The door closed behind Gibbs and Tony sat there, staring at it. He had no idea what to do now. No clue whatsoever, and that was just...this whole fucking situation just wasn't something he wanted to deal with. Maybe he could just--no. He didn't run. He'd done enough of that the night before.

But God, what was he supposed to do now?

He managed to put it out of his mind long enough to get moving. It was still early for him, at least on a Saturday, but there was no chance he'd get back to sleep. So he turned on the shower and spent half an hour under the hot water until it started to run cool. Then he shaved, pulled on clothes, and made himself coffee. All normal, all routine. He'd go running once he had some caffeine in him.

Just another normal Saturday morning.

Yeah. Right.

He downed his mug of coffee without even thinking about it and headed out to run. It wasn't until he'd gone about half a mile that his legs realized he'd pushed them hard last night, running about seven miles at a pace he usually used for five. They started complaining, loudly, and Tony had to slow down and ended up walking home before they gave out on him completely.

Back in his apartment, he flipped the TV on to some random music channel and turned the volume down, letting the sound act as white noise. He'd always functioned better with *some* kind of music or TV in the background, something his parents had never understood. They'd never understood him, period, but that was an entirely different matter and not something he was going to bother with at the moment.

Okay. He'd had his freakout. Now he had to figure out what was going on.

He'd never thought of himself as bisexual. The idea had crossed his mind for all of ten seconds in high school before he'd dismissed it. He loved the ladies, and most of the time they loved him back. And there was nothing wrong with that, as far as he was concerned. He wasn't homophobic by any means, but he just wasn't interested. Voss had been--well, it had bothered him, because he hadn't been able to *tell*. And then the fact that he'd been kissing a murderer--well, the whole thing wasn't something he liked to remember.

But obviously something wasn't right here. Something was...off. Hinky, as Abby would put it. So what was it?

Tony snorted, thinking wryly that he'd never imagined having to investigate his life like he would a crime scene. But clearly, letting it work itself out in his mind wasn't happening. So it was time to put the facts together and see what added up.

Fact: He'd been snappish and grumpy for days. If he looked back on it, his change in attitude dated back to about the time Gibbs had started showing up regularly with that red-headed woman. Tony still didn't know her name, but she kept either dropping Gibbs off or picking him up and Tony had to admit that he didn't like it.

God. He was jealous over a woman whose name he didn't even know and over something he didn't even have a chance of *having*. Tony groaned and poured himself more coffee. Moving on now.

Fact: He'd kissed Gibbs. He hadn't known he was going to do it, hadn't had a fucking *clue* until he'd done it, but he'd done it.

Next fact: It had been, without a doubt, the hottest, most intense kiss he'd had in *months*. Once his mouth was on Gibbs', all he'd wanted to do was get more, to pull him close and taste him and--Tony looked down at his track pants and thumped his head against the wall. He was *not* going to get hard over the memory of the damned thing.

Add it up and there was only one thing it equaled. "Fuck," Tony muttered, thumping his head against the wall again for good measure. When had he started lusting after Gibbs?

But maybe it wasn't lust. Maybe he'd just been having a bad week or something and it had been a choice of either kissing Gibbs or hitting him. And even as furious as he'd been, Tony knew he'd never have hit Gibbs. That just wasn't an option. So given the choice that was no choice, he'd gone for the only available action.

Yeah. That sounded good. Really. Until he remembered how hard he'd gotten and how he'd needed to take an ice-cold shower just to calm down enough to get to sleep. Or how his whole fucking *body* had tingled when Gibbs had touched his wrist earlier.

It wasn't the thought of being bi that bothered him so much as it was the way in which he'd realized it. And he still wasn't sure if 'bi' was the right word or if he'd just developed a thing for Gibbs. But either way, did it really matter? He couldn't have Gibbs, even *if*--and that was a big if--he decided he wanted the man.

He looked at the clock and sighed when he realized it wasn't even eleven. No chance in hell of a drink, then. He was *not* going to end up like his father. Which, really, meant that he shouldn't be drinking at all, but he'd learned years ago that he could have a beer or two and not turn into a lush. Still, though...drinking before noon wasn't a habit he intended to start.

