Over the next couple of weeks, Tony managed to avoid being alone with Ducky, had an insight into a cold case that cracked it wide open, and managed to track down just about everything ever published on the phenomenon of imprinted couples. When he could understand what the publications were talking about, amongst the blizzard of medical jargon, the greek or latinate words, talk of neurotransmitters and areas of the brain, what he discovered simply raised more questions than it answered. He did, however, find out that Philip Childs was currently working at Hackensack University Medical Center in Oradell, New Jersey, roughly two hundred and fifty miles away.
It was time for a road trip.
'We're off rotation this weekend, right?' Tony asked. It was Thursday morning, and Tim and Ziva were away from their desks.
Gibbs looked up from the paperwork on his desk. 'Yeah, DiNozzo. Why, you got plans?'
'Thought I might take off for a couple of days, head up the coast, see a couple of frat buddies, that sort of thing,' Tony said easily, leaning back in his chair.
'Uh huh.' Gibbs sounded unconvinced. 'And?'
'What makes you think there's an and in there, boss?' Tony knew his smile was showing too many teeth, knew Gibbs saw right through it. He sighed and let it fade. 'Okay, okay. One of the guys who did the initial research into imprinting works up at Hackensack U. Thought I'd give him a call, see if he could spare an hour.' He shifted uncomfortably in his seat under Gibbs' scrutiny, until at last the lead agent spoke.
'Want company?'
Tony blinked in surprise. 'Uh... Sure. I was going to drive up Friday night, find a motel. That's if this guy's free on Saturday. Plenty of time after that for sightseeing, maybe call into the Big Apple.'
'Make the call. I'll bring a bag in with me tomorrow,' Gibbs said, then turned back to his paperwork, the whole thing settled as far as he was concerned.
Tony recovered from his surprise and called the number, catching Dr Childs at his desk. 'Doctor Childs, this is Special Agent Tony DiNozzo of NCIS... Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We had a case a couple of weeks back involving a couple of women who had imprinted on each other... Yes, I'm certain. Our forensic scientist ran the bloodwork twice... Abby Sciuto... Yes, that Sciuto... Yeah, she's great all right... Oh, right, sorry. I was wondering if my boss and I could come up and talk with you about imprinting and what that means for the people who are imprinted... I know it's short notice, but I was hoping for this weekend? We're off rotation, so we shouldn't get called in... Saturday lunch, perfect... Okay, I can find that. Thank you, Doctor Childs... I'll see what test results I'm allowed to bring with me. Thanks.'
Tony scribbled down an address and beamed across at Gibbs. 'Looks like we're good to go, boss,' he said exuberantly, pocketing the address just as Ziva came around the corner.
'Go where?' she asked suspiciously.
Not missing a beat, Tony lied, 'The Empire. It's a little movie theater from the forties, still got an organ and everything. It's showing an all-day run of Soviet propaganda films this Saturday. Starts with the legendary Battleship Potemkin, released in nineteen twenty five, directed by the great Sergei Eisenstein. It's a classic.'
'And Gibbs is going with you?' Ziva looked skeptical. 'Voluntarily?'
'No, Ziva,' Tony said. 'I was going to tranq him from five hundred yards away, then tie him up and drag him along in chains.'
Ziva's jaw dropped. 'I do not believe that, Tony! Where are you going?'
'Drop it, Ziva,' Gibbs warned, waiting a beat before continuing. 'And DiNozzo?'
'Yeah, boss?'
'If you could make a shot like that, I wouldn't be riding your ass about your target scores. Make the time, do some shooting. You too, Ziva,' he added as the agent smiled smugly at Tony. 'Yours are worse, and you don't want me to have to motivate you.'
Tony grimaced. 'Will do, boss. I think I'm still sufficiently motivated from last time.'
Ziva settled at her desk and waited until Gibbs had gone in search of coffee before asking, 'How exactly does Gibbs provide motivation?'
'Ah... it involved my favorite hat and Kate's PDA,' Tony admitted. 'Didn't need telling again. With you, it'd probably involve your favorite knife, or maybe that really warm winter coat you practically live in.'
'Ouch,' Ziva pouted. 'I think I will go to the shooting range this weekend.'
