Contender

by germankitty66

When Gibbs lost his memories, Tony goes undercover as Professor DiNardo, trying to romance Dr. Jeanne Benoit to get information about her father, arms dealer La Grenouille on behalf of Director Shepard. Things go pear-shaped when one of Jeanne's co-workers recognizes Tony from when he had the plague. What can he do but tell Jeanne the truth and call someone for help? What-if A/U

Disclaimer: NCIS and all characters/settings you recognize belong to Belisarius Productions, CBS, and Disney Plus; no copyright infringement is intended, nor am I receiving any kind of monetary compensation. They are being used just for fun and will be put back in their respective sandboxes (possibly slightly singed, but basically unharmed) once I'm done with them.

Contender by germankitty66

A/N: Written for the NCIS Secret Santa Exchange Challenge 202over on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth

Alternate version of events set in season 4/5; inspired by a somewhat offhand sentence in ChokolatteJedi's excellent story "Clearance Level A1-0"; read it over on AO3. "With his bizarre health records, most of the hospitals in the area knew DiNozzo; it was something of a miracle that the doctor he was sent to seduce and all of her coworkers hadn't made the connection."

Gift for geminiangel70

Part 1: A Change in Plans

Tony was just turning left into Constitution Avenue on his way from the Navy Yard to George Washington University Hospital when his phone rang. Not his work phone, the other, private one Director Shepard – Jenny, he corrected himself mentally with a slight grimace; he really needed to remember that, or risk getting Disappointed Look #3 from her again – had given him. The one he was using exclusively to either call Jeanne, or to communicate with his boss outside of work. In a moment of whimsy, he had downloaded separate ringtones for the two women – for once he hadn't been able to come up with a fitting movie or TV title, but the lovely doctor he was supposed to romance seemed clearly pleased with his alternate choice of 'Can't Get You Out of My Head' when she'd heard it after texting him an address once. It also happened to be true – he was thinking about Jeanne more than was probably good for him. The other, however, was a classic movie score that was iconic, grandiose, and over-the-top dramatic – a perfect fit both for the woman herself and his cover identity as a Film Studies professor.

He still had to chuckle when he remembered Jeanne's reaction to the ringtone when he'd received a call from Shepard during one of their early dates at a quaint café near the Anacostia, and she had asked about the title after he'd quickly dealt with the director.

Two weeks earlier

"What was that tune? It's definitely familiar, but I can't place it," she apologized.

Tony made a 'never mind' gesture and adopted a pseudo-lecturing tone, fully in character as Tony DiNardo. "It's from a 1966 Western, part 3 of what's known as the 'Dollars Trilogy'. An Italian/Spanish/German/American co-production directed by Sergio Leone, starring Clint Eastwood," he told her. "The score was written by Ennio Morricone, and has become a classic, even though it was totally snubbed at the 1967 Academy Awards. Seriously, who remembers 'Born Free', never mind the other nominees? This is the film's main theme."

She gave him an indulgent smile. "Of course, Professore," she teased. "But does it have a name?"

"Of course it does," he huffed. "The original title was 'Il Buono, Il Brutto e Il Cattivo'."

"Mmh. I love how it sounds in Italian, but I'm afraid I don't know enough to translate … 'buono' means good, I know that much, and I think 'brutto' means bad, but—" A pretty frown marred her forehead for a moment, but then her eyes widened comically as the penny dropped.

"The ringtone for your boss – your BOSS! – is 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly'?!" she spluttered.

He gave her his best innocent look. "Yes?"

Jeanne stared at him for nearly a full minute, the mouth he hadn't yet kissed – but increasingly wanted to – hanging slightly open. Then she completely lost it, breaking into peals of laughter.

"You – you must be mad," she gasped when she could speak again.

He didn't bother to hide his twitching lips. If Jeanne only knew! Given that he had taken on this clandestine undercover assignment to get close to a highly intelligent woman with only the director as his sole support while trying to lead NCIS' flagship investigative team, dealing with his mentor's sudden absence and having to wrangle sullen, uncooperative co-workers who more often than not came perilously close to insubordination, the question wasn't entirely unwarranted.

"Probably," he replied with a shrug. "I mean, look at me – the weather is gorgeous, I'm having coffee and pastries at a lovely waterfront café with a beautiful woman, and I've made her laugh, which is just the loveliest sound. Clearly an unmistakable sign of insanity, isn't it, Doctor?" He winked.

Jeanne shook her head and giggled. "Totally," she agreed. "But don't worry, I can easily get ahold of a very stylish straitjacket if need be."

He just waggled his eyebrows at her, enjoying the banter. "Wow. Smart, pretty and kinky. Seems I hit the jackpot when I hit on you."

"Oh, you did? I hadn't noticed." She smirked and stood, gathering her coat and purse. "Come on, Mr. Mad Professor, let's go – maybe a walk along the river will cure you."

Tony quickly tucked a few bills under his plate to pay and tip their server, stood as well and reached for her hand. Brushing his lips across her knuckles, he smiled. "I'm afraid my condition may be terminal," he said. "You see, whenever I'm around you, my dear Dr. Benoit, I'm getting these irresistible urges to do even crazier things…" He gave her a smoldering look.

"Really? Like what?" Jeanne was even prettier when she blushed, Tony decided.

"Hmm, I don't know – maybe take you dancing tonight?" He named a popular club on Dupont Circle. "I mean, that's pretty crazy, right?"

Jeanne laughed, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him off the café's terrace onto the path leading to the river. "Utter insanity," she confirmed. "And apparently it's catching, because I'd love to go dancing with you."

"Yes!" Tony pumped his fist. "Score!"

Jeanne laughed. "What are you, twelve?"

"Hey! At least fourteen," he protested in mock indignation as he followed her. "And a half!"

The look she gave him spoke volumes. "Right," she said drily. "Mustn't forget the half." But her blue eyes sparkled with promises even as her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Let's go before I change my mind."

Tony reached for her hand again, locking their fingers together as they walked down the path. "Lead on, fair lady; I'll gladly follow."

Present

Well, it wasn't the haunting opening bars of Morricone's epic score coming from his phone, but the somewhat monotonous yet gently driving beat of last year's Kylie Minogue hit. Wondering why Jeanne would call him when he was already on his way to meet up, Tony frowned. Despite the usual Washington traffic being even worse than usual because the soft rain from earlier in the day had suddenly changed to a heavy squall, he wasn't even late yet, nor likely to be.

Well, one way to find out. As he had to stop at a traffic light anyway, Tony quickly took the call, then put the phone on speaker and laid it on the seat next to him.

"Hi, Jeanne," he said, loud enough to be heard over the traffic outside. "What's up? I'm on my way, should be able to pick you up in ten minutes, tops—"

"That's why I'm calling," Jeanne interrupted him with a gentle laugh. "Would you mind terribly coming round the back, to the staff entrance instead of the lobby out front?"

Tony grimaced a little; he wasn't exactly unknown in the DC medical community due to job-related injuries, not to mention the notoriety he'd gained since the plague. Hospitals were as much of a microcosm as police precincts or federal agencies were – eventually, everybody knew, or knew gossip about, everyone else. But as his lone visit to GWU's Emergency Room had been years ago – he'd badly sprained an ankle during a chase and neither Ducky nor his then-assistant, Gerald, had been available to patch him up – he decided he should be reasonably safe for a quick pick-up.

Especially as he really had no good reason to deny her request. He'd just have to be a little extra-careful at Jeanne's workplace.

"No, cara, not at all. Why, is something the matter?"

"No, everything's okay, it's just a really stupid coincidence." Tony had to suppress his instinctive urge to quote 'Rule 39' before he continued to listen. "Laundry services dumped a huge bag of lab coats and non-sterile scrubs in my office; they've run out of non-allergenic detergent, I get rashes from the regular stuff they use, so I need to wash them myself. Tonight." She huffed. "Also, remember that motorcycle accident I mentioned a couple of weeks ago? The guy I treated was released today, and his mother was so grateful that she brought almost a dozen cakes and pies for the staff as a thank-you. We had some already, but there's way too much, we don't have the room to store them here, and if we asked another ward, chances are they'll be gone tomorrow. And of course, I didn't bring my car today because we have a date..."

"Uh-oh, I can see where this is going," Tony chuckled when she drew a breath. "Let me guess – you either need a pack mule, or you want to cancel?"

"I'm not canceling our date." Jeanne sounded indignant even through the tinny speaker of Tony's phone. "But I'm standing here trying to juggle my laundry, a large cherry pie, and an even bigger chocolate cheesecake, while it's raining cats and dogs. There's no way I can hold an umbrella, too, and admin doesn't like it when staff meet friends in the lobby, so—"

"Okay, gotcha, I see the problem," Tony soothed his clearly unhappy girlfriend. "So, how do I find the staff entrance?"

"You've seen the area of the parking lot marked 'staff only'?"

"Beyond that conifer hedge? Sure."

"Good. If you follow the lane on the left, there'll be an arrow sign saying 'staff' about halfway down; it's brown and kind of hard to see, because we don't exactly want to show every wacko with a grudge how to find us."