There had to be *something* he could do. Something that required his full concentration, that wouldn't let him think about this. Working out wouldn't do it; that was too mindless. So was cleaning, and besides, his cleaning lady would hit him with her broom if he started doing her job. Tony shuddered at the thought of Marie finding out he'd dared to scrub out the tub or something. She'd harangue him for hours about this being *her* job and how she wasn't ashamed to do it and if he thought he could clean properly he needed a whack upside the head, because no man alive could clean the way Marie could and he should just get out of the apartment and let her do her job.

Tony wondered briefly who would emerge the victor in a battle between Marie and Kate before deciding that he really didn't want to know.

The movies were too passive, and anyway he didn't want to sit in the dark for two hours by himself. He had too many memories of necking with high school girls in the back row and he was *not* going to risk thinking about Gibbs in a situation like that.

That left...not much. Tony sighed again. Although...wait. His firearms certification was coming up soon and he needed to get more practice in before he took the test. He wasn't a bad shot by any means, but more practice never hurt. And given the number of bullets fired in his job and the fact that he'd personally had to kill two men in the past year, it was definitely a good idea.

As always, he fought down the nausea and the guilt when he thought about Jeffery White and the sniper whose name he didn't even remember. It had been self-defense, both times, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with.

He gathered up his things and headed out. Targets, at least, didn't shoot back.

The range was about half-full and he passed a few people he knew before finding a lane a little ways off from everyone else. He set up and pulled on his glasses and ear protectors, letting everything fade away but the target, and fired.

Tony lost track of how long he'd been there, how many clips he'd reloaded and fired, how many targets he'd gone through. He pulled in the target sheets, saw his results, set up the next one, and sent it back. It wasn't until his wrists and arms started aching that he realized he'd been there for hours.

He cleaned his gun and put it away, along with the ammunition he hadn't used. The ear protectors went back on the rack, as did the safety glasses, and he left to go wash the gunpowder off his hands and find something to eat.

The sun was bright overhead and Tony couldn't help but smile as he walked to his car. It was truly amazing how much better he felt now. Maybe he'd go out tonight, hit a club or something. Some dancing, a drink or two, some flirting with lovely ladies--it sounded just about right. There was that club in Dupont Circle that was supposed to be pretty good, too. He thought it was called Spice or something like that.

And if part of him muttered about avoidance and denial and repression, he ignored it with the ease of years of practice. It was how he'd dealt with his parents for decades, after all. Just ignore the fact that his father was an alcoholic and his mother was compulsive and their marriage was more dysfunctional than all three of Gibbs' wives put together. It was surprisingly easy to do, if you were determined enough.

The afternoon passed easily with a Hitchcock marathon on TV. He was fortunate enough to catch 'Rear Window', followed by 'North by Northwest', and was *still* creeped out by the crop duster. The first time he'd seen the movie, when he was eleven, it had scared him so badly he'd had nightmares for a week. Tony smiled a little in rememberance--*now* he could laugh about it. They just didn't make movies like that anymore.

He made himself something to eat around seven and hopped into the shower again, washing off the grime of the firing range and letting the tension of the day just run down the drain. He dried off, hung up his towel, and padded into the bedroom naked to find clothes to wear. It had been way too long since he'd hit the clubs for a night, but he was still pretty sure he knew how to dress. Tight green T-shirt that played up his eyes, jeans faded enough to hint at what was underneath, leather bracelet on one wrist and he was ready to go.

He took the Metro rather than drive; parking in the city was always a bitch and a half and if he was going to either drink or get lucky, he didn't want to have to worry about his car. The club was easy enough to find and flashing a grin at the bouncer got him in ahead of the line. He stopped inside just long enough to let his eyes adjust before making his way to a spot along the wall. Time to survey the crowd.

He saw dressed-up couples and groups on the floor, writhing against each other, arms and legs twined and bodies grinding to the beat of whatever music was playing. It throbbed through him enough that he caught himself moving a little to it. And then he saw two women wrapped around each other, dancing like nothing else existed. He blinked at the sheer eroticism of it, wondering if they even *noticed* the crowd.

