention by simply yelling, "Shaddap!" When he was sure everyone was paying attention he continued. "Okay. We're leaving in the morning for Stillwater. That's ... four hours?" Gibbs nodded. "Plus or minus a bit for traffic. If we leave at 0600, we'll miss morning traffic ... or we could get up at 0700 and get breakfast here, be on the road by ... 0930 and be in Stillwater in time for lunch. Vote?"

No one really seemed to care; the general consensus was, it was Gibbs' father, he should decide. He decided on something else. "Up and on the road by 0600, but we'll stop at a place I know for breakfast. Great waffles. I know you bottomless pits will be ready to eat again at noon."

Cosmo snorted. "Look who's talking. Who was it snatched the last of the bacon that I had my eye on?"

Gibbs swatted him in the head. "You snooze, you lose."

Cosmo rubbed his head, looking very much put upon. "Jerk."

Tony smacked Gibbs. "Jet. No, just no. You do not get to smack my men."

Gibbs, in his turn, rubbed the back of his head. "Why not? They're my roomies."

Tony agreed but added, "So they are, but they're my men. Bit protective. Deal."

Gibbs just shrugged and went for more coffee.

.

After coffee and a bit of relaxation, they finished loading the bikes, trike, and trailer. Tim had actually set up a spreadsheet so that everyone would know where everything was. And he did mean everything; he had even entered where they put such things as their socks and underwear. This seemed a bit silly, until you realized that finding things sometimes meant unpacking a whole saddle bag, unless you knew exactly where something was.

He also spent an hour going over the com system, tweaking it so that it worked up to his rather exacting standards. He wasn't about to have something fail while they were on the road. He didn't want someone getting lost or having a wreck because a solenoid or circuit board lost its shit.

When he was finally done, he found that he was starving. "Hey, we gonna eat, or what?"

Cosmo just handed him a bowl of Remy's gumbo and a hard roll. "Butter?"

Tim had already shoveled a spoonful of the delicious soup into his mouth. He mumbled around it. "Mo. Fim."

Cosmo translated that as 'no, I'm fine,' and wandered off to finish checking his list against what he had packed and make sure that he had everything and that it was where it was supposed to be.

It might seem strange, all these preparations for a simple motorcycle vacation, but these men were highly trained professionals, even Jimmy. And they weren't leaving anything to chance. Jimmy was bringing his full combat pack as were all the SEALs and Gibbs. Tim, a complete computer nerd, was bringing his combat pack, a tablet, his laptop and a smart phone. Not that everyone else didn't have a smart phone of their own.

Except for Gibbs; his phone was still an old-style flip-phone. Tim scornfully called it a semi-brick. Gibbs always rebutted with, "It makes calls, takes voice mail, has a phone book; what more do I need?"

Tim was determined to drag him into the 21st century. Gibbs had agreed because he'd missed a clue in a case. It had been easy for anyone who knew anything about Facebook to see that the CPO was getting threats by PM and on her Wall. Gibbs had completely missed it, looking instead for a hardcopy book of some sort. They'd wasted several hours until Gibbs had sent Tim to look for her 'book'. When Tim had turned to his computer Gibbs had an epiphany equal to a punch in the head. Due to that, he'd agreed to let Tim teach him.

Gibbs eyed his phone; it was beeping in a way it never had before. "Digimon? Whisky Charlie Foxtrot?"

Tim took the phone. "Battery is failing. It's crying for help." He turned the phone off, stopping the irritating noise. "I'm gonna pull the battery and ..." he opened the phone, eyed the battery then demanded, "How old is this phone? And when is the last time you cleaned the battery compartment?"

Gibbs eyed the partially dismantled phone. The inside was decidedly filthy. "You're supposed to clean it? How? and ... I think that thing's ... Tony?" He turned to look at Tony.

"No idea, Jet. At least two years. I'm really glad you stopped smashing phones. Got real tiresome ... trying to keep phones for you." He shook his head.