"Sounds very cloak- and daggerish," Tony commented. "I've just passed the Park Plaza, by the way; won't be long until I'm there."

"Yay," Jeanne cheered. "Okay, you can drive up pretty close; there are three wide steps leading to a double glass door with a red metal frame. I'll wait for you there; we can just stow my stuff, and maybe you could take me home, please? As we already have dessert, I thought we might order in, and …" she trailed off, a hint of suggestion in her voice.

Oh, boy. Tony hadn't counted on that and was quite taken by surprise. Not that he didn't welcome the development; he was pretty sure that they were heading for intimacy if the heated kisses they'd shared last weekend were any indication. However, Jeanne wasn't the type of woman to take to a hotel, he wasn't exactly in the habit of bringing dates into his own home and just hadn't planned that far yet. His whirling thoughts were interrupted by Jeanne's voice, suddenly sounding small and unsure.

"That is if you want to?" she asked hesitantly when he didn't answer right away. "If you don't, that's perfectly fine; we can just dump my things and then go do whatever you've planned for tonight, I just thought, maybe—"

"Jeanne, you had me at 'chocolate cheesecake'," he interrupted gently. "Add in the pleasure of your company without distraction, and how can a guy say no to that? Takeout will be fine, too – maybe we can even pick up a bottle of wine on the way?" He laughed a little as he passed through the George Washington University area; just ahead was Jeanne's hospital. "Passing Foggy Bottom GWU; be there in a minute or two."

"Right," she said, relief evident in her voice. "I'll be waiting at the door."

"Can't wait," Tony replied softly and clicked off the phone. There was more foot traffic here, so he had to concentrate on his driving. Which was good, because now a part of his brain could ponder this unexpected development. The evening looked to be going far differently than he'd envisioned, and while he was trying not to get his hopes up, he couldn't help but wish that dessert might – might – maybe include something more than baked goods.

Even though he really loved chocolate cheesecake.

Part 2: Busted

As suddenly as the rain squall had started, so did it stop, just as Tony pulled up in front of the hospital's staff entrance. As promised, Jeanne was right at the red-framed glass door and dashed outside, a huge canvas bag stenciled with the hospital logo in one hand and a small umbrella in the other held over her head to ward off the persistent drizzle the city had seen all day.

Tony reached over and opened the right-side door from the inside. "Just put it on the seat."

Jeanne briefly bent down and crammed the bag into the back of Tony's Mustang. "Hi. Gotta go back for the pies."

He grinned. "The most important thing, apart from your lovely self, doctor."

She snorted. "Of course. Be right back!" Hurrying back up the few steps, she disappeared from view as someone helpfully opened the door from the inside. Tony tried to wrestle the bulging canvas bag down into the footwell behind the seats, but it was just too bulky. Grimacing, he got outside, popped the lid of the trunk, ran around the car, yanked the bag out again and threw it into the trunk. Slamming it shut, he was just about to turn and climb back behind the wheel again before his jacket got soaked through, when Jeanne called his name.

"Tony? Help, please?"

Wiping the rain's moisture from his face, Tony looked up at his girlfriend. She was standing next to the hood of his car, a foil-wrapped pie dish in one hand, and a plastic tray holding the cheesecake in the other. Another young woman with tan skin and dark hair in a pixie cut was standing next to Jeanne, carrying a sports duffel and holding up a much larger, rainbow-striped umbrella, protecting both Jeanne and herself from the elements.

Chuckling, Tony stepped closer. "Sure." He took first one, then the other pastry from her hands and set them into the footwell behind the front seats; not the best location, maybe, but better there than have them knocking about on the backseat, becoming potential missiles if he should skid on the wet asphalt or suddenly have to hit the brakes. "Okay, that's the best I can do for now. You ready to go, Jeanne?"

"Yes, quite," she said, turning to her fellow employee? Co-worker? Friend? Whatever. "Thanks, Zami," she said warmly. "I wouldn't have minded getting a little wet myself, but you and your umbrella definitely helped save the cheesecake." She threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder. "Apparently, it's Tony's favorite dessert."

Zami grinned at her. "That, as well as cinnamon-apple pie, Black Forest-style Swiss roll, Banoffee cake, and tiramisu, if I remember correctly." She cocked her head, her brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Isn't that right, Tony?"

Tony nearly froze. This woman seemed to know him; it looked as if she worked at the hospital, but how could she if he'd never been a patient here except for that one ER visit in his first year at NCIS? Any other time since, if they deemed whatever ailment serious enough or their equipment at NCIS wasn't suited, he always went to Bethesda. Besides, he was sure he would have remembered her strikingly beautiful features, even if she wasn't a nurse or doctor.

Only drawing on all of his undercover experience helped him find words. Any words.

"Well, they're certainly on my top ten list of desserts," he admitted, "but I'm sorry, you have me at a disadvantage, Miss …? Or is it doctor?"

The woman, Zami, chuckled. "I thought you might not remember, what with all the protective gear we used to wear around you. Plus, you were pretty out of it most of the time." She held out her hand. "So anyway, Ms. is perfectly fine. I'm just a medical technician, temporarily subbing for a friend on maternity leave. I'm Zamira Rashid."

He shook hands with her, murmuring a bland response while his mind churned. He didn't recall the name, either – all he could think of were the blue lights in the isolation room, Kate at his side and Gibbs ordering him to live. Everything else was still pretty much a blur – including most of the treatments he'd been given.

Ms. Rashid grinned. "You still have no idea who I am, huh?" She waved off a reply, then mock-scowled. "Bethesda, late spring 2005? You used to call me Nurse Ratched," she prompted.

In his mind, Tony instantly jumped to images of Louise Fletcher as 'Nurse Ratched', the villain from 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'. Great actress, terrific performance. Actually, he could recall all sorts of trivia about the movie, even Jack Nicholson's acceptance speech for winning Best Actor for his role as Randle McMurphy in the film at the 1976 Academy Awards. However, none of his near-encyclopedic knowledge of films and TV shows was at all helpful for once, which felt like a profound betrayal. He was drawing a total blank on this woman

Her grin widened as she could see not even mentioning the nickname he'd given her was ringing any bells, and gave a casual wave. "Never mind, it's cool."

"I, uhm—" Tony floundered, at a complete loss of words.

Jeanne was looking back and forth between them, clearly surprised. "Wait, you know Tony? How?"

"Well, sure," Ms. Rashid said. "Ever since he contracted Y. pestis in a bio attack back in 2005 and my boss saved him, Agent DiNozzo has practically become a legend around here. I used to operate the equipment at his respiratory therapy sessions."

Jeanne gasped and froze, and Tony realized that for the first time ever, he was experiencing an undercover operative's worst nightmare – being made with no chance to talk himself out of the situation.

FUCK!

"Ms. Rashid—" he started, hoping against hope he'd find a way to save what he could.

She shook her head and winked, then turned towards Jeanne. "The case pretty much made Dr. Pitt's reputation as a pulmonologist," she confided. "It was epic, for all of us who were there. But I guess that was before your time here in D.C.?" A car honked, and she turned her head, not waiting for an answer. "Oh, there's my ride. Doc, if you like, I'll tell you all the gory details over lunch tomorrow. Nice meeting you again, Tony, and have a good evening, you two!" Without another word, she quickly folded up her umbrella and jogged several yards to an SUV whose driver was already holding up the door for her. She climbed in, slammed the door, and gave them a jaunty wave as the SUV drove off.

Tony watched until it had rounded the hedge and gone from view, then drew a deep breath and slowly shifted until he was facing the woman standing just a couple of feet away. Jeanne stood stiffly in a way Tony knew meant she was doing her utmost to prevent her knees from buckling; she'd gone pale, and her beautiful face was a mask of confusion, dawning anger and hurt.

He tried to speak, but the only word he could form was her name. "Jeanne—"

She threw up a hand in a warding gesture, and Tony snapped his mouth shut. They stared at each other for a small eternity, or so it seemed. Tony tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as the Mojave desert, and the lump in his throat seemed permanently lodged within. Not even Gibbs' patented death glare had ever managed to paralyze him like the look in those normally warm eyes.

"Who are you?" she whispered hoarsely at last.

Tony briefly closed his eyes, inhaled as deeply as his damaged lungs allowed, and decided the situation had gone irrevocably FUBAR. There truly was only one thing left to do.

He told her the truth.

Part 3: Truths and Revelations, Part I

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, with NCIS," he said as calmly as he could. Jeanne gave him a puzzled look that Tony would take it anytime over the blank stare of moments ago. "Which stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I'm the Senior Field Agent for the MCRT," he explained, then elaborated when all he got was the twitch of an eyebrow. "In other words, Second-in-Command of the Major Case Response Team."

Jeanne pursed her lips and frowned. "I'm not in any way connected with the Navy, and I am not a criminal." Her eyes sharpened. "Why would you investigate me?"

"No, you're not – and I'm not, either. Investigating you, I mean."

"Then why have you sought me out? And why did you lie to me?"

The second question was more important than the first, that much was obvious. Inwardly, Tony admitted it would be the same for him if their positions had been reversed. He sighed and rubbed his neck. Every instinct he had told him to evade, to prevaricate, to deflect; he just didn't know how. So he hedged. "It's a long, and complicated story."