'Good plan.'
'How about you? Do you have plans for the weekend?' Ziva asked. The innocence in her tone was entirely false.
Tony was saved from having to answer by the ringing of his phone. 'DiNozzo.' He listened for a few seconds, then asked, 'Where? Okay, keep the scene clear. We'll be there in twenty.'
'A case?'
'Someone dumped a ship's laundry bag by the side of the freeway. When a cleanup crew opened it, there was a severed foot inside,' Tony explained, pushing himself away from his desk and standing. 'Get Probie and meet me at the van; I'll find Gibbs.'
'No need.' The man himself strolled round the corner holding a large cup of coffee. 'What's up?'
'The game's afoot.' Tony grabbed his backpack. 'Literally.'
Gibbs tossed him the keys to the van. 'Okay, then. Lead on, Sherlock.'
Ziva put her phone down and followed them, reaching the elevator just as the doors opened and McGee shot out.
'Be right there, boss!' he called, dashing to his desk.
'Hurry up, McGee,' Gibbs said, exchanging glances with Tony as they struggled not to laugh at his haste.
'Do you think he's Watson?' Tony asked teasingly as they got into the elevator. 'I guess that'd make you Mycroft, boss.' Then his face fell. 'Ziva would have to be Irene Adler, though, and that's all kinds of wrong.' He shuddered, then hunched his shoulders as Gibbs cuffed the back of his head.
'Enough, DiNozzo.'
The doors opened again and they headed out into the parking garage. 'Yes boss, thank you boss,' Tony grinned happily. His smile widened when the door to the level burst open and McGee raced to catch them up.
'C'mon, McGoo! Hurry, hurry, places to go, body parts to see!' Tony climbed into the driver's seat and started the van. Gibbs got the passenger seat, leaving the two junior members of the team to climb into the back.
As he pulled out of the garage, Tony could hear Ziva quietly asking, 'Who is Irene Adler?' and he grinned.
The foot turned out to belong to Daryl Andersen, an enlisted seaman. He was an eighteen year old who had only been with the Navy a few months and had a reputation for goofing off and practical jokes. On a forty eight hour pass, he and a couple of friends had got stupidly drunk and decided to go bungee jumping off of one of the cranes in the dockyard.
'It just goes to show, steel cable's no substitute for elastic rope,' Tony winced as they looked at what was left of the young man. His body had fallen between two stacks of containers; it had take a dog team to track him down. His friends, faced with a severed foot, had run, which Gibbs had taken as a personal insult.
'Boss, it's not like there was anything they could have done,' Tony said as they stared through the one-way glass at the young man crying in the interrogation room. 'Ducky says the fall killed him instantly.'
'That's not the point, Tony,' Gibbs scowled. 'You don't leave a man behind. They should have called for help.'
'Yeah, I get it.' Tony sighed. 'It's just so damn pointless.'
'Stupidity often is.' Gibbs turned away from the window. 'Come on, we've got paperwork to finish up and I have to go tell a woman that her son is dead because he was an idiot.'
'Did we find out how they got into the shipyard?' Tony asked.
'McGee found security footage of them getting over the fence. Seems they've been having trouble with the alarm systems in that area and it's just luck those kids picked that spot. They've got a guard on it now 'til it's fixed.'
'Hell of a way to find a weak spot.'
'Yeah.'
Tony could just imagine Gibbs' blistering indictment of the shipyard's lax maintenance. In his opinion, they deserved every scathing word.
'So what happens now?' Tim asked, typing up his report with a rattle of keys.
'A couple of sailors get busted, a family mourns, a few people down at the shipyard get a reprimand,' Tony said, leaning back in his chair. 'And for everyone else, life goes on.'
'Wow, that's... depressing,' Tim admitted.
'That's why you've got to make the most of it, Probie. Get out, live a little.'
'I'm sure that's what Daryl Andersen thought he was doing,' Ziva said, quelling the conversation.
Gibbs stood. 'Go home when you've finished up those reports.' He strode out of the bullpen without looking back.
'Where-' Tim began, only to be cut off by Tony.
'Notify the mother. Come on, Probie, finish up soon and we can see if Abby wants to come out for beer and a pizza.'