Two women dancing together wasn't that unusual; they were in Dupont Circle, after all. Tony looked around and saw a woman between two men, all three of them laughing and moving in sync. Next to them he saw two men, moving slow and sensual, one's back against the other's chest. The one in back leaned down and kissed his partner's throat and Tony swallowed, feeling uncomfortably like a voyeur. God. Talk about erotic--and he didn't want to think about why.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered as his conscious caught up with his subconscious. He remembered where he'd heard of Spice before. It was a relatively new club catering to the 'open-minded' crowd, meaning all were welcome. And from the looks of the people on the floor, that was exactly what they'd gotten.

So much for repression. Tony sighed and headed to the bar; he needed a drink. Badly.

The bartender--cute, curvy, and brunette--grinned as she slid his beer across the surface. "Rough night, cutie?" she asked.

"Could be better." Tony raised his bottle to her and took a long pull from it. "Could also be worse."

"Aw, come on. Cute guy like you, all dressed up for a night on the town, and you're giving me *that*?" She gave him a wry look. "What's got you so down, cutie?"

Tony laughed and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, sweetheart."

She leaned on the bar, giving him a great view of her cleavage. "Try me."

"Let's just call it a long week." Tony glanced down briefly--when a woman was being that blatant, the only polite thing to do was to look, really. She caught his look and laughed.

"Not shy, are you, cutie?"

"You giving me a reason to be?"

"I don't generally flirt with customers," she said mock-teasingly.

"Break a rule now and then. Live a little." Tony ran his tongue around the mouth of his beer bottle, slowly. "When do you get off?"

"Well, that depends." She pushed herself up, getting down a bottle of vodka for a customer. "My shift ends at two. After that, it's anyone's guess."

"Two, hm?" Tony grinned. "I could do that."

She laughed. "I'm Julie."

"Tony." He held out his hand and she took it, fingernails running over his palm as she let go. "See you at two?"

"If not before." Julie winked and turned to fill another customer's order. Tony watched her work, admiring the view. She was nicely rounded in *all* the right places and her hair tumbled down her back, dark glossy curls he wanted to bury his hands in.

The evening was starting to look promising after all.

He finished his beer and turned to look at the dance floor. The music had slowed a bit and it was mostly couples out there now, holding each other and swaying. He saw the two women from before, the shorter one resting her head on her partner's shoulder. Out of habit, he scanned the whole floor, taking it all in. Cop instincts had him noting the exits and the closest paths to each. Human instincts had him noticing--and admiring--the people dressed up to be admired.

When he glanced over toward the door again, he saw the two men from before, kissing deeply as they moved together. Something twisted deep in his gut at the sight and he couldn't stop himself from wondering what it would be like to kiss Gibbs like that, to lose himself in the man's arms. What it would be like to feel stubble instead of softness, calluses instead of long nails, hot hard flesh instead of yielding liquid heat.

He swallowed a groan and turned around, flagging down another bartender--not Julie--for a beer. He would have preferred something stronger, but given his current state of mind, that was a bad idea. He didn't let himself get drunk and wasn't about to break that rule now.

"Hey there," a low, smooth voice said at his right elbow. Tony turned, seeing a tall blond man on the stool next to him. He had a pint in one hand and wore dark jeans and a silvery shirt. "Having a good night?"

"Could be a lot worse." Tony smiled. "Yours?"

"Just got better, I think." The man smiled. "Jim," he said, holding out his hand.

"Tony." He shook Jim's hand, freezing for one imperceptible moment when Jim's thumb slid over the back of his hand as they separated. "You come here often?"

"Sometimes, yeah." Jim sipped his beer. "You?"

"Not before, no."

"Didn't think so." Jim smiled again. "I'd have remembered you."

Tony laughed. "Man, does that line ever work?"

"No, but if I'm lucky it makes people laugh." Jim grinned. "And then I can usually get them to dance with me." He set his glass down. "Interested?"

Well, if avoidance wasn't going to work, he might as well give this a shot. "Sure," Tony heard himself say. "Lead on."

Jim held out his hand and Tony took it, letting himself be drawn to the dance floor. Jim was just about his height; he slid one arm around Tony's waist, drawing him in close. Tony was surprised by how *natural* it felt, how easy it was to twine his own arms around Jim's neck and move with him. So natural, in fact, that when Jim leaned in and kissed him, he just let his mouth open, yielding to it, groaning a little as Jim's hand slid into his hair, holding him.