He should've known it wouldn't get him very far. Doctor Benoit was far more than just a pretty face; she was too intelligent, too experienced in hearing nuances of speech from patients who tried to lie to hide why they showed up in her office.

"Uncomplicate it," Jeanne demanded.

Tony's shoulders slumped. He really shouldn't divulge secrets that weren't his own – they were, if not the agency's, then the director's – but he was in so much deep shit already, a little more would hardly matter. What choice did he have, really?

"None, that's what."

Conceding defeat, he blew out a breath. "I can explain."

"Why should I believe you? How would I know you're not telling more lies?"

Tony managed a tiny, wry smile. "I can verify everything – or if you prefer, you can do it yourself."

"How?"

He snorted lightly. "Normally, I'd show you my credentials, but I don't have them on me right now. So for starters, you can call your friend's boss at Bethesda. Brad can at least confirm that what she said about meeting me was true."

Jeanne gave him a long, hard look, then nodded reluctantly and fished her phone from her purse. "His name."

"Brad Pitt. No relation." At Jeanne's frown, he shrugged deprecatingly. "No, really."

She rolled her eyes, but pressed a button on her speed dial list. When the call was accepted after the second ring, she spoke quickly. "Annette, please connect me to Doctor Pitt, at the National Naval Medical Center. - Thank you, I'll wait if he's available."

Tony was impressed; he could've easily given her Brad's number, but Jeanne was too shrewd for that – by letting Annette, the department secretary she shared with a few colleagues, make the connection, she could be reasonably sure that the person she was trying to reach was legit. He watched her as the call went through within just a few minutes.

"This is Doctor Benoit; I'm a Senior Resident at George Washington University Hospital. To whom am I speaking?" Her eyebrows rose at the answer, and she abruptly turned, taking a few steps away from Tony. Due to ambient traffic noise, Tony couldn't make out what exactly she was saying, but he did see that her shoulders relaxed slightly during the conversation. He was going to owe a bottle of Bombay Blue Sapphire to the Wolverine. Finally, Jeanne thumbed her phone off, slid it back into her purse and faced Tony. "Well, it seems you are who you say you are."

He managed to swallow the automatic "I told you so" he would've given any of his teammates; the response would not have gone over well. "Yes."

"You said you could explain. I'm waiting."

Tony grimaced. A hospital parking lot was hardly the right place for the kind of discussion they needed to have. In principle, outside was good, especially as the rain seemed about to stop, but to remain standing next to a car was way too conspicuous. "Not here."

"Why not?"

"It might not be safe," he replied, "besides, I'd honestly prefer someplace a bit warmer, and drier."

"It's not that cold," she protested. "We must still have around sixty degrees."

"Which is fine for most people," he readily conceded. "Unfortunately, my lungs ..."

"Oh." A flush of chagrin brought some color back into Jeanne's face. Doctor Pitt hadn't gone into details, but she knew enough about the effects a virus like Y. pestis could have on a person's health. "Of course, the dampness, I should've realized—"

"Not your fault," Tony fended off her apology. "Any other day, I'd suggest an outdoor café or even a park bench somewhere, but given the current weather, that's not really an option, right?"

"There's a small bistro a few blocks down," Jeanne ventured, but was taken aback when Tony immediately shook his head.

"Sorry, no. What I have to tell you is highly sensitive; not exactly national security level, I don't think, but definitely something I really, really don't want to talk about in public."

"So what do you suggest?"

He drew a deep breath. "Normally, I'd say a conference room at the Navy Yard, but for various reasons – which will be part of the explanation," he warded off her protest, "that's out." He hesitated briefly. "The next best option would be my apartment; the only one who could hear us there would be Kate, and I'm 100% certain she won't talk."

"Who is Kate? Your wife?" The disgusted look on her face at the idea was painful.

Tony smiled wryly. "Hardly – I'm single. She's my goldfish."

That drew a surprised laugh from Jeanne. "Your what?"

"My very pretty fantail goldfish. Named after my partner who was killed by a terrorist about two years ago."

Jeanne's features softened a little, and she stepped close enough to briefly touch his sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

She sighed. "Under different circumstances, I think I wouldn't mind meeting Kate the fish one day, but as it is ... I'm sorry, but I don't feel comfortable going to your place."

Tony shrugged. "I understand. I wish I could suggest going to my immediate superior's house, but as he has ... currently relocated from D.C. after an injury earlier this year, that's out, too." And wasn't that putting things nicely, considering that Gibbs had hared off on his margarita safari down to Mike Frank's place with nary a thought on what it meant for his team? Not to mention that even if he'd stayed, Gibbs wasn't read in on the assignment Director Shepard had given him!

Jeanne sighed again, longer and more deeply, pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment, then gave him a hard look. "Can you give me your word that you won't harm me if we go through with our original plan for tonight?"

Tony blinked at her, feeling slightly confused at the unexpected non sequitur. "I'm sorry, what?"

She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw before she visibly forced herself to relax. "If you'll recall, when we spoke earlier as you were on your way here, I suggested going to my place. We agreed to order takeout, and have my cheesecake for dessert. I may still rethink the offer to share, but I believe I might feel safest at home. Provided you honestly – hah! – have no bad intentions and I haven't gone mad even thinking I can trust you that far."

The rush of relief nearly made Tony sag with gratitude, it was so sudden and strong. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "That would be perfect. Thank you, Jeanne."

"Do you give me your word?"

"Absolutely. I promise," he replied instantly. "I will not intentionally harm you in any way," he said solemnly, but felt obliged to add, "although some of what I have to tell you might hurt. For that, I apologize in advance."

"We shall see," she said neutrally. "Very well, take me home."

Feeling much lighter now, the movie quote came easily to his lips.

"As you wish."

Part 4: Truths and Revelations, Part II

Sometime later, they were sitting side by side at Jeanne's breakfast bar. They were both hungry and had decided to postpone any discussion until after they'd eaten. Jeanne had suggested getting takeout from a Middle-Eastern restaurant near her place; it wasn't Tony's favorite cuisine, but given that he felt to be on rather shaky ground with the pretty doctor, he hadn't protested. Taking another bite of his Tachin Joojeh, an Iranian layered chicken dish with rice, he had to admit that it wasn't half-bad, despite the handful of currants scattered throughout. However, he avoided looking at all the apricots, prunes, and almonds in Jeanne's chicken tajine; in his opinion, this particular mixture of ingredients belonged in a Christmassy fruitcake, not a hot lunch.

At least the iced peppermint tea was nice.

Once they were done eating, Jeanne took out her French press and quickly brewed some coffee; it was a pleasant roast, and while Tony missed his hazelnut creamer, he was happy enough with the better-than-decent caffe macchiato she prepared for him while making a large cup of classic café au lait for herself. For a few moments, he wished for a stiff drink to provide some Dutch courage – and wouldn't that make them be all cosmopolitan and stuff! – but they'd mutually agreed to leave off any alcohol; keeping a clear head was a necessity for the imminent talk they needed to have.

Coffee cups in hand, they wandered into the small, but perfectly appointed living room. Tony couldn't help but notice that from the look of things, Jeanne's style was pretty similar to his own – rich, warm hardwood floors, ceiling-high built-in bookshelves painted a soft cream color, and a red oak coffee table in front of the L-shaped couch covered in a dark fabric. Instead of a piano, there was a cozy-looking recliner by the French doors leading out to a small west-facing balcony, perfect for watching the sunset with a glass of wine.

"I like your place," he murmured, just to break the silence that had settled between them. "Especially the balcony; wish I had one."

"Thank you," she replied, then exhaled audibly. "But we're not here to discuss my décor, are we?"

Tony sighed. "No." He tilted his head to look at her. "Where do you want to do this?"

Jeanne huffed a little, then gestured towards the seating area. "Let's sit, why don't we."

They sat, facing each other across the corner segment, and Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Okay," he said. "Do you have any specific questions, or ..."

"Maybe later," she interrupted him, not un-gently. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"At the beginning, huh," he muttered. "To do that, I'd have to go back almost two years, when Kate died and NCIS had a change of directors. Which would entail a lot of things you wouldn't be interested in, and that only tangentially relate to this situation."

She blinked. "Okay?"

Tony huffed. "Alright, Readers' Digest version. In mid-2005, our former director laterally moved to Homeland Security, and was succeeded by Jennifer Shepard, who just happens to be my team lead's former probie and partner." He grimaced, "And before you ask, yes, partners in more than just a professional sense. Guess her ambitions meant more to her than he did, but ... anyway, fast-forward to May of this year, my immediate superior was injured in an explosion at sea. He survived with minor physical injuries, but after a few days in a coma, he woke up with most of his memories of the last fifteen years gone."

"Temporary amnesia is not an uncommon effect of a head injury," Jeanne said quietly. "Assuming he had one?"

"Yeah. He got lucky in that respect – some of his memories have started coming back. The problem is, when he woke up, he thought he was back in Iraq during his last deployment as an active Marine ... who 'd just been told that his wife and nine-year-old daughter had been killed by the leader of a drug cartel."