Tim plugged the phone into his laptop and did 'things' as Gibbs put it. He downloaded all the ring tones, contacts list, and anything else that needed saving. "Okay, I've saved your life to my laptop. We're headed out to get you a new phone. Come on."

Gibbs eye his watch for a moment. "Tim, it's 2100."

Tim waved a hand. "Not that late. I know a guy who's open nearly 24/7. He and his brother run a place. You'll be keeping your current plan, we'll just switch phones for you. Come on."

Gibbs shrugged. "Okay." He looked around. "As for you lugnuts, I expect to come back to a still-standing house." His teasing smile resulted in a variety of personal insults and general abuse.

Tim replaced the battery and put the phone together while they were talking. He pocketed the phone and a flash drive which contained the data off the phone in case the transfer got flubbed.

They wound up taking the Challenger, as all the other 'boxes' were blocked by motors.

.

Gibbs eyed the tiny storefront with some misgivings. "You sure about this? Looks mighty fly-by-night to me."

Tim shrugged. "It's okay, boss, I checked 'em out years ago. They're small, a bit exclusive, but really good. They have parts that no one else has. Mostly betas of new stuff. So I fill out a survey on a few things and get newest and best at great prices. I don't mind."

Gibbs poked him into motion. "Well, if you don't, I don't. Just don't expect me to deal with fixin' somethin'."

"Never, Jet." Tim grinned at Gibbs' jump when the 'bell' turned out to be some sort of sci-fi sound effect.

A voice from the back called, "Park it somewhere, we're just about done." A yell, the sound of electronic gunfire and some swearing let them know that whoever it was, was playing one of several combat MMORPGs. Another bout of swearing and sad music made Tim snicker.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Got killed. He'll be out in a second." Tim pulled Gibbs over to a display case. All it contained was several phones. "Here. Smart phones. Pick one. Any one. Just whichever you like the look of."

Gibbs eyed the case with misgivings. "Don't much like the look of any of 'em. I swear, all I have to do is look at one and that glass thingy breaks."

"Touch screen. And I'm gonna limit the number of applications, or apps, that you have available. Anything you'll never use, off. Anything that either one of us finds truly annoying, off. That'll save you a fuck ton of memory and keep the icons, the little picture things, to a minimum." Tim smiled. "See? You're already learning stuff."

Gibbs bopped him on the shoulder. "Shut it." Tim, maturely, stuck out his tongue.

They looked up as the man came in from the back. "Sorry. Most people who come in this late... Oh, hey, Tim. What's up?"

Tim nodded to the red-headed young man. "Hey, Ed." He jerked a thumb at Gibbs. "Gibbs needs a phone. Something from this century."

Ed looked Gibbs over. "Gibbs the Luddite? Man, good luck with that." Gibbs glowered at him. "Stuff it, dude; put that glower away. Dad's a Marine DI."

Gibbs relaxed. "Don't look it."

Ed shrugged. "I'm the smart one in the family. I'd quote you all my accomplishments but I'm shy that way. So what can I do you for?"

Tim pointed to a phone. "That one. It's one of those with the new space-age screen?"

"It is. Armor-clad. Dad has one. Hasn't broken it yet. And I pared the apps down to what he actually uses. He likes it." Ed opened the case and handed the phone to Gibbs.

He took it, turning the thing over in his hands. "Okay, how do you even turn it on?"

Tim showed him the proper button. "Right here, but don't turn it off unless you're charging it."

Ed corrected Tim. "Not even then. I haven't turned my phone off since I got it. It auto updates at midnight. And you'll have to block some apps as the service wants everyone to have all the apps all the time. How they expect that to work, I don't know."

Tim agreed. "Some apps that I never use are memory hogs and I had to crack my phone to keep 'em off. Idiots."

Gibbs ignored that, only saying, "I'll trust you to deal with that."

Ed nodded. "I rooted my tablet an hour after I got it. Unusable." He picked up a phone from the back counter. "Here's a list of the stuff my Dad uses the most." He poked at the screen. "There. Email."

