Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited and followed.

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In the director's office, Schuyler Harris updates Leon Vance on the most recent developments of his case. Harris still can't believe what he stumbled into: the espionage and targeted harassment of Tim McGee. If anything, the case is certainly not the quick in and out Vance promised him when he arrived. His time here is already dragging into its second week.

Vance hasn't moved from his desk. He sits in his chair, lording, with his hands steepled against his mouth. His eyes are narrowed, dark and serious and contemplative. Despite every word Harris speaks, Vance's expression never changes.

Harris glances at his notepad, working between trying to look at Vance while reading his notes.

"Agent McGee maintains the threats began shortly after they arrived back from Somalia." Harris' good brow furrows at his notes, questioning. "I'm still not sure I understand the events that transpired there. NCIS agents were deployed on a rescue mission of a foreign operative in a foreign country where we don't have jurisdiction. Do I understand that correctly?"

Vance leans back, just a little. "It's need to know."

It's the first time Vance spoke since Harris started.

"And?" Harris asks.

"You don't need to know, Agent Harris."

Shifting his weight, Harris fights the urge to make a note on his pad. He might have his pen in hand, using it to gesture and find interesting bits buried in his notes, but he hasn't had anything to write down yet. Part of him wants to annotate Vance's unwillingness to provide information. Something doesn't feel quite right about it.

Instead, Harris cuts to the chase: "I need to interview Agent David again. While I have more than enough information to recommend termination, I have additional questions."

Vance tilts his head. "Don't you think that is premature?"

Harris shakes his head. "No, sir, I don't. We already know she bugged my room."

"Has forensics confirmed its origin yet?"

Harris looks at his notepad. "It was too destroyed to determine who made it."

Vance's mouth pulls in a little smirk. "I told you. Like I said, it's premature."

"She turned off a listening device that ended in the assault of an agent. That could've ended in his death." Harris huffs. "If you need something else, she threatened to harm Agent McGee if he told anyone about the harassment. It appears that she is still reporting to Mossad despite being an NCIS agent."

"Then why do you need to question her again?"

"Because I want more evidence," Harris admits. "A lot of my case thus far is circumstantial. I'd like to have something more concrete. I still don't know why she wanted to turn off the microphone on Agent DiNozzo. I'd like that information before I close out the case."

Vance pushes back from his desk before standing. "Agent Harris, I think it's best – "

At that moment, the door to Vance's office bursts open. Harris whirls around in his chair, not sure what he should anticipate. His grip tightens around his pen and notepad.

Jethro Gibbs barrels into the office, hands clenched in his at his sides. Behind him, a beleaguered Marta is slack-jawed and nearly in tears. She hugs her arms to her chest.

"I – I – I tried to stop him," she wails.

"I know, Marta," Vance says. "I'll handle it."

After Vance dismisses her with a wave of his hand, Marta retreats from the doorway. The door closes behind her with a certain finality. Click.

Harris' good eye whips between Vance and Gibbs, not sure who will draw first blood here.

Gibbs stands there like a predator lying in wait. His eyes are locked on Vance, his chest heaving and knuckles white in his fists. His stance is that of a Marine, back ramrod straight and chin raised and proud. His glare is all hellfire and brimstone, almost biblical.

Does Gibbs even know I'm here?

Vance gestures at Harris. "Agent Gibbs, I'm in a meeting."

When Gibbs levels his glare on Harris, the IA agent raises his chin in greeting. Gibbs' face twists with malice as if he could shoot Harris where he sits.

"I want my agents back!" Gibbs barks.

"Agent Gibbs," Vance starts. "We are in the middle of an active investigation. After its conclusion – "

"Now!"

Vance continues as if Gibbs didn't just interrupt him " – Agent DiNozzo is slated to be recommended for reinstatement. As far as Agent McGee…"

"I want McGee back too." Gibbs' glare hardens to stone. "Now!"

Vance shakes his head. "I can't do that until IA is finished and that is, seemingly, out of my hands."

With that statement, he gestures at Harris, who slides down in his seat as if it could make himself disappear. Of course, Vance is acting as though Harris is the one calling the shots when he isn't. It would almost be funny, if it weren't so unnerving. Vance expects Harris to collect the information and make recommendations, but they aren't supposed to be approved without Vance's rubber stamp.