Jeanne winced, and Tony gave her a wry look. "Exactly. Long story short, he resigned, but the director changed it to an extended leave because we're all fairly sure he'll come back eventually. Meanwhile, I've been promoted to team lead, only my co-workers refuse to accept me in the position. Not gonna go into details, again not relevant, but I'm ... struggling, and when Director Shepard called me in and asked whether I'd be willing to take on an undercover assignment, I nearly jumped at the chance."

"Why?" Jeanne wondered.

He shrugged. "Because I'm good at it. In fact, I'm one of the best undercover operatives NCIS has – and that's not me bragging." He inhaled and blew out his breath. "Mainly it was because I could prove something, I guess. That I was good at my job, even though my colleagues haven't exactly taken my promotion with good grace."

"It validated you," Jeanne murmured. "Basic psychology."

"I guess," he conceded reluctantly.

They both fell silent, finishing their drinks. Jeanne set her cup back onto the saucer with a 'clink'. "You still haven't said what your assignment actually was – and why it involves me."

"I know. This is where things get complicated – well, more complicated. Because this is the part where I might have to hurt you." He ran both of his hands through his hair. "Hell, who am I kidding? I know I'm gonna hurt you – and that's the last thing I want to do."

She paled a bit, but her voice was firm and she didn't shrink away. "Well, get it over with, then," she advised him.

"Just like that?"

"What's the use of drawing out unpleasant truths, when it's easier to just rip off the band-aid, as it were?" she asked reasonably. "I'm a doctor; I can't pack my patients in cotton wool when they need to face facts about whatever diagnosis I have to give them. Especially if they need to cooperate with the treatment."

"Don't I know it," Tony muttered, thinking of the effort it took him to stay field-ready after the plague. "You sure about that?"

"Just tell me, Tony," she replied impatiently. "Procrastination doesn't serve either one of us."

"Right," he conceded. Feeling the need to move, he got up and went to the window. Looking out into the gathering darkness, he mentally braced himself and turned around, meeting her eyes head-on.

"Director Shepard asked me to go undercover and befriend you in order to gather information."

Jeanne frowned. "Information about what? I'm a doctor, what would I possibly know that could be of importance to your agency? I don't think I've ever even treated a single sailor or Marine—"

"She thinks you might give me information about your father," Tony interrupted a bit more sharply than he'd intended. To his surprise, the expression washing across Jeanne's face was not at all what he'd expected. Surprise, yes. Incredulity, most likely. Maybe even indignation. But certainly not the mix of resignation and chagrin that he saw. "I'm sorry, Jeanne, I—"

"This is about Papa's arms-dealing business, isn't it?" she asked, remarkably calm and collected. Tony felt his chin drop.

"You— you know about that?" he blurted. "I would never have thought—"

Jeanne waved a hand. "Oh, I've known for quite a few years," she said. "Ever since I was old enough to understand exactly why Maman divorced him."

For one of the few times in his career, Tony felt completely wrong-footed. "I ... I don't know what to say," he admitted.

She leaned back against the couch, striving for a nonchalance Tony could see was feigned. "Well ... my parents' marriage ended in 1991."

Tony remembered the period. "That's when the civil war broke out in Somalia."

"Yes. As Maman told me, Papa sold weapons to many of the parties involved, on all sides of the conflict, and when reports about the thousands of casualties became public, she gave him an ultimatum: get out of the arms business or get out of our marriage." She shrugged. "I never asked how she found out, but I understood and supported her decision. Papa left our house on the next day."

Yeah, Tony could get behind the woman's stand. He refused to think about his former partner in Baltimore. As soon as he'd learned about Danny's betrayal, he'd hightailed it to Washington to take Gibbs up on his job offer. But that was beside the point in the here and now.

"Do you still see him?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I do," Jeanne said. "He's still my father, after all."

Tony could well relate to that as well. Despite their fractious history and Senior's less than morally sound character, he still loved his father ... even though he'd given up hope to ever have the sentiment returned in any meaningful way.

"Did you ever confront your father about his, um, business?" he couldn't help asking.

"Once," Jeanne admitted. "When I decided to specialize in Emergency medicine. I told him that I wanted to spend at least a year, if not longer, with Médécins sans Frontières, and asked him how he would feel if I got injured, abducted or even killed because his actions were facilitating the continuation of the conflict."

"Whoa. That's gutsy," Tony said admiringly. He'd never confronted the elder Anthony DiNozzo about his shady dealings, after all – mainly because deep down, he was afraid that if he looked too closely, his oaths as a law enforcement officer would compel him to take action. Plausible deniability was very much his friend. "So what did your father say to that?"

"He admitted that I had a point," she said with a small shrug. "And then he promised me that he was already taking steps to withdraw from arms dealing."

Tony looked up sharply. If that was true, shouldn't Director Shepard have heard rumors to that effect? Whenever one of the big players in international arms dealing – among whom Jeanne's father, René Benoit, surely had to be counted – made a move like that, at least some news usually made the rounds very quickly. Maybe not to the rank-and-file police officers and federal agents not associated with either ATF or possibly the CIA, but somebody had to know something. Which suddenly shed quite a different light on his assignment. He forced himself not to spiral into a potentially very nasty rabbit hole, one that went much further down than he'd ever anticipated, and that he probably should get out of as quickly as possible.

First, though, he had to make sure. "Do you trust him to keep that promise?"

"Absolutely." Jeanne smiled. "Papa has never broken a promise he's made to me. Ever."

Part 5: Help Wanted/4

Tony had been pacing Jeanne's apartment for the last half-hour; after the curveball of learning that Jeanne actually was well aware of her father's illegal business – something he would've sworn couldn't be true after dating her for several weeks – he needed time to rearrange his worldview, as it were. Finally, he admitted to himself that for once he was in over his head, and needed help, stat. The question was, who could he ask?

He had friends and contacts all over D.C., both in law enforcement and out. But it couldn't be just anybody; whoever he decided to bring in, it had to be someone who not just might do him a favor of this magnitude, but also someone he could trust knowing where to dig, how deep – and when to stop. Pre-explosion Gibbs might have worked, but for obvious reasons was out of the running. However, thinking about his boss sparked an idea. It was wacky and would've earned him the worst headslap ever if Gibbs were around, but he wasn't, and this was Tony's next-best option. Well, actually the only one. So ...

With Jeanne's permission, he'd called Fornell.

Now, they were waiting for the senior FBI agent to arrive. Jeanne had made fresh coffee and cut up the cheesecake, but neither she nor Tony were really in the frame of mind to enjoy the treat. Which was a shame, really; the one bite she'd taken had been heavenly, but Tony was too distracted to even try. Maybe she should at least get him to settle down; the pacing was driving her nuts. "Tony?" She flinched a little at the stormy expression on his face when he stopped in mid-stride. "Are you okay?"

He snorted. "No. To tell the truth, I'm so far from okay, it might as well be on the dark side of the moon."

"Why?" she wondered. "Why are you so upset that Papa is already trying to mend his ways? Isn't that a good thing?"

"In principle, and on a personal level for you, yes," he said. "But for me? Not so much."

"What do you mean?"

He finally came back to the couch and slumped back onto the seat. "It means that this whole operation," he made a circling gesture between them, "is starting to look as if I'm being played by the director. Or it's a set-up of sorts. I just haven't figured out yet who's setting up whom." He wiped his hand down his face. "I should never have agreed to do it."

"We certainly wouldn't be having this very awkward conversation," Jeanne said wryly. "I'm still not sure how I feel about being just 'an assignment' for you."

Tony sighed. "Jeanne, you were a name and a face in a picture. A very pretty face, which made it easy to agree, but it didn't tell me anything about who you were as a person. Or that I'd be honestly attracted to you." He gave her a sheepish smile. "I know now that I would've loved meeting you for real. Truly by chance, just two people bumping into each other at a coffee shop, randomly striking up a conversation and sharing a table, if it helps any."

"Not at the moment, no."

"Ouch." He winced. "I guess I deserved that."

"Yes."

Luckily for Tony, the doorbell rang at that moment, sparing him from having to find an answer. On the whole, coming clean to Jeanne about his true identity had gone ... well, not smoothly, but better than he'd hoped. Despite their relatively civil conversation so far, he could tell that she was pissed at him – justifiably so – in addition of feeling hurt and betrayed. But maybe, just maybe, they might be able to salvage something out of this clusterfuck. Because the lovely Dr. Benoit was someone Tony DiNozzo, not 'DiNardo', wouldn't mind getting to know better. He briefly crossed his fingers, then stood when Jeanne guided the other agent from the entry into her living room.

True to form, Fornell greeted Tony in his usual friendly way.

"DiNutso," he growled, "what goddamn mess have you gotten yourself into this time?"

Tony snorted. "Well, hello to you, too, Toby. Long time no see."

"Hmph." Fornell shrugged out of his trench coat and let it fall to the floor at the end of the couch. "You never call me until you're in some kind of pickle. Don't see tonight being any different, or you wouldn't have asked me over in such lousy weather. Not that I mind meeting a pretty lady—" he nodded at Jeanne, "—who's probably way out of your league, but unlike Gibbs, you usually don't go out of your way to be a pain in my ass for no reason. So, spill!"