The kiss ended and Tony blinked in surprise, realizing where he was and what he'd just done. God. That...well. It hadn't been as hot as kissing Gibbs; on the other hand, he wasn't about to run out the door this time, so he figured it was an even trade.

"Nice," Jim murmured, forehead resting against Tony's. "You want to maybe take this somewhere else?"

Okay. A kiss was one thing, but Tony wasn't really feeling comfortable with more than that. Not now, at least. Question was, how did he extricate himself from the situation without looking like an idiot?

As he was trying to think, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. "Hold that thought," he said, digging it out. The Caller ID screen said 'Gibbs' and he swore. A case was so *not* what he needed right now. "Work calls," he said with an apologetic smile. "I'll catch you around." He had the phone open and was halfway to the door before realizing he hadn't even gotten the guy's number.

Oh well. Not like he was about to take Jim up on...whatever. "DiNozzo," he said. "We got a case, Boss?"

"No, I need to pick your brain. One of the first cases you ever worked here--the Lawson case. Missing weapons, missing money, and a missing corporal. I need the corporal's name and where she was from originally. Your notes don't bear looking at, DiNozzo. Didn't anyone ever teach you to write?"

He rolled his eyes and ignored the last comment. "Crap. Um." Tony rubbed his forehead. "Melanie Osborn. Born and raised outside of LA. No identifying marks, no major dental work, brown hair, hazel eyes. Five-five and a hundred twenty pounds."

"Agent in San Diego thinks he may have found her. We'll have more info tomorrow morning. Apparently they don't consider this that important," Gibbs said acidly.

"Armed Forces database down?" Tony asked.

"No, but it's going to take them seventy-two hours to get us results." Gibbs did not sound pleased and Tony felt a moment of pity for the hapless agent in San Diego. But only a moment. "Thanks, DiNozzo."

"Sure thing, Boss." This, at least, was familiar ground. Or close to familiar, given that Gibbs almost never thanked him for his work. "You gonna need me to come in tomorrow?"

"Don't know. I'll call you if I need you." Gibbs hung up with that short comment. Tony looked at his phone for a moment, smiling wryly, before flipping it closed and shoving it back in his pocket.

If Gibbs was going to need him at the office tomorrow, it would probably be a good idea to go home and get some sleep. Kate didn't know the case, neither did McGee, and Tony didn't really feel like trying to remember details from a case two and a half years ago on minimal sleep. He sighed and headed for the Metro stop; so much for his night out.

It wasn't until he was halfway home that he realized he hadn't even said goodbye to Julie.

Oh well. She probably wouldn't even remember him in a day or two, and he didn't really intend to go back to that particular club anytime soon.

Tony made it into his apartment and sighed, knowing there was no way he'd be able to relax enough to sleep. If he tried, he was just going to drive himself insane. He dropped down on his couch, remembering the way Jim's mouth had felt against his, the hard lines of his body, and found himself getting hard.

Great. Just great.

And then his brain substituted Gibbs for Jim and he got so hard so fast it nearly hurt. Jesus *fuck*, what was with this? He'd never noticed, never thought about *any* of this before, and now it was like he couldn't stop!

"I would have been perfectly happy to stay repressed," he muttered, glaring at his dick. "I was *fine* with practicing denial."

His dick didn't seem to care what he said he wanted.

Running had worked well last night. He could try that again, especially now that his legs were pretty much recovered. It was a cool, breezy night, too--perfect for a run, especially if he took the scenic path. It was a little longer, more like six or seven miles than his usual five, but it was a nicer run. He changed, stretched out, and headed out the door determined to not think of anything but exercise.

Six miles turned into eight by the time he got back and he ended up walking the last one just to cool down and give his legs a chance to relax. Idly, he wondered how far Gibbs ran on a regular basis. It was probably more than Tony's usual, but then again, Tony wasn't a Marine.

He was, in all honesty, a cop who'd gotten lucky. Tony didn't fool himself that he was the best out there. He was good, he knew that. Damned good--Gibbs wouldn't have kept him around if he wasn't. But he wasn't a star profiler like Kate and he wasn't a computer whiz like McGee and sometimes he wondered just how secure his place on Gibbs' team actually was.

And now, with this...thing that wasn't a thing between them...Tony had no idea what that meant for the future.