"Thanks. I'll look it over when we do the setup." Tim checked to make sure he had the email. "Got it."

Gibbs thought about the conversation for a moment. 'You mean that someone somewhere can actually force you to have ... apps that you don't want and can't use?"

Ed nodded. "Yup. And getting 'em off is a royal pain in the ass. They actually turn tablets into bricks. I think it's because they want you to buy a new one with more memory. Sucks, but there you are."

Gibbs shrugged. "I'd just quit using that one and get something different."

Tim replied, 'Some people do, others just quit using pads altogether."

Gibbs' noncommittal grunt expressed his opinion. "Well, so ... now what?"

Tim nodded in the direction of the register. "Pay the man, then we'll get your data transferred and put this phone on your account. When we get back home, I'll go through the apps with you and you can decide if you want them or not."

Gibbs produced a credit card, paid his due and watched as Tim and Ed did things on a laptop which included transferring his service and getting all his data from the old phone to the new one.

Finally Tim said, "There. All done. And I've already deleted more than half the apps on this thing. You'll never use them, don't need to understand them, and they're memory hogs of epic proportions. Like Facebook. You'll never use it and don't need to access it. If there's anything needs doing there, I'll deal and explain it to you. I did leave the GPS and a couple of other apps that are in the background. I need them to maintain the phone or keep track of you. So ... here."

Gibbs took the phone back and stuck it in his pocket. "Okay. I'll sit down with you when we get home and you can show me all the bells and whistles."

Tim nodded. "Okay. And I'll make a folder, name is Don't Need. You can move anything you don't want or think you won't need into it and I'll delete it or explain why you actually need it."

Tim took a moment to visit with Ed while Gibbs went back to the car.

Tim finished his conversation by saying, "Well, I better get going. Gibbs isn't the most patient man in the world and I don't want him waiting too long. Bye."

Ed just waved a hand. "See, ya, Tim. Take it easy."

.

Next morning was greeted with some moaning and bitching, but not as much as usual. Gibbs had realized, weeks ago, that the SEALs only complained when there was nothing else to do. Sort of like every enlisted ever.

They quickly washed and dressed, made coffee, and settled in to wait for Jimmy, Tim, and Tony.

The three men arrived shortly after the first pot of coffee was done. They'd all come in Tony's ride. Jimmy had left his truck at his place, and Tim had finally decided to store the Boxter. There was way too much attention paid to it, all by the wrong sort of person.

Tony snatched Cosmo's coffee out of his hand and swallowed it all in two gulps. "Man. No coffee. Didn't realize that Tim'd made up the last of it yesterday. Dyin' here."

Gibbs eyed him for a moment then offered his own mug. Tony really did look frazzled. "Bad night?"

"Yeah. Party in the building next door. Right outside my window." He rubbed his face. "Man, I hate mariachi music at midnight."

Remy sipped his coffee for a moment. "Call the cops."

Tim sighed over his coffee. "Did. Twice. They finally shut down at about 0120."

Gibbs scowled into his new mug, provided without comment by Dean. "You two need to get out of there. Abby's not comfortable coming over without escort. And the grounds are run down, the parking lots need new asphalt, and the people hanging around are all dirt bags."

Tony glanced at Tim. They'd both been thinking the same thing and talked about it a bit. "I think so too, Jet. But my lease isn't up for another six months. I don't want to have to pay to break the lease."

Dean shrugged that concern off, saying, "Well, that just gives you plenty of time to find the right place. Start looking when we get back."

Cosmo agreed. "Too true." He grabbed the new pot and topped up everyone's mug. "Finish that and let's get on the road. I'm hungry."

They finished their coffee and policed the kitchen. Gibbs shut down the water heaters and turned the AC down to hibernate. He checked the windows and back door. He then turned off the lights and the security system on.

"Okay, buttoned up. Let's go."