'Uh, I'm not sure...'
'Oh, come on, McGoo! Ziva's coming, right?' Tony turned a winning smile on the agent.
She raised an eyebrow. 'Are you paying?'
Tony shrugged. 'No, but I'll buy the first round.'
Ziva eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged. 'All right, but no pepperoni.'
'All right! Fifteen minutes and we're out of here.' Tony beamed. 'Well? What're you waiting for, Probie? Call Abby!'
Tim rolled his eyes but picked up the phone and dialed. From what Tony could hear of the conversation - including the part where Tim winced and held the phone away from his ear, Abby's squeal carrying easily to Tony - Abby was on for a team night too. And with that in mind, he printed off his report, dropped a copy on Gibbs' desk, and took the elevator down to Autopsy.
'Hey, Palmer! We're off out for beer and pizza in a few. You coming?'
Jimmy blinked and thought for a moment. 'There were a few things I wanted to do this evening, but.... I could come for an hour?'
'Good man!' Tony slapped him on the arm. 'Ten minutes. Is Ducky around?'
'In his office,' Jimmy said.
Tony nodded and headed back. The tables were clear; one of the steel drawers, he knew, held the unfortunate Daryl Andersen and his severed foot, but he pushed that knowledge to the back of his mind, holding firmly to his smile.
'Hey, Ducky! How's it going?' He leaned against the doorframe as the older man lifted his head and regarded him with a steady gaze.
'Can I assume you have finally sought me out to conclude our conversation from the other week, or should I merely point out that you already have my report on Mr Andersen?'
Tony's smile slipped. 'There's nothing more to say.' He shrugged. 'Actually, I came down to invite you along for pizza and beer. Everyone needed a little cheering up after today.'
'Anthony, my dear boy, there is considerably more to say. I would like to take some blood samples. There are tests that can reveal if your problem has some physical basis. There are a number of conditions that can cause it and it would be unwise to rule them out without checking in case it is merely a symptom of something more serious.'
'Ducky, are you coming out with us or not? That's all I need to know. Because we're leaving in-' Tony checked his watch, 'eight minutes.'
The ME looked at him until Tony had to drop his eyes. 'Come in and shut the door, Anthony. Give me five of those minutes and I will come along with you, at least for a little while.'
Tony's shoulders slumped. 'All right, Ducky, you win.' He came fully into the room, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the only other chair in the small, crowded room.
'Roll up your sleeve.' Ducky wasted no time in retrieving a needle and four small glass tubes from a drawer. He swabbed the inside of Tony's elbow with a sterile wipe, then tore open the package and pulled out the needle. 'You'll feel just a little scratch,' he murmured, sliding the needle into a vein.
Each of the tubes in turn fitted onto the needle and filled with blood. Less than a minute later, Ducky held a cotton ball to the tiny wound and withdrew the needle. 'Keep pressure on it while I take care of these.'
Tony did as he was told and watched in silence as Ducky capped the needle and dropped it into a sharps bin before carefully labelling the vials and putting them into a plastic bag.
'I'm sure Abigail could run the tests here, but since I'm assuming you'd rather no one else knew, I'll send these to a friend of mine over at Bethesda. The results should be back by the end of next week,' Ducky informed him.
Tony nodded. 'Thanks, Ducky. It's not that I don't appreciate it, it's just...'
'Personal? Embarrassing? My dear boy, I do understand. And while I don't think you necessarily have anything about which to be concerned, it would be remiss of me not to check out the possibilities. In the meantime, if you need to talk...'
'I know where you are, yes. Thanks. Are we done?' Tony lifted the cotton ball and checked his arm; it had stopped bleeding, so he dropped the ball into the wastebin.
'No, not there,' Ducky tutted. 'It needs to go into hazardous waste. Regulations, my dear boy, regulations.'
'Sorry.' Tony fished it back out and looked around, handing it to Ducky when the older man held out his hand with a sigh of impatience.
'Have you ever considered that maybe you're ready for more than a series of random encounters with virtual strangers?' Ducky asked.
'The big C?' Tony shuddered. 'Wash your mouth out!'