At least he was relaxed enough to sleep now. He got ready for bed and crawled under the big striped comforter he'd bought as a present to himself last Christmas. Power sanders didn't really cut it. Four hundred thread count down comforters, on the other hand, did.

The comforter snuggled around him like a warm hug and he drifted off easily, falling into dreams that he didn't remember but had him waking up in the middle of the night, so hard it took one stroke of his hand before he gasped and came all over himself.

He grabbed the tissues and cleaned himself up before dropping his face into the pillow. Even if he didn't remember the dreams it didn't mean he couldn't guess what they were about. "Why now?" he muttered into the pillowcase. "Why the *fuck* now?"

If Gibbs hadn't pushed him that day at work, if he hadn't stormed off, if Gibbs hadn't come over that night...there were way too many possibilities for ways this could have gone that *didn't* end up with him lying awake wondering what it would be like to have sex with his boss. And even more than that, he wondered it would be like to sleep next to Gibbs, to wake up next to him and read the paper over coffee--well, something, at any rate. Tony knew better than to even *try* and drink Gibbs' version of coffee.

Maybe this whole thing was just a random freaky occurrence, caused by sunspots or El Nino or something bizarre along those lines. Once the planets moved out of alignment or the moon was in a different phase or something he'd be over this and back to his usual self. Stranger things had happened, after all.

He fell back asleep to that thought, clinging to it like a security blanket.

The phone rang at oh fuck early the next morning and it took him three rings to realize what it was and answer it. "Yeah," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "DiNozzo."

"Results came in, DiNozzo. I need you at the office ASAP." Gibbs hung up and Tony groaned, dropping the phone onto the bed. One look at the clock had him wincing; it wasn't even seven. And San Diego was three hours behind them. He wondered what the hell Gibbs had *said* to the agent out there to get him moving that fast.

He showered, shaved, pulled on clothes and drove in. One stop to get coffee for both of them, along with a bag of doughnuts, and he was at the office within forty-five minutes. Gibbs was already there, studying the files they'd gotten faxed in. "Where are the others?" Tony asked, setting Gibbs' coffee on his desk and offering him a doughnut.

Gibbs took a cinnamon cruller and handed Tony a file folder in return. "Not in. I don't feel like wasting time getting them up to speed. You know the case, so do I, and if this turns out to be what it looks like, we won't need help to arrest the bastard." Gibbs looked up. "Lawson got away because we couldn't find enough on him. Let's change that."

"Yeah." Tony remembered the case all too well. One of his first at NCIS and one of the nastiest he'd come across, period. They'd never found Corporal Osborn although Tony was *sure* Lawson had killed her. And they'd never found Osborn's niece, the little two-year old girl she'd been caring for.

Now San Diego said they thought they'd found someone who might be Corporal Osborn. Tony took a moment to read over the case file again, remembering what they'd gone through back then. It had been convoluted from the start--two million dollars missing through a series of anonymous bank transfers, a seemingly unrelated case of weapons dealing, and then the missing corporal who'd tied it all together. He and Gibbs had spent nearly two weeks straight at the office trying to solve the damn case, and in the end they'd had to let their suspect walk due to lack of evidence. Without Osborn, there just wasn't enough.

Preliminary reports from San Diego looked promising. The body they'd found matched Osborn in size and the M.E. out there estimated her at mid-twenties. Osborn had been twenty-six when she'd disappeared. They didn't have fingerprints, due to decomposition, but they did have Osborn's dental records. Once the overnight express mail came in, they'd have the records from the body. All they needed to do then was match them up and confirm her identity...and then find the evidence to put Lawson in jail for the rest of his miserable life.

"He is *not* getting away this time," Gibbs snarled under his breath as they went back over all the evidence, everything they had, trying to find something--anything--they'd missed the first time around. *Something* that could connect Lawson to the money, the guns, and if they were lucky, the murder of Melanie Osborn and the disappearance of her niece, Natalie Morris.

Tony rubbed his eyes. "Okay. We've been going at this from the assumption that Osborn found out what Lawson was doing and he killed her to keep her quiet, right? The kid just...wrong place, wrong time." He bit down the helpless anger at that and looked down at the file. "What tipped Osborn off?"

Gibbs looked up. "Find out," he said flatly.

"Yeah." Tony sighed and started rereading the interviews.