"Aww, don't you just love a grouch like him?" Tony asked Jeanne with a wink; he was already feeling more grounded now that the seasoned agent was here and was finding his way back to his usual modus operandi, using humor to lighten the atmosphere.

"DiNutso," Fornell barked, "stop the bullshit, or I'm gonna leave right now!"

Tony barely refrained from sticking out his tongue at the man, because that'd be too juvenile even for his customary frat boy persona. He did roll his eyes, though.

"Keep your pants on, Toby; I'm getting to it." He sat down at the other end of the couch, asking Jeanne to take the corner segment, which she did after refreshing their coffees and handing Fornell the water he'd requested instead. Tony took a deep breath. "Okay, it all started soon after Gibbs high-tailed to Mike Franks' shack down in Baja and I took over the team. Director Shepard called me in and asked if I'd be willing to take on an undercover op on the side ..." He proceeded to lay out the timeline so far, with only the occasional grunt or snort from the older man as commentary, until he came to the events of earlier in the day. "Well, long story short, when I picked up Jeanne at GWU, I got made."

Fornell nearly choked on the sip of water he'd just taken. "What? You? How?!"

Tony shrugged. "Jeanne was accompanied by a medical technician, therapist, whatever who actually works at Bethesda and knew me from when I had the plague. I have absolutely no recollection of ever meeting her; I mean, I must have; seems I gave her a nickname and everything. But I honestly remember nothing about her. Still don't. Anyway, she completely blew my cover before I even realized what was happening – name, job, the works. Right in front of Jeanne, here."

"Yeah, that'll do it." He scowled. "What the hell were you thinking, though? You know that you're fairly well known around most hospitals in the DMV."

"Trust me, I took all reasonable precautions," Tony muttered. "It was just bad luck, bad timing or whatever. Or maybe Rule 39 needs amending."

Jeanne, who didn't even pretend not to listen, interrupted. "Excuse me, what? Which rule?"

Tobias smirked at Tony, then explained. "The kid's boss, Agent Gibbs, has this set of rules; get him to explain them another day. What's #39 again?" he asked Tony.

"'There's no such thing as a coincidence'," Tony quoted. "Which is right about 90% of the time. The rest of it, well ..." He shrugged.

"Okay, don't let's get sidetracked," Tobias said. "So your cover was blown; I'm assuming that you came clean to Miz Benoit about who you are and why you approached her?"

"Of course I did; what other choice did I have?"

"None that I can see," the older agent agreed.

"It was quite a shock," Jeanne murmured quietly. "I believed who Tony said he was; there was no indication I had to be suspicious."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Doctor," Fornell said. "DiNutso is one of the best in the business, and has fooled a lot of folks that have made being suspicious into an art form." He pointed a finger at Tony. "And if you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll arrest you for murder again and make it stick this time!"

Tony snickered and flipped him off. "In your dreams, Toby!"

Jeanne was staring at both men with wide eyes. "Excuse me, what?" she gasped.

Tony reached over and patted her arm. "It wasn't true, long story, and I'll tell you about it another time. Okay?"

"I ... I guess," she mumbled, then jerked to attention when Tobias cleared his throat.

"Right, back to business," he said. "That's not why you called for help, or at least not the only reason. What happened next?" He listened intently as Tony, with the occasional help from Jeanne, recounted their earlier conversation and the things that had come to light. Fornell took it all in, clearly thinking it over. At last, he gave a decisive nod. "I think you're right, kid," he told Tony. "That's not at all kosher. Shepard's playing you. But what were you thinking, taking on that half-assed assignment, anyway? A paper-thin cover, practically no backup, in an environment where the chance of being made was extremely high – and all while you're working your regular, full-time job? Are you crazy?"

Tony flushed and squirmed a little in his seat. "At the time, it seemed the logical thing to do," he mumbled, taking refuge in another quote.

"Logical? What's logical about letting yourself be roped into this dumbass stunt?"

Tony made an impatient gesture, waving him off. "Doesn't matter now. Besides, when Jenny showed me a picture of Jeanne, I thought it would be … well, not a cakewalk, but easy enough. She looked nice, normal, like someone I'd like to get to know. So, well ..."

At his rather sheepish and unexpected admission, Jeanne hid a small, pleased-despite-herself smile behind her coffee cup, while the FBI agent scowled. "You know better." 'To not let hormones overrule your judgment' was implicit in both his expression and voice.

"There were extenuating circumstances, okay?" Tony snapped, irritated. "And no, I'm not going to tell because they're not relevant to this op!" No way was he going to whine about his colleagues' disrespect.

"If you say so," Fornell replied calmly, taking some of the wind out of Tony's sails. "Anyway, back to this clusterfuck of an op; are there any clues what Shepard might've been thinking?"

"Like she may have an agenda other than stopping what could conceivably be in our wheelhouse, like using Navy resources or vessels for arms dealing?"

"Something like that. Sounds likely, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Tony conceded grudgingly. "Question is, what is that agenda? And out of all the known arms dealers, why is she so fixated on Jeanne's father? Thinking back, she really wanted to know just about him; where he was, what he was doing, when he'd be back in D.C. – that kind of stuff. Everything else seemed ... well, not exactly irrelevant, but ... secondary?"

"Like it was personal?" Fornell prompted.

"Could be," Tony conceded.

"Right. So that's what we need to find out – the connection between Shepard and La Grenouille."

Jeanne gave a startled laugh. "I'm sorry, who?"

Tony repeated the moniker, as Fornell had quite mangled the pronunciation.

She giggled. "'The Frog'? Who would come up with, or use, such a silly name?"

"It's actually what your father is called in the business," Tobias readily explained. "La Grenouille is known as the head of an arms-dealing empire in some circles; not many people are aware of his true identity."

"Which would actually make it easier to insert an operative into his organization – someone to run things from the shadows." Tony mused.

Fornell nodded. "Could be. It's likely, even."

"Well, crap. Who do you think Jeanne's father is working for?" Tony asked.

"You tell me, kid."

Tony scowled at him, then grudgingly admitted, "Either ATF because arms dealing clearly is in their purview, or CIA, because they would need a front with Benoit's connections and cred for whatever crazy stuff they're really up to."

"Now you're thinking," Tobias nodded. "Question is, how does Jenny Shepard fit into all of this? Scuttlebutt around town has it that except for usual inter-agency stuff, she has never shown much interest in how the other alphabets work. At best, she tolerates her peers; at worst, she couldn't care less about their operations as long as NCIS gets the spotlight. Typical kid-brother syndrome, if you ask me."

"Let me know when you're telling her that to her face," Tony quipped. "I'll bring popcorn."

Part 6: A Clue and a Breakthrough

The two agents spent another hour batting theories around, creating and rejecting various scenarios, and taking copious notes for Fornell to start digging the next day. Jeanne watched and listened with fascination; even though she was horrified to think her beloved father might be embroiled in any of the likely or unlikely schemes, it was still a very unique experience to watch two evidently competent men doing their job.

Finally, they had gone as far as they could without access to FBI resources, and Agent Fornell was the first to leave, with a promise to Tony that he'd be in touch as soon as he found something. Tony lingered for a few more minutes; he wanted to get out of his work headspace before saying goodbye to Jeanne. He also needed to tuck away the regret he felt at realizing he was losing something good before he even knew it was in his grasp. But as it was growing late, he couldn't justify staying longer, especially as they both had to go to work again in the morning.

He shrugged on the jacket he'd long discarded and went to stand in front of Jeanne. He took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against her fingertips. "I guess this is goodbye, then," he said softly. "I'm sorry I had to deceive you – but I'm not sorry I met you, and got to know you, at least a little."

"I'm sorry, too," she replied. "Like you said earlier, if we'd met like regular people, I think we might have had something. As it is, though ... watching you and Agent Fornell work was fascinating, and in a way enlightening. I can see, up to a point, why you did what you did – but I can't forget it."

"Or forgive?"

"No. Maybe someday, but ... not now. I believe I might have liked getting to really know you, but as things stand ..."

He smiled sadly. "To slightly misquote one of my favorite films, 'I coulda been somebody. I coulda been a contender'?"

"Yes. Something like that."

"So could you, Jeanne. So could you."

She watched him go and close the door to her apartment behind him, a single tear coursing down her cheek for what might have been.

The days wore on; occasionally, Tony and Jeanne spoke on the phone or texted each other, just so he could keep up the pretense of still working the undercover op for Director Shepard. He was regretful but quietly pleased when Jeanne told him she'd be away for a month to attend a symposium at the CDC in Atlanta, Georgia; it at least enabled him to concentrate solely on his job.

Then Gibbs came back.

The way it happened was callous, to say the least – finding all his things unceremoniously dumped onto his old desk, being busted back to SFA, everybody over the moon to have Gibbs back despite him having worked his ass off to keep things running, and worst of all, Gibbs' complete indifference towards how this affected Tony and his ability to do his job. Ziva and McGee may have dialed down the borderline insubordination they'd shown him during Gibbs' absence, but they kept up an attitude of passive-aggressiveness that was often hard to take.