People up and down the block walked out onto their front steps or peeked out their windows as six Harley-Davidson flathead V-Twin's, 110 cubic inches of American heavy metal motorcycle, rumbled down the street and out of the neighborhood.

A quick turn put them on the freeway and headed for Stillwater. Gibbs cracked the throttle open and smoothly accelerated to 65 mph.

Traffic was light, as they were leaving the city rather than trying to get into it. This allowed for a bit of speeding on their part. They were soon roaring along at about 80 mph with no interference in sight. Tim kept an ear on the locals, and the fuzzbuster didn't let out a peep.

Due to the speed they traveled and the light traffic, they made their breakfast stop in a bit less than 45 minutes.

They parked in a row with the trike on the outside. It didn't take them long to stow their helmets and jackets in the trunk mounted over the rear fender. The old way of just draping their jacket over the seat and dropping the helmet over a handlebar was now a sure invitation to lose it all.

They walked into the restaurant and headed for a long table in the middle of the room. They settled in, picked up menus, and waited for the waitress to show.

What they got was an unhappy sheriff.

"Boys, so far, so good. But I'm old-fashioned and believe in nipping problems in the bud. You don't start anything, and I won't have to finish it. I'm not askin' you to leave, just have your breakfast, pay, and go. Okay?" He looked stern, but they could all see the tension in his shoulders that said he was ready for more than some smart reply.

Gibbs stood up slowly. "No problems from us ... unless someone else starts something. I'm gonna reach into my back pocket and get my ID. Everyone else is going to do the same. Warning now ... we're all armed and have permits." He got out his ID and handed it over. He got a look at the sheriff's name tag. "Sheriff Nichols."

"Yeah, yeah. Damn it. What the hell is NCIS? Never heard of you." The sheriff gave the ID a baffled look.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We deal with crimes committed by or against members of the Navy and Marine Corps. No reason you should have heard of us." Gibbs had long ago quit feeling annoyed that people didn't know what NCIS was.

The sheriff checked ID on everyone, Jimmy's especially. "You're an MD? What do you do?"

Jimmy smiled, that tiny, self-effacing one that said he wasn't feeling secure, "I'm the Morgue Assistant. I help move the bodies, clean instruments, and I'm learning the investigative techniques necessary to be an ME in my turn."

Sheriff Nichols nodded. "Okay. The rest of you are ... ?"

Tony cleared his throat. "SEAL Team ... um ... one that doesn't ... technically ... exist."

"I see. Well, thanks for your service ... whatever it is. And enjoy your breakfast." He saluted, turned around, and left, calling to the waitress, "Relax. Bunch o' squids and Feds on a road trip."

The waitress smiled at him, nodding her appreciation. "Okay. Thanks, Don." She gathered up the coffee pot and some setups. "Okay, gentlemen, who ... oh, stupid question." She'd been about to ask who wanted coffee, but the upturned cup at every place made it moot. She poured coffee all around and made sure the creamer pitchers and sugar dispensers were full. "Made your decision yet?" She knew they probably hadn't, but it was a good idea to ask.

Tony eyed the table. "Anyone?"

Dean, Cosmo, and Remy all decided on the Farmer's Breakfast. Jimmy, Tim, and Gibbs wanted the Ham n' Eggs Special. Tony shrugged, "I'll have the four-ounce breakfast steak, eggs on top."

Tammy went through the usual questions about potatoes, bread, and juice, then went away to put in the order.

Tony looked out the window to see several teens eyeing the motors. He sighed. "Think I ought to go out?"

Gibbs assessed the situation. "Maybe. If one of them sits on my motor, I'm going out."

Remy just wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. "I'll go."

He was just in time to keep one of the bigger boys from touching a motor. "Do-an wanna do 'at."

"What? I was just looking," the boy looked indignant.

Remy frowned down at him. Very effective, as he was some six inches taller than the teen. "Mama said ya look wi' your eyes an' touch wi' your han'."

The girl standing behind the boy said, "See, Jamie, I told you. Don't touch. Now come on. We're going to be late for detention and I don't want another."