About two hours later, his head hurt, his eyes were sore, and he didn't think he'd found anything he hadn't seen two and a half years ago. He stopped long enough to drink his now-cold coffee, grimacing at the taste, and went back to the reports.

Whoa. Wait--"Boss, I think I got something," he said carefully.

"You *think*?" Gibbs snapped.

Tony didn't flinch. "Yeah, I do," he said, getting up and handing Gibbs the folder. "Look at the pictures from the security tape--and look at that." He tapped Lawson's outline. "He's carrying something."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, if we can get Abby to blow up the picture a bit, we might be able to tell if the something he's carrying is Natalie Morris or not."

Gibbs blinked, then nodded, slowly. "We've still got the original tape. Find her. Get me an answer."

Abby was not pleased to be called in on a Sunday, especially before noon. She grumbled and muttered and swore under her breath at Tony until he fled, returning with two Big Gulps. She sucked one down, her free hand flying over the keyboard. "This couldn't wait until Monday?" she asked grumpily. "It's already waited two and a half years."

"Natalie Morris was two, Abby. Her parents have lived without knowing what happened to her since then. No, it can't really wait."

She sighed and sucked down more soda. "I hate it when you guilt-trip me," she complained.

"If we can catch Carl Lawson and put him away, I don't much care." Tony stopped, realized what he sounded like, and sighed. "I'm sorry, Abs. This case--you know how you get ones that bug you? This was the second case I ever worked with Gibbs and it bothered the hell out of both of us that we couldn't solve it. We have a chance now."

"So what does it prove if I can find out what he's carrying?" Abby asked, frowning at the monitor.

"If we can prove he was carrying the girl, we can link him to Osborn. If we can do that..." Tony sighed. "We might be able to get him."

"Awful lot of maybes there, Tony."

"It's better than nothing."

"Okay. I'll do my best. Which means you need to go somewhere else. I'm not going to be able to focus with you hovering." Abby made shooing gestures at him. "I'll call you when I've got something."

"You focus just fine with McGee hovering," Tony pointed out with a grin.

"He doesn't hover, he helps. Unlike you." Abby smiled sweetly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Call me when you--"

"Didn't I just say that? Go, shoo. Let me work."

He left her to her arcane computer things and headed back upstairs. Time to do what he'd done two and a half years ago, all over again.

There still wasn't much. Even with the added experience of his time at NCIS and knowing *what* to look for now, he couldn't find anything. From the glare on his face, Gibbs couldn't either. "Maybe a fresh set of eyes would help," Tony suggested after an hour of them studying reports and notes and pictures. "We could call Kate in."

"No." Gibbs looked up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It took us almost a week to even figure out what was going on back then. We don't have the time to get her up to speed and explain everything all over again."

"Right." Tony sighed and went back to the crime scene photos he'd been studying. At least with this, he didn't have to think about being attracted to Gibbs. There was too much else to worry about.

"Got something for you guys," Abby said, walking into the bullpen. "C'mon down."

She pulled up something on her computer. "This is the original tape. Kind of blurry, hard to see what's going on. Two and a half years ago, this would have been the best I could do." She tapped a few keys and zoomed in on Lawson. It was enough to tell he had something over his shoulder, but the picture was too choppy to make out much else. "But--this is the good news. Some consultants out in LA have been working on a really funky algorithm to extrapolate from the existing data and use that to fill in the blanks. The FBI has it and I kind of--well, anyway, I got it, and this is what I have for you now."

Abby typed in a few more commands and the picture shifted, becoming clear as if they were right there. And Lawson did, in fact, have something over his shoulder. Or some*one*, given that there was dark hair trailing down the back of his jacket and an arm hanging limply to the side. Tony frowned. "That's not Natalie Morris," he said slowly. "It's too big--and--" He frowned again. "Abs, can you zoom in on her hand?"

"Yep!" Abby refocused the picture, closing in on the unknown person's hand. There was a watch around the wrist--one with a wide leather band.

"Son of a--" Tony flipped through his pictures, holding one up next to the screen. "That's not Natalie Morris, Boss. That's Melanie Osborn. Look at the watch."

Gibbs smiled slowly, and the look on his face made Tony shiver. "We got him," he said softly.

"It gets better. Look." Abby hit play on the tape again, pausing it a little bit later. She zoomed in again. "Look," she said, pointing.