Before the explosion, Gibbs would have shot them down at least some of the time, but with his memory still quite spotty, he often ignored chain-of-command issues in order to reestablish his own authority. In quiet moments, Tony couldn't help but wonder if Gibbs somehow resented the fact that he'd done a decent job leading the team despite the less than ringing endorsement he'd been given with Gibbs' parting words of 'You'll do'.

One morning on his way to work, Tony was yanked out of his increasingly morose thoughts when his special phone rang, playing once again the opening bars of Kylie Minogue's hit song. He quickly thumbed it on, put it on speaker, and took the call. "Good morning, Jeanne. Aren't you still in Atlanta?" They were in the same time zone, so it wasn't unusual for her to be up at 7.30 AM, but she usually called him in the evening, so ...

"I'm flying back tomorrow," she said. "It's just, I remembered something that might interest you and Agent Fornell, so I was wondering if we could meet somewhere, maybe?"

He felt his heartbeat speed up. Fornell hadn't gotten very far with looking into Jenny's affairs yet, mainly because a lot about her personal information was classified due to her position as the director of a federal agency, and he had to be quite careful and circumspect. Hopefully, whatever Jeanne remembered would be a clue where look, rather than searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

"I'll contact Toby and set up a time, then call you back tomorrow before your flight's departure?"

"Sounds good; boarding time is at 11.30AM, so any time before that will work."

"Gotcha. See you tomorrow. Bye, Jeanne."

"Bye, Tony."

They met at Fornell's house two days after Jeanne had returned; it had proved impossible to coordinate their respective schedules any sooner. Tobias brought in a tray with several water bottles, coffee and creamer, then sat down in an armchair across from Tony and Jeanne who shared the couch. "Well? What do you have for us, Doctor?"

Jeanne sighed. "I don't even know whether it's important or not," she hedged, only to be silenced by Tony's hand on her wrist.

"At this point, every little clue might help," he told her gently. "Because frankly, we're getting nowhere fast."

"That's not to say that we have exhausted every avenue," Tobias added, "but even if it's just a name, a location, a time, something might shake another thing loose."

She nodded. "Okay, yes, I can see that. It's not so different in diagnosing illnesses; even the hint of an unusual symptom might be pointing in the right direction."

"Exactly," Tony concurred, then sat back, waiting for her to continue.

Jeanne drew a deep breath. "Well ... it was a few years ago. I'd gone to Papa's house in Carcassonne to study in peace for an important exam; Maman was seeing someone at the time who was very intrusive, so I took the opportunity to get away for a few weeks. Anyway, one afternoon I was on the patio, trying to make sense out of a few diagrams, when I heard Papa speaking on the phone. His office overlooks the garden, you see, and the window was partially open." She cleared her throat and gratefully accepted the bottle of water Tony handed her. Taking a few swallows, she set it within easy reach on the coffee table and continued. "Papa seemed somewhat agitated and was speaking loudly, or I wouldn't have heard him at all." She rubbed her temples. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling," she sighed. "I'll try to do better. I must tell you, though, I can't recall the whole conversation because I was distracted and frankly not interested, but ..."

"That's okay, Jeanne," Tony reassured her. "To paraphrase what Tobias said, every little bit might help."

"Right. Well, I heard Papa saying that he would fly back to the US with me, and that he would visit 'the English' as soon as possible. Oh, and that he was hoping to see thirty ... whatevers while there. Then he left the room, and I went back to studying. I only remembered because one of the diagrams came up the other day."

The two men exchanged a puzzled glance. "I got nothing," Fornell admitted. "You?"

"Not really." Tony frowned, picturing the scenario in his mind. It seemed all very cryptic – someone or something English, visiting a person or place … he jerked up his head as a wild idea began to form. His eyes narrowed as he turned towards her, his mind churning. "Jeanne – was your father speaking English, or French?"

"French, why? He usually does when in France, and I don't mind; it helps keep me fluent."

"Okay ... tell me, are you sure he said 'the English' as in 'les Anglaises', or could it have been 'the Englishman', as in 'l'Anglais'?"

She thought for a minute, then shook her head. "It might have been either; I honestly don't remember. As I said, I wasn't really paying attention."

"Hmm."

"What're you're getting at, kid?" Fornell asked. "Why does it matter whether he was using the singular or plural?" He shrugged at the look Tony gave him. "Two years of French in High School, back in the day. A thing or two stuck."

"Riiiight," Tony drawled, then became serious. "If it was 'l'Anglais', singular, it could possibly be just what we need."

"How so?"

Tony grabbed a notepad and wrote down a single word – 'Langley'. He showed it to the young woman. "Jeanne, how would a Frenchman pronounce this?"

Her breath hitched in surprise. "Probably very much like 'l'Anglais'," she said, making the next jump on her own. "But if I were speaking English, I'd say Langley, like that place in Virginia!"

Tony grinned when Fornell started to curse under his breath. "Told ya she's smart, Toby!"

Jeanne's eyes flicked between them. "Why is that important?"

"Because Langley is where CIA headquarters are located. Not only can we ignore the ATF now, but it might help prove that your father actually collaborates with them."

"That's good, right?"

"Very good," Tony reassured her. Then he noticed that across the table, Fornell was staring at the notepad. "Something bothering you, Tobias?"

"Dunno – I just wonder, could there be something similar going on with this thirty-whatever? But my French isn't good enough... some help, please?"

Tony reached for the pen and notebook again and scribbled first the number, 30, and then the word 'trente', reading it out loud. "'Trohn-te', that's thirty in French," he said, showing it to Fornell, who groaned and covered his eyes. "What?"

The older man looked at him, an expression of distaste on his face. "Ever heard of a guy named Trent Kort?"

"Can't say that I have," Tony replied. "Why?"

"He's British, an explosives expert, unmitigated asshole ... and works for the CIA. What do you wanna bet that he's Benoit's handler?"

"I don't take sucker bets," Tony muttered. "Got a picture somewhere? Maybe Jeanne has seen him around her father; that'd be corroboration at least."

Tobias grimaced. "No can do; if he's really on a deep-cover op like that, his picture would be classified."

"What about pictures of La Grenouille? Surely an arms dealer of his stature travels with some kind of entourage?"

Fornell pointed towards the far corner of the room, housing a desk with his computer. "Knock yourself out," he said. "My internet password is G_Man0353."

"Not exactly the most secure, Toby," Tony commented even as he typed it in. Seconds later he had opened a browser window and started establishing parameters for a Google image search. "Okay, fair warning – I'm not McGeek or Abby, so this may take a while."

Already, a first group of pictures popped up. "You're way faster than me, that's for sure," Fornell said as he peeked over Tony's shoulder. "Stop, go one page back." Tony obliged, then zoomed in on a group shot of people descending a mobile staircase butting up against what he thought might be a Learjet at a private airfield somewhere. René Benoit – he'd done some research on the man, so knew what he looked like – was the first to step onto the tarmac, but there were a blonde woman and a muscular, bald man following right behind him. He enlarged the picture as far as possible.

Fornell said, "Yeah, that's him. Have met him only once or twice, but he's the type to stick in your mind."

"Okay. Jeanne? Can you please take a look to see whether you recognize this person?"

She joined Fornell behind Tony's chair. "The bald man? Yes, actually – as far as I know, he's Papa's bodyguard-cum-deputy. I always thought his name was Kurt, though."

"Kurt, Kort ... similar enough that it might be another mispronunciation, simply mishearing something, or a deliberate misdirection to make it harder to identify the guy," Tony said.

"Yeah. But for our purposes, it corroborates Dr. Benoit's assertion that her father is no longer actively dealing arms. Which means that Shepard's reasons to have him investigated and discovering his whereabouts most likely have nothing to do with anything official," Tobias said grimly.

"When I was undercover with the mob in Philly, I'd be suspecting a vendetta at this point. Barring that, she does at least have a private agenda she's using me for," Tony realized with disgust. "Well, fuck."

"If that medical technician hadn't recognized you that day, who knows where you might've ended up," Fornell said quietly. "Seems getting busted was the best thing that could've happened to you." He grinned wryly. "Another one for the DiNutso luck, I suppose."

"Oh, go away, Toby."

"If anyone's going, it'll be you two," Fornell deadpanned. "I live here, remember?"

Tony snorted, powering down the computer by rote. He suddenly felt very, very tired, and rubbed his burning eyes. "What now?" he asked.

"Now, we go through channels to bring this situation to someone's attention who has a higher paygrade than you and me", Tobias said. "It's the only way if we want to get away from all this cloak-and-dagger stuff and still have jobs."

"Channels mean the IG," Tony said.

"Yep. After we make a call to Director Walden, letting him know that the director of a sister agency is trying to mess with one of his ops. He'll be thrilled, I'm sure."

Tony pondered the implications of the proposal for a minute or two, then tilted his head. "Go big, or go home?"

"Essentially," Tobias confirmed. "Just in this case, I'll be going big with all the higher-ups, while you and Miz Jeanne here will be going home to get some rest; do it together or not, that's none of my business and I don't want to know. Ever. Got it?"