Remy glanced the group over, sizing up the whole of them in a second. They were a typical, clichéd high school group. The Jock, Mr. Touchy; the Girl Friend; The Best Friend, and the Best Friend's Girl. He shook his head. "An' wha' ya get a detention fo'?" He let his Cajun accent take over.

The Girl Friend sighed, "Mr. I'm-smarter-than-the-teachers decided we should skip. We all forgot that there was a history quiz. We got caught down at the river and got a Saturday detention. It's like something out of a dumb ol' movie. Except, I'm grounded until after the make-up test and I have to get at least a B. Jill is grounded too. Jim?"

The Best Friend sighed, "Me too. And I've got to pass that test or Coach will bench me for the rest of the season. I'm just ..." he glared at his friend then said, "Jamie, I'm not ... I'm just ..." he turned his back and stormed away, calling over his shoulder. "I'm done. Jill, come on."

Jill squeaked and scurried after her boyfriend.

Jamie glared after his friend then turned to his girl friend. "Well? Angela?"

Angela shrugged her shoulder in obvious irritation. "I think Daddy was right. You just want to cause trouble, and you get me into it too. I don't think I want to be with you until you get your stuff together. Grow up." And with that, she took off after her friends.

Jamie kicked the kerb. "Damn it. See what you did?"

Remy snorted, grabbed the kid by one arm and headed for the door. "An' that's your main problem. Ya wanna blame everyone else fo' your stupidity." He dragged a chair from another table, plopped it at their table and dropped Jamie into it. "Sit!"

Gibbs glowered at the boy, who immediately cringed. "What's up?"

Remy quickly explained, then turned to Tony. "AJ? Wha' you tink?"

"I 'tink' that he needs to man up and get over himself. I don't know what kind of youthful angst you feel, and I don't care. Getting your friends into trouble because you're bored is all kinds of stupid. What's your problem?" Tony had a good idea but he needed to hear it.

"What do you all care?"

Dean scowled. "We care because we do. Now, what the hell is your real problem?"

Jamie eyed the cup of coffee that had appeared in front of him. He looked around at the fierce eyes and concerned faces and broke. "Okay. I give. Every damn adult I run into lately asks the same question." He took a deep shuddering breath and said, "I want to be a Marine but ... everyone says I'm not tough enough. My Gran says I'm too young. Dad says I'm not old enough to know what's good for me. But ... I'm seventeen, I've got no prospects here. I'm not stupid, but ... I don't want to be an accountant or something. And I'm not mechanically inclined. So ... and I want to stay here, or at least come back between deployments." He rubbed his face then picked up his mug.

Gibbs blinked. "Well, shit. Who does that sound like?" Everyone snickered; Gibbs looked around. "I can tell you ..." he turned to Jamie and continued, "You got to get rid of that mad. If you don't you're going to wind up dead or in prison. I lucked out and joined the Corp, then NCIS. Otherwise I'd be takin a dirt nap."

Tony nodded. "Impromptu counseling session." He turned to Jamie. "Look, this is the way it is. Marines do not take idiots, troublemakers, or slackers. None of the services do anymore. We take only the best and brightest. Get your grades up and keep them up. Stay out of trouble. When the time comes, you'll make it on merit and hard work. No matter what anyone says. Get over your mad. Attitude, especially a bad one, will tank you fast."

Jamie eye him for a moment then dropped the attitude completely. "You know, you're the first person who hasn't told me I don't have a chance. Who ... not tryin' to be a smart ass this time ... who are you?"

Tony dropped his ID on the table and pushed it to Jamie. Gibbs added his.

Jamie picked up one then the other. After studying both he thought while he finished his coffee. "I see. A LtCmd in the Navy and a Special Agent with NCIS." He put his coffee mug down. "I'm actually listening to you." He glanced at his watch. "And I gotta run or I'm gonna be late for detention and I don't need the extra trouble. Thanks. Bye."