This isn't how we usually do things.

Gibbs studies Harris for a long moment before spitting out: "Didja know Ziva paid McGee a visit?"

Harris looks back at his notepad. "I do. Agent McGee spoke with me earlier today. I was about to update the director before you arrived."

Vance puts his hands on his hips. "Does anyone care to tell me what's going on?"

"I was getting there," Harris says. "This morning, Agent McGee reported that Agent David broke into his apartment last night. While she was there, she threatened his life. He reported that she knew parts of my interview with him because of the bug."

A strange pallor takes over Vance's face and that causes Harris to go quiet. Harris can't fathom how Vance couldn't see that because of not dealing with the bug in his conference room. The air around them turns almost electric. Gibbs latches onto it as he turns his attention to Vance.

"What bug?" The words roll of Gibbs' tongue like a curse.

Vance steeples his fingers, a picture-perfect politician. "We can't discuss an active Internal Affairs investigation, Agent Gibbs."

"I found a listening device in my room," Harris says flatly. "After my interview with Agent McGee."

"Ziva?" Gibbs bites out.

"Based on what Agent McGee said, I believe so."

Both Vance and Gibbs grit their teeth while they glare Harris down. Now, it isn't a question as to who will kill him, but rather who will reach him first.

"And no one told McGee?" Gibbs barks. "Or me?"

"I called him," Harris whispers. "He shut off his phone."

At those words, Gibbs' body tightens further. His muscles are coiled, tight and ready to strike. He appears to be ready for an all-out assault once he and Vance are alone.

"Agent Harris, you're dismissed," Vance orders.

With a clipped nod, Harris rises from his chair. On his way out, he hazards a glance at Gibbs. Their eyes meet and for a split-second, there is a shared camaraderie, one born on the battlefield of blood and sacrifice. They may have served at different times, but their motives are still the same.

Harris doesn't look back when he says: "I'll be contacting Agent David for a follow-up interview, sir. I have more questions."

He doesn't allow Vance to reply before striding out of the room. As soon as the door closes, Harris is sure all hell breaks loose. The shouting carries him forward. On his way past Marta's desk, she throws him the same look that she gives Tony and Gibbs. His mouth pinches as he narrows his good eye at her.

Stop treating me like I'm the enemy.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Sitting at the back of the NCIS cafeteria, Tony nurses a cup of cold coffee like a hangover. The lunch hour came and went with a thin trickle of agents. With a myriad of better food options within walking distance of headquarters, most agents tend to head out of the office for lunch. Only those who can barely catch a break and the truly desperate stoop to eat the cafeteria food.

I wonder which ones we are.

Across the table, Tim sits with his arms crossed and his face as impassive as stone. An uneaten tuna sandwich that was probably been in the chiller since the Regan administration sits in front of him. Golden is in the seat beside him. She speaks in hushed tone, leaned towards his ear, while stabbing at the table with her fingertips. Her jaw is set in righteous determination.

Tony is hungry enough that he starts sizing up the tuna sandwich. His stomach growls.

Tony catches Golden saying, "You need to be in protective custody, Agent McGee."

Tim shakes his head. "We've been over this. I'll be fine."

"Like you were fine last night," she scoffs.

Pressing his lips together, Tim's eyes rove around the cafeteria. He crosses his arms tighter to his chest before looking in the opposite direction of Golden.

Tony takes it as a sign that Tim is abandoning the lunch he never touched. Tony reaches across the table to grab the sandwich. He takes a huge bite. It might be room temperature and tastes fishy—and it's only been around since the Clinton administration—Tony keeps eating anyway. Another disgusting bite goes down the hatch.

He keeps his eyes locked on Tim's face, waiting for any kind of reaction. Tony is three bites into a sandwich that might be older than Tim himself before the younger man looks over.

Almost instantly, Tim's face turns outraged. "Hey! That's mine!"

"You don't like fish," Tony says, mouth full.

"But it's still mine."

Tony slides the plate close to himself. "Well, it's mine now."