"Got it," Tony smiled, collecting his jacket, car keys and Jeanne's hand. "Good night, and good luck!"

Part 7: Cleanup in Aisle Five

To say that Fornell's call to CIA Director Walden kicked off a shitstorm was putting it mildly. He was furious that Jennifer Shepard was in danger of ruining a long-term operation that had taken literal years to set up, and he immediately took the matter to the National Security Council. While NCIS also dealt with Intelligence matters at times, their primary purview was solving crimes and therefore had no business interfering with CIA operations. SecNav Davenport did not appreciate being called on the carpet by Director McConnel, ordering him on behalf of the President to rein in Director Shepard, or else.

As a consequence, Tony and the MCRT were witnesses when Jenny was ultimately removed from office, and Owen Granger, an Assistant Director from the Los Angeles office, was called in to temporarily lead the agency until everything was cleared up. However, it was made perfectly clear to all that her tenure in the big chair was over.

Gibbs wavered between concern for his former probie and erstwhile lover, fury that 'outsiders' dared interfere with his agency, and presumed to tell him how to run his team and do his job, and confused rage because his still not fully-recovered memories could make neither heads nor tails of what was going on.

Ziva got told that she had no business whatsoever to work on an NCIS field team, lacking not only the necessary training but more importantly citizenship papers to carry out any kind of criminal investigation in the first place. She was given a choice to either transfer to a desk job in the CI/CT division where her Mossad background would actually be of use, or see her liaison position terminated. If she chose the latter, the US government would gladly send her back home to Israel. No amount of protests made a difference, and there was nothing Gibbs could do for her, either.

McGee was called on the carpet for 'Deep Six', because in an attempt to make it realistic, he'd drawn too closely on actual agency procedures and cases, thereby skirting the edge of, and in some instances outright violating, the confidentiality agreements he'd signed when he became an agent. Director McConnel personally instructed him to tell his publishers all copies of his book had to be withdrawn from publication immediately, on threat of jail time. He also would be obliged to change his characters to less recognizable depictions of his co-workers. If he ever wanted to see the sequel, 'Rock Hollow', published, it would require massive edits as well as a thorough review by NCIS' legal department before it could be handed in.

Throughout all this, Tony kept his head down and just did his job, chasing leads, solving crimes, and arresting perpetrators, trying subtly to bring Gibbs back on an even keel until the two of them were almost working more like partners again, just like they had before Director Morrow had insisted they added more people to form a full team. By and large, he was successful, and he got along well enough with Interim Director Granger despite Gibbs' frequent rants at the man's insistence on doing things by the book. Consequently, their solve rate took a slight dip, but thanks to Tony's knowledge of procedure, ability to (mostly) wrangle and rein back the team lead and his rock-solid ethics, their conviction rate soared to well over an unheard-of 90%:

Tony was once more enjoying his work as he hadn't for the longest time and was actually surprised when Agent Fornell sent him a message to meet at his house in a few days' time. Hoping that he'd finally get an explanation on what had gone down with Jenny Shepard several months ago when she pretty much seemed to vanish from view.

He drove over to Fornell's neighborhood directly from work, and was surprised that parking places in the quiet, tree-lined street seemed to be in short supply; he finally found a spot around the corner and walked back. Fornell opened the door himself. "DiNutso," he greeted him. "Good of you to come."

"If this is about what I think it is, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Tony replied. "There have been too many questions, and too few answers."

"And you can't stand not having all the answers, right?" Tobias chuckled, steering him through the kitchen onto the patio that was already moderately crowded with over half a dozen people and a massive barbecue. He recognized Deputy Director Skinner of the FBI, CIA Director Walden, Director Granger, their security details, a bald man that had to be the elusive Trent Kort, a distinguished older man in an obviously bespoke suit that made Tony want to ask for the name of the man's tailor, and much to his surprise, a tanned, happy-looking Jeanne, clinging to the well-dressed man's arm in an overt display of affection. It wasn't hard to deduce the man was René Benoit, aka La Grenouille, The Frog. Jeanne's Father, who gave him a look that, while not exactly unfriendly, made Tony want to loosen his collar and tie.

He was distracted by Fornell calling everyone to attention. "Everyone, meet Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Jr., the man who kicked off the first stone in the investigation we were all a part of."

"You make it sound as if it was all my work," Tony protested. "Really, it wasn't – I was just the dumb schmuck who agreed to an off-the-books undercover op and got busted by a medical technician."

"Maybe, but you handled the situation with aplomb and, dare I say it, as honorably as you could under the circumstances," Director Granger said firmly. "As such, you certainly deserve to know why you were pushed into such an untenable position in the first place. That you chose to follow Jennifer Shepard's request may not have been the best choice you could have made, but is not to your detriment."

"What Owen here means to say is that you won't get a recommendation for it, but you won't have a reprimand on your jacket, either," Walter Skinner said drily. "Here, have a beer and let's eat; you'll get what answers we can give you after dinner."

"Thank you, sir— sirs," Tony replied, because what else could he say? He started looking for a place to sit on when he noticed Jeanne was unobtrusively pointing out a chair at the table she was sitting at with her father and Kort. Shrugging inwardly – could be worse, I suppose – he collected a beer and a plate, and joined the group. As soon as everybody was seated, a couple of caterers appeared from the garage with an assortment of sides: large trays piled high with salads, fresh greens, cornbread, pickles, and condiments. A third flipped open the barbecue and arranged platters with burgers, steaks, and ribs, as well as a few foil packages that contained marinated salmon. Everyone ate quietly, sharing ordinary dinner conversation, until most of the food was gone. Only then did the caterers withdraw, and Fornell as the host started giving the explanation Tony had been waiting for.

"So, Jennifer Shepard. After various in-depth interviews, she confessed that she was trying to get close to Mr. Benoit because she believed he had murdered her father, Col. Jasper Shepard, while he was serving at the Pentagon. He had previously been accused of taking bribes and officially, his death was ruled a suicide. Ms. Shepard didn't believe the report; she was adamant that her father hadn't been corrupt, that someone was trying to ruin his reputation, and ultimately killed him. In conjunction with developing an inoperable brain tumor that impaired her cognitive functions, she became obsessed with the notion that Mr. Benoit was the culprit. She has been committed to a hospice and will remain there in reasonable comfort until ... well, the end," he finished a bit awkwardly.

Unexpectedly, René Benoit was the next to speak. His English was near-perfect, just strongly accented. "I knew Colonel Shepard; we met while he was serving in the Mediterranean in the 1960s. The Jasper I knew was a good man who loved his wife, his two daughters, and his country; to my knowledge, he has never taken an outright bribe until his untimely death."

Being the investigator he was, Tony immediately picked up on certain nuances in what Benoit had said. "Not taking an 'outright bribe' doesn't mean he wasn't corruptible, though, does it?" he remarked quietly and earned approving nods from several people present. Benoit met his gaze and inclined his head. "Indeed it doesn't. However, corruptible is such a strong, ugly word ..."

"Which word would you prefer, sir?" Tony challenged politely.

A small smile flitted across Benoit's face. "Maybe ... engaging in a little quid pro quo," he replied. "Nothing major, just an exchange of small favors – a bottle of his wife's favorite perfume for having a requisition moved to the top of the queue; a request for his company on a trip coinciding with his younger daughter's high school graduation for an introduction ... that kind of thing. Nothing that might not have come in due course anyway, or that actually harmed someone. Things we would all do for friends if they were within our means, no?"

Tony shrugged. "It's a grey area of ethics and laws at best, and can easily lead to a slippery slope that only has one way – down until you hit rock bottom. Not something I would wish on a friend for doing me 'small favors'."

"Thus speaks an officer of the law who retains his morals," Benoit nodded. "Commendable in a young man."

He made it sound as if Tony was a child who still saw the world solely in shades of black and white. He bristled inwardly at the condescension, but held back any comment, making sure his expression gave nothing away. No matter that Benoit had retreated from selling arms to the highest bidder, he was still at heart an opportunist like Tony's conman father, and Tony couldn't stand people who firmly believed the world owed them everything they desired.

"Jasper Shepard had a crisis of conscience when one of his 'small favors' caused the death of a young family who was denied benefits from their fallen husband and father; their vehicle crashed on an icy road when they couldn't afford necessary repairs and maintenance. Ironically, the benefits were belatedly approved right after the accident and paid for their funeral. If Col. Shepard hadn't prioritized someone else's claim, who knows – they might still be alive today." The look he gave Benoit said clearly whose paperwork had potentially been moved up instead of that family's.

"Guilt is terrible and a powerful motivator," Benoit agreed. "But as you said, no one will ever know."

"In any case, it has been established without a doubt that Monsieur Benoit could not have killed Shepard," Director Skinner said. "While they had a meeting a couple of days before his demise, at Shepard's time of death M. Benoit was on a yacht in the Gulf of Mexico, vacationing with his family. Doctor Benoit graciously provided pictorial, time-stamped proof."

"How did it come to be ruled a suicide, anyway?" Tony wanted to know.

"He was shot with his own service weapon, held against his right temple. And yes, he was right-handed and there were traces of gunshot residue on his hands even though the weapon had skidded a few feet across the floor when he fell. How Jenny Shepard came to disbelieve the evidence, we don't know," Director Owen said.