"He's using her hand to get in," Tony said, looking at the screen. "We thought he'd followed her in, but he must have killed her and taken her with him so he could use her fingerprints. Abs, can you print these?"

"Already did." She spun over to the printer and picked up a few glossy sheets, giving them to Tony. "This enough to get him?"

Gibbs nodded. "It's enough."

"Want me to go pick him up?" Tony asked.

"Go get the car. I'm going with you."

And after all that, it was easy. Once Lawson realized they had real, solid evidence on him, he cracked. "Not so arrogant after all," Tony murmured from the observation room. He supposed he should feel triumphant, or happy, or at least relieved that this case was now closed...but all he really felt was drained. Talk about anti-climactic.

"Nice work, DiNozzo," Gibbs said once it was all over and they were finishing up their reports.

"I didn't do anything, Boss. San Diego found her." Tony ran his report through the spellchecker again and hit print. "Time to go home?"

"Yeah." Gibbs stretched and Tony averted his eyes. He was *not* thinking about this now. No. "Let's go."

Tony handed Gibbs his report and gathered up his things. "You, um, hungry?"

Okay, where the hell had that come from?

Gibbs filed his report and gave Tony a considering look. "I could eat," he admitted.

"There's this new Chinese place down the street--well, not so new anymore. Kate and I went there a couple times after work. They make really good General Tso's. And--" Tony realized he was babbling and shut up.

Gibbs smiled a little. "What about kung pao shrimp?"

"Never tried it there, couldn't tell you."

"All right." Gibbs picked up his keys. "Let's go get lunch."

The restaurant was quiet and a little dim. Tony saw a few other couples, but mostly it was empty. The hostess gave them a table along the wall and menus and left; a moment later, a waiter came by and filled their waterglasses, giving them handless stoneware mugs full of tea. Tony wrapped his hands around his mug, letting the warmth seep into his palms.

"Cold?" Gibbs asked.

Tony shook his head. "Just tired. Normally I get to sleep in past six-thirty on Sunday." He picked up his mug and took a sip of tea, nearly scalding his tongue.

"Yeah." Gibbs looked about as apologetic as he ever got. "I didn't want this to wait."

"It waited two and a half years," Tony said quietly. "That was long enough."

Gibbs nodded and sipped his own tea. "San Diego found Natalie Morris' body right where Lawson said it was. They're sending her back so her parents can bury her."

"What about Osborn?"

"No parents. I think her sister's taking care of those funeral arrangements as well."

Tony nodded. "I'll see if I can find out when the services are."

Gibbs looked a little surprised. "You going?"

"If I can. I feel like I owe it to them, you know?" Tony smiled wryly. "Took me long enough to solve the case."

"You weren't the only one working it."

Before either of them could say anything else, the waiter came by and they ordered. Gibbs got the kung pao shrimp, Tony the General Tso's. "And an order of spring rolls," Tony said, handing over his menu.

The waiter nodded and left. "You like spring rolls?" Gibbs asked.

Tony shrugged. "I was thinking we could split them."

"You don't even know if I like them," Gibbs pointed out with a slight smile.

"Apparenly there are a lot of things I don't know if you like or not."

Oh hell. When was he going to learn to *think* before saying anything? Tony looked down into his tea mug intently, wondering if it was possible to just hide under the table. He could curl up into a really small ball if he wanted...

"I could say the same about you," Gibbs said; Tony heard the dry amusement in his voice and looked up. "Mitch said he saw you at the firing range yesterday. Said you were out there for a while." Gibbs set his mug down carefully. "Get anything worked out?"

"Maybe." Tony shrugged. "You don't need to worry, Gibbs. I'll be at work on Monday."

"That wasn't what I asked."

Tony sighed and was saved from having to answer right away by the waiter arriving with their spring rolls, along with a dish of black bean sauce. He picked up one and dipped it into the sauce, taking a bite. Chewing and swallowing bought him some more time, but he still had no idea what to say by the time he set the rest of the spring roll down on his plate. "I'm not really sure what you want to know," he said carefully. "It's not your fault, but--"

"I was the catalyst," Gibbs finished. "I know."