That makes Tim just narrows his eyes at Tony, who offers the half-bitten sandwich. A clump of tuna falls onto the plate with a quiet splat. Wrinkling his nose, Tim shakes his head.

Clearly confused, Golden glances between the two of them. Just before she can ask, her phone rings. She checks the caller ID, then she makes a face.

"I need to take this," she says before pointing at Tim. "Don't think we're done here and don't go anywhere."

She heads towards the opposite side of the cafeteria to where she takes the call privately.

While they're alone, Tony chews the sandwich as loud as he can to show Tim just what he's missing with the cafeteria tuna. Tony finds what might be an olive in the tuna and barely manages to hide his gag. Because who puts olives in tuna? He keeps his eyes fixed on Tim's gaze. It might be disgusting, but Tim won't know because he never even tried it. Tony takes a louder bite.

"Can you keep it down, Tony?" Tim snaps.

Tony chews even louder.

Tim releases an aggravated sigh before he practically launches himself across the table to snatch the plate away. Tony shoves the last bite into his mouth before pressing his hands against his chest in mock outrage. He shakes his head.

"I was eating that," he says.

Tim looks at him menacingly. "Not anymore, you're not."

Tony scowls, but he remains silent. Tim squares off with him, but his heart isn't in it. In the end, he releases a heavy sigh and slumps against the table.

"You think I should go into protective custody too," Tim says.

"I didn't say anything," Tony says as evenly as he can.

He might feel that way, but he doesn't want to push Tim too hard. After everything, Tim probably doesn't want to spend a night huddled in Gibbs' basement. During those long hours, Gibbs occasionally likes to talk about things. Like feelings and worries and everything Tim obviously doesn't want to think about, let alone discuss.

"You don't have to say it. You're thinking it." Tim waggles his hand beside his ear. "I can still hear you."

Tony half-smiles. "'It's like I have ESPN.'"

Blinking, Tim tilts his head. "I thought you had cable. We just watched the game on ESPN…"

"It's a line from Mean Girls." Tony laughs heartily. "Lindsay Lohan. Rachel McAdams. Great movie about teen girls set loose in a high school with bullies. It was so fetch."

"'Stop trying to make fetch happen'." When Tony's eyes nearly bug out of his head, Tim just looks at him. "What?"

"You have seen Mean Girls. You don't know any other movies, but you know that one."

Tim's cheeks blaze red. "I watched it with an ex-girlfriend years ago."

Tony waggles his eyebrows. "And I'm sure your – " he uses air quotes " – 'ex-girlfriend' loved it."

"She did!"

"It's okay, Timmy. This is a safe place. You can admit that you like high school clique movies." Tony nods sagely. "I might even be able to recommend a few."

Tim just stares at Tony for a long moment, eyes squinted as though he is trying to determine exactly what Tony is up to. Tony clasps his hands on the table, trying to appear as innocent as he can. Tony might be trying to wear Tim down until he talks about protective custody. But Tim doesn't need to know that.

"You might like The Breakfast Club," Tony suggests. "Molly Ringwald. Judd – "

"Knock it off, Tony," Tim interrupts. "I know what you're doing."

"And what's that?" Tony asks.

"I'm not going into protective custody," Tim replies.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll be fine," Tim says with as much conviction as he can muster.

Tony leans fully onto the table. Keeps his eyes locked on Tim's.

"And if you're not?" he asks.

At that, Tim blanches. He looks away. Worries at a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. Grabs a potato chip from Tony's lunch and absently eats it.

"Didn't Ziva break into your place last night?" Tony continues. "To tell you she's going to kill you."

"Yeah." Tim's expression suddenly sours. He scrubs a hand across his face. "And maybe drugged me and destroyed my gaming computer. I still have to clean up when I get home."

Tony's eyebrows climb to his hairline. "You never cleaned up?"

Tim shakes his head. "I didn't have time this morning. I figured I'd take care of it tonight."

"Why didn't you tell Harris?"

Shrugging with one shoulder, Tim leans back in his chair. "I completely forgot about that part with everything else I told him. Why…oh my G-d, there's evidence. I forgot to report evidence."

As the realization seemingly washes over him, Tim buries his face in his hands. He runs them over his head, breathing heavily. Tony wishes he even knew what to say, but he can't think of anything. Right now, he is so far out of his league that he doesn't know where to even start.