Well, that pretty much was that. Some of Tony's questions, like the reason for Jenny's sometimes erratic and/or obsessive behavior, were explained by the brain tumor, but he still didn't know why she had brought Ziva onto the team, let McGee publish a novel that was yea-close to slander, or permitted Gibbs to take his job back the way he did, at a time when he wasn't remotely fit to work in the field without requalifying. If the whole thing hadn't been such a mess ... but that was water under the bridge now. In the grand scheme of things, these missing answers didn't really matter, and he could resign himself to never knowing.

The meeting broke up soon after. Kort came up to Tony and actually thanked him for preventing Jenny from messing up his operation. Something about the man seriously put Tony off, so he just gave him a bland smile and said, "Don't mention it." Then he repeated for good measure, "Seriously, don't mention it. Ever."

Kort smirked at him and gave him a two-fingered salute to his non-existing hat. "Understood, Agent DiNozzo. Goodbye."

Part 8: Epilogue

Life went on; eventually, Gibbs was back to as normal as he ever was, and Owen Granger had been replaced by Leon Vance, the Assistant Director out of San Diego. He was less by-the-book than Granger, but he insisted on following procedures as much as possible and wouldn't tolerate cowboy methods or agents turning into Lone Wolves. Gibbs tended to chafe under the new restrictions, and as he was nearing mandatory retirement age, he started making plans for life after NCIS.

Tony would miss him; they'd had a good run as partners and leading a team, but he was ready to take over – if not the MCRT, then his own team. He just hoped he wouldn't have to leave Washington; over the years, the city had become his home more than New York ever was. Ducky had handed over the reins of Autopsy to his long-time assistant and protégée Jimmy Palmer, Tony's good friend the Autopsy Gremlin, and McGee had gotten married to a DoD analyst; the two were expecting their first child. Marriage had done wonders for Tony's probie, in that Tim had finally lost the chip on his shoulders and become the partner Tony liked to have at his back. Their new probie Eleanor Bishop fit in well, too; she could keep up with Tim on computers and was even able to follow Tony's leaps of intuition at times. And Abby ... well, she was now in a relationship with a loan agent from Britain's MI6; she and Clayton Reeves were the proverbial odd couple, but as this was Abby, most everyone took it in stride.

Tony was still single; he'd taken up for a time with a former girlfriend, Zoe Keates from ATF, but things once more didn't pan out and they parted with no hard feelings. Although he admitted feeling lonely at times, he had no urge to search for a partner. He rarely lacked companionship when he wanted it, and was mostly content with his friends, job and life.

Not even to himself would he admit that every woman he met fell short when compared to Jeanne Benoit. They hadn't known each other long, never had a true romantic relationship, but the potential had been there, and Tony had promised himself he wouldn't settle for less. Jeanne had become his OTGA – the One That Got Away. He grinned as he thought of the acronym; there had been a few times when he'd pronounced it like a name, and claimed 'Otga' was his partner when he wanted to fend off unwanted advances.

They still corresponded from time to time, not quite as friends, but more than acquaintances. Thus he knew that she'd achieved her life's ambition, working with Médécins sans Frontières in the neediest parts of the world. She seemed happy, and he was happy for her.

Now Thanksgiving had passed, and people were gearing up for the holidays. Tony wasn't big on Christmas, he no longer bothered with a tree, but he at least draped a garland across his windowsill and put up a few candle arrangements. He was looking forward to a quiet evening with his homemade lasagna, a good glass of wine, and maybe some time at his piano, when the doorbell rang unexpectedly. Puzzled, he went to the door and opened it. As soon as he recognized the person, his heart skipped a beat.

"Jeanne?"

"Hello, Tony," she smiled.

"What ... what are you doing here?"

"I've come to spend Christmas with my mother," she explained. "And then I thought I might visit you, too."

"That – that's great," he murmured, feeling dazed and confused.

She smiled impishly. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure, of course, I—" He belatedly realized that he hadn't actually opened the door fully yet, and shook himself. "I'm sorry," he said, stepping back and gesturing her inside. "Please, come in."

"Thank you."

Tony took her coat, hung it in the closet, and led her into his living room, feeling rather off-kilter from the surprise. Of all the people liable to visit him, Jeanne was the one he'd least expected. Seeing the remnants of his meal, he quickly gathered his dishes, carried them into the kitchen, and only then remembered to ask, "Are you hungry? I can fix you a plate ..."

"No, thank you," she replied. "I wouldn't say no to some wine, though."

"Sure. One glass of Rothschild Mouton Cadet coming up!" He quickly wiped a glass, poured a generous measure and handed her the drink.

Jeanne sipped and smiled appreciatively. "That's very good."

"Glad you like it."

Silence settled over them as he stared at her, and she did her best to take in his apartment, making small talk that should've been awkward, but somehow wasn't. If Tony had to describe the vibes between them, he would've compared them to an old, comfortably worn shirt that had been hidden at the back of the closet and somehow, was found again, just as warm and comfy as the last time it had been worn. Eventually, Jeanne asked whether she might take a closer look at his shelves which as always were crammed with books and DVD cases.

"Go ahead," he told her. "I'm just gonna soak the lasagna pan, or the sauce will stick until forever."

"How domesticated of you," she teased. "What with being a big, badass federal agent and everything!"

"Hey, my job title is actually Special Agent – some people might even say Very Special Agent!"

She laughed. "Right. Go wash your dishes, Special Agent!"

For the life of him, he couldn't not make the quote. "As you wish."

It only took him a few minutes to set his kitchen in order, and Tony went back into the living room, wine bottle in hand. Jeanne was standing in front of the bookcase that held his favorite DVDs, and he went over to offer her a refill when she reached up and plucked one jewel case from the next-to-uppermost shelf. He recognized the cover right away; 'On the Waterfront' from the Criterion Collection, showing a drawing depicting a dejected Brando sitting against a brick chimney, with a harbor scene in the left upper corner, all done in shades of black, white, and grey. To him, it perfectly captured the character; that's why it was his favorite edition.

A lump formed in his throat, but he forced himself to speak past it. "I see you found one of the best movies I own."

"Yes," she said simply, turning the case back and forth in her hands until she met his eyes at last. "When ... when you left my home that night, after we called in Agent Fornell to find out what was going on, you quoted a line from it."

"I remember," he answered. "It perfectly summed up my feelings at the moment."

Her lips trembled, but her eyes remained dry as she looked up at him. "I once caught a retrospective of classic movies in Cairo; this was one of them."

"Then you now know the context from which the quote was taken."

"Yes. And I've come to understand why you used a fictional character's words. I didn't at first."

"Sometimes, an author can capture exactly what is in one's heart at any given moment," he murmured. "Why try to improve on perfection?"

"'I coulda been a contender'," she whispered. "What did you mean that day? Why choose those words?"

"Terry Malloy had lost something he'd wanted his whole life, and he knew he could never get it back. His one chance, and another person made him lose it. I had no other words to give you; these felt right. "

Jeanne was silent for a long time, then reached up and touched his cheek. "What if I told you you were wrong?"

"... What?"

"You're not Terry Malloy," she said very softly. "He may have lost his chance, but what if you deserve another?"

Tony felt as if his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. "Jeanne," he whispered hoarsely, "what exactly are you saying?"

Jeanne's smile was blinding as she stepped close enough that he could fold her into his arms. "I'm saying that you are you, Tony DiNozzo, and you're still a contender."

Then they kissed, and Tony knew he'd found his Forever at last.

The End.

End Notes:

Movie and TV quotes used (if not explained in context):

Chapter 3 and Epilogue: "As you wish" – taken from "The Princess Bride", original novel by William Goldman (1973) and the 1987 based off it, starring Cary Elwes, Mandy Patinkin, André the Giant ., directed by Rob Reiner

Chapter 5: "At the time, it seemed the logical thing to do." Star Trek TOS, Season 2, Episode 10, "Journey to Babel". Spock's father Sarek on the question why he, a supposedly emotionless Vulcan, had married an emotional Earthwoman.

Chapter 6: Full quote: "I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody!" Often called one of the most iconic lines in film history, this is taken from the 1954 crime drama movie "On the Waterfront", directed by Elia Kazan, starring Marlon Brando and featuring Karl Malden. You can find the clip on YouTube.

"Good Night, and Good Luck." was a catchphrase used by legendary newscaster Edward R. Murrow to close his broadcasts, first coined in 1940. In 2005, George Clooney directed a historical drama, starring David Strathairn as Murrow about the journalist's conflict with Senator Joseph McCarthy over the Senator's anti-communist agenda.

Characters filch-, er, borrowed elsewhere:

Chapters 6 and 7:

CIA Director Willliam Walden: played by Jamey Sheridan in the TV series "Homeland". He started out as CIA Director in seasons 1 and 2, eventually becoming the Vice President.

FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner: borrowed from "The X Files". Played by Mitch Pileggi, Skinner was the immediate superior of agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.

Director of National Intelligence Mike McConnell: real person, DNI Director from 2007 (when this story is set) until 2009 (no disrespect intended).