"Yeah." Tony poked his spring roll. "Congratulations, Boss. You turned my entire perception of myself on its ear. I'm impressed--not even my first girlfriend did that. Or my first therapist." He snorted. "Then again, my first therapist didn't do much."

"You did therapy?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"It was the thing to do on Long Island in the eighties," Tony said with a wave of his hand. "My parents figured I *had* to be as dysfunctional as they were. So they tossed me into therapy and when they decided that didn't work, they sent me off to military boarding school." He shrugged and took another bite of his spring roll. "Not really my thing. Either of them."

Gibbs picked up a spring roll of his own and took a bite. "Dysfunctional, huh?" he asked after swallowing.

"You've never met my parents." Tony shuddered. "You don't want to. Well, my father now, but." He shook his head. "Can we talk about something else?" Conversations involving his blood relatives were never something Tony wanted to have, given the choice.

"For what it's worth, Tony..." Gibbs sighed. "I didn't think you--"

"It's okay." This was weird enough. Having Gibbs apologize to him would be more than he could handle. "You didn't know. Hell, *I* didn't know." Tony grinned as the waiter arrived with their food and bowls of rice. "I'm just--" He shrugged. "I'm sorry I made you--"

"You didn't make me anything, Tony," Gibbs told him. "You just...surprised me."

"I surprised both of us," Tony pointed out.

"Yeah. That you did." Gibbs picked up his chopsticks and speared a shrimp. Tony sighed and picked up his fork to take a bite of chicken. One of these days, he swore he was going to manage the damn things.

They ate in silence that bordered on the uncomfortable; Tony couldn't think of anything to say and he wasn't sure Gibbs could, either. "Kate's going to be pissed when she finds out about this," he said eventually, toying with a piece of chicken on his plate. "She hates being left out."

"Either she'll deal or she won't." Gibbs shrugged. "She takes it too personally. You outrank her and her experience with the Secret Service doesn't count against that. One of these days, she'll learn."

Tony blinked. Gibbs had never come out and said that before. And while he'd known intellectually that he outranked Kate, simply by length of time in service, it was one thing to know it and another thing to *hear* it. "Oh," he managed.

They finished eating and the waiter came by with their check. Tony reached for his wallet but to his surprise, Gibbs shook his head. "I made you come in on Sunday morning for a cold case. Least I can do is buy you lunch."

"Careful, Boss, or I'm going to think you're getting soft on me." Tony smiled and broke open his fortune cookie.

"What's your fortune?" Gibbs asked.

"Your charming personality will win you many friends." Tony wrinkled his nose and ate the cookie. "That's not a fortune."

"Might be the truth, though." Gibbs smiled and broke his own open. "You will travel far soon."

Tony winced theatrically. "Let's just not end up in Paraguay again. Once was enough."

"More than enough. You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

They walked outside, into the bright sunshine and cool breeze. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," Tony said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Mm-hmm." Gibbs turned to look at him. "You never did answer me from earlier, you know," he said idly.

"About..." Tony frowned.

"About whether or not you'd gotten anything worked out in that hard head of yours."

"Oh." Tony sighed. "I don't know." He ducked his head, looking up at Gibbs a little shyly. "It doesn't matter, though," he said with a shake of his head. "There's no chance of--God, Gibbs, would you just tell me to shut up before I say something both of us are going to regret?"

Gibbs smiled and cuffed Tony lightly. "No chance of what, Tony?"

"This. Anything between--" Tony shook his head again. "Congratulations, Gibbs. You got me to realize I might be bisexual. You even got me to realize that--" He bit his lip. "You want to tell me what's next?"

"Figure out what you want from me," Gibbs said simply. "If you want anything at all."

"What do you want?" Tony asked. "Give me something here, Gibbs."

"Tony, do you honestly think I'd be asking you this if I didn't want *something*?" Gibbs asked wryly. "You should know me better than that."

"Yes, but *what*?" Tony pressed.

Gibbs smiled, shaking his head. "Figure it out, Tony. Figure out what you want. I'll be here."

He got into his car and left, leaving Tony to stand there and glare at the disappearing vehicle. "Bastard!" he swore.

Then he laughed. Of course he was a bastard. He was Gibbs. And Tony wanted that--wanted Gibbs.

Whoa. Back up a minute. When had he decided *that*?

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, getting out his keys. Apparently he'd worked out more than he'd thought.