In the end, Tony offers: "You know, the FBI is going to search your place."

"Oh crap," Tim mutters into his hands. "I didn't even think about that."

Tony plays for humor. "Are you afraid the Feebees are going to catch you leaving your Victoria's Secret catalog out again? I bet you stole it from your neighbor. Mail theft, that's jail time, Probie."

Tim pulls his hands away from his face to narrows his eyes at Tony. The annoyance doesn't last long, a wisp of an emotion, there and gone in a blink. His expression softens before it settles into something completely unreadable. His eyes rove towards the ceiling.

"I never thought my apartment could be a crime scene." Tim laughs hollowly. "It's my place. I mean, we go through a vic's home. It's just…hard to think about agents doing it to my place."

"But they'll need to clear it." Tony raises his chin. "So, even if you do go home, there's going to be thousands of Feebees crawling over your place like ants." That earns a hard shudder from Tim. "Don't you want to go somewhere quieter and with less people? Maybe, somewhere safer?"

Tim tilts his head, considering. That's when Tony knows Tim is on the hook.

"Ziva is going to come back to your place again," Tony continues.

"Yeah, and it'll look suspicious if I'm not there." Tim places his hand flat against the table. "If we have a chance of catching her, I need to keep up appearances. We need to act like nothing's wrong."

Wavering his head, Tony supposes Tim might have the right idea. If they act like normal, Ziva would be less likely to hop on a plane to Israel. It might buy Harris enough time to find the evidence he would need to bury her. It might buy Tony enough time to work on his own plan.

"Just for the record, this is a very bad idea,'" Tony says.

Tim squints. "Was that a movie quote?"

"Armageddon." Tony nods. "Bruce Willis. Billy Bob Thorton. They say that right before making a jump across a canyon."

Tim leans forward. "Do they make it?"

Tony opens his mouth, but he puts his finger up instead. "You know what, I don't remember. All I know is that you going back home is a terrible idea. And you know it. If Ziva knows you talked to Harris, she will probably come visit you again. It might not end as well next time."

The little remaining color drains from Tim's face. He looks back towards the empty table, his eyes finding Golden where she is still on the phone. That gives Tony the opportunity to reclaim the tuna sandwich. He returns to eating it with a surprising gusto. Tim attempts to glare, but his heart isn't in it.

Tim sighs as though his soul is leaving his body. "I'm a field agent, Tony. I should be able to handle a problem."

"There's a problem and then there's Ziva with a grudge." Tony takes a huge bite while he lets his point resonate. "Do you really think she'll let you walk away?"

"And what about you?" Tim shoots back.

Tony swallows too early, choking on the tuna. He coughs, clearing his throat as he gasps for air. Once he manages to swallow the food, he barks a strangled laugh.

"You think she'd be after me?" He laughs again. More genuine this time.

"I don't know." Tim shrugs. "Maybe."

Tony opens his mouth. Closes it again. Drops his gaze to the tuna fish sandwich that is slopped all over the plate. He stares at the mess, suddenly realizing he never considered that.

"She wouldn't," Tony says.

They let the silence linger for a long moment until Golden strides back to the table. She stands up straighter, her head raised high and shoulders squared. She walks with a commanding purpose as though she is about to serve a warrant. It takes Tony's breath away and he suddenly flashes back to the woman he met in the bar all those years ago. The one he fell head over heels in like with for an entire long weekend.

Ah, that's the Irene I remember so well.

"Agent McGee," she barks with surprising authority.

Flinching, Tim glances up. "What's going on, Golden?"

"That call was from Agent Fornell. I don't know how he got my number." She pauses to stare pointedly at Tony, who is too busy scooping up the tuna with the remaining potato chips to notice. "He'll be putting you into protective custody starting at the end of the day."

"I already said I'm not going." Tim shakes his head. "I'll be okay. We need to keep up appearances that's nothing wrong. If I change my routine, it could spook Ziva."

"He told me that if you said that I have the authority to detain you." Golden quirks an eyebrow. "If necessary."

Tony looks up from his tuna. "Or you could come with me, Tim."