He ran out the door and disappeared around a corner.

The waitress came over with a fresh pot. "Thanks. Jamie's a good kid, but ... well, his mama took off and left him with the grands. They're old and takin' mom's shit out on him. His dad works hard. He's gone a lot and really isn't coping well with the whole situation. Kid's a mess. Nice to see that someone got through to him."

Tony glanced at Gibbs then told her, "Someone needs to check out his dad. I don't think he's around enough. What's with that?"

Tammy sighed. "Small town. Everyone knows everyone else's business. It's really humiliating when your mom takes off with the ... could you believe it? ... milkman. Seriously. And his grands are old and opinionated and take their upset out on him. His Dad is working too much ... hiding from the gossip, if you ask me. It's a mess. I think maybe your talk got through to him that people do care. All he has to do is reach out."

Tony nodded. "Sometimes all that attitude is a cry for help. Should we talk to someone?"

"No, honey, I think you turned him around. If total strangers care, surely someone in town cares too. I'll talk to the sheriff. He'll talk to John. That's Jamie's dad." The loud ting of a tap bell caught her attention. "Oh! Food's up. Be just a sec."

She delivered the platters and refilled their coffee, smiling a bit flirtatiously at them all.

Sheriff Nichols ambled back in and took Jamie's seat. "Ran into Jamie Phelps runnin' hell for leather in the direction of the high school. Now, you and I both know that there's usually only two reasons a boy like that is gonna run. He's either runnin' from trouble or to it. I'm pleased to say, he was running because he was late for detention. I gave him a ride and a note. I knew he was having problems and finally pried the story out of him. Thanks for the help with him. Good kid, just full of rage and lonely. I'll keep an eye on him. If he deserves it, I'll give him a letter to the proper recruiter." He stood back up. "Anyway, thanks again. Keep it between the ditches and remember the lid's on top." He made his way back out the door.

Tony watched his retreating back for a moment then returned to his food.

Gibbs gulped coffee before allowing, "I think we did good."

They quickly finished the delicious food and leaned back in their chairs to have one last cup of coffee. Tammy happily refilled everyone, commenting, "Man, I'm glad you turned out to be good people. We get gang bikers in here from time to time. Most of them don't want trouble and just eat and go, but every now and then we have trouble. Last time that happened they broke every window in the place. Did over $15,000 dollars in damage in less than five minutes."

Tony shook his head. "The only thing I'm thinking about demolishing is one of those cinnamon rolls. Without icing, I think."

Tammy eyed him for a moment then shrugged. "If you eat one of those monsters after a steak and egg breakfast with all the trimmings ..." she chuckled. "You're a bottomless pit."

Remy nodded. "He is, yes, he certainly is."

Dean and Cosmo eyed a roll then decided to split one.

Tammy shook her head. "I don't know where you put it all. Hollow legs, all of you."

Gibbs laughed. "Well, we work most of it off and worry the rest."

Tony nodded. "We do."

They finished the sweet rolls in record time, chatting about cases and missions.

An older gentleman came over and asked, "If you don't mind. What branch?"

No one minded and Tony did the introductions, pointing to each man in turn and telling him name, branch and rank.

"US Army, 11th Infantry Brigade, Vietnam, 1970. Mstr. Sgt." He nodded. "Thanks for your service."

Gibbs returned, "And thank you for yours. Sit a spell?"

The older man shook his head. "Not today. Gotta get home. My wife ..." he grinned. "she wants to go to the city and I better get going before she yanks my leash." He turned away and left nodding to the cashier on his way out.

As they'd agreed that Tony should pay all the combined bills then figure out who owed what at the end of the day, he went to the register to settle up.

They took their time getting ready. Tim checked the com, which he would do every time they started out, and they were on their way again.

Tammy and a couple of others waved as they roared out of the parking lot.

.

PD - Psychological Dominance

The Salmon Ladder is and exercise rack made popular by its appearance on the TV show Arrow. You can see it in action by googling it on YouTube.