'Mind over matter, Anthony. Stranger things have happened.' Ducky patted him on the shoulder. 'You could always try asking out the person you fantasise about. I'm assuming it is a real person and someone you know, rather than an actress or a model, yes?'
Tony felt himself blushing. 'Trust me on this, Ducky, I really can't.'
'What's the worst that can happen, other than her saying no? And with your charm, my boy, I can't see anyone turning you down for long. Unless she's married?'
'Not married, no, but there are a lot worse things than saying no. Take my word for it.' Tony shuddered.
'Are you sure? I remember there was this one time, back in nineteen sixty-eight, or was it sixty-seven, and I desperately wanted to ask out a beautiful young woman. Lesley was her name, long auburn hair and a smile that lit up the room. Well, I-'
'Ducky! Time's up, gotta go. Grab your coat.' Tony stood and opened the door. 'Beer and pizza wait for no man!'
The ME shook his head and sighed, then reached for his coat and followed him out.
The beer proved to be a success; the small group crowding into a booth at the back of the bar and ordering a couple of pitchers to start with. Tony waited until the pizzas had been delivered before slipping out and calling Gibbs.
'It's me, boss. How'd it go? ... Uh huh, reports are all on your desk... Well, actually, I was wondering if you wanted to join us for beer and pizza. Even Ducky's here with us for a little while... You sure? Because I was going to save you a slice of the meat supreme. Extra pepperoni, extra ham, extra bacon... Just half an hour. The team needs this... Okay, thanks.' He slid his phone into his pocket with a sigh; Gibbs had, as usual, hung up without saying goodbye.
Tony wandered back to the table and managed to rescue two slices of the meat supreme pizza.
'Is everything okay?' Tim asked from across the table, where he was seated between Abby and Ziva.
Tony nodded. 'Gibbs should be here in ten.'
Abby bounced in her seat. 'Gibbs is actually joining us? Goody! What did you have to do, threaten to burn his boat?'
Tony laughed and shook his head. 'Save him a slice of pizza, so hands off unless you want to feel his wrath.'
Abby shuddered and gave a delighted squeal. 'Not a chance! The only one who's that brave is you, Tony!'
'And even I'm not that stupid,' Tony agreed, to general laughter.
By the time Gibbs joined them, Jimmy was just leaving, so Gibbs slid into his place, next to Tony. 'That mine?'
'All yours, boss,' Tony said, sliding the plate over, along with a couple of napkins. 'Beer?'
'Yeah, I'll have one,' Gibbs said, and settled in to eat, listening to the chatter around him.
Tony poured him a beer, then rejoined the chatter around the table. He smiled and laughed, offering up jokes and outrageous stories, but his attention was mostly on the man seated beside him. He could feel the tension Gibbs was doing his best to disguise; the booth was small, and with six of them around the table, no matter how hard he tried, he was thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder with Gibbs. Not that he minded, but it was a little... distracting.
Ducky was the next to leave, pleading the need to check on his mother and her corgis, followed by Ziva, who had unspecified things to do. Gibbs shifted to give them both a little more room as the booth emptied, but he seemed not to care that his knee still pressed against Tony's, and it was closer to an hour than half an hour by the time he went home, appearing more relaxed by far than when he'd arrived.
Tony watched him go, before turning his attention back to Tim and Abby just as Tim excused himself to go to the men's room.
'So, Tony, what's going on with you and Gibbs?' Abby asked, leaning forwards with a mischievous expression.
Tony choked on his beer. 'Abs, maybe you should lay off the beer, or the caffeine, or something. I have no idea what you mean.'
'There's definitely some weird energy going on between you,' Abby continued blithely. 'I mean, you've always had this connection, which is good, because both of you need it, but it's like it's... more, somehow.'
Pushing his glass away, Tony shrugged uncomfortably. 'I don't know what to say, Abs. As far as I'm aware, things with me and Gibbs are business as usual. He's the boss, I try not to piss him off too much.' As Abby opened her mouth to argue, Tony added, 'So how are things with the McGeek? You letting him sleep over in your coffin?'
Abby reached across the table and thumped him on the shoulder. 'Tony! There's nothing going on there, I swear.'
Tony smirked. Right on cue, Tim appeared, sat back down and asked, 'What did I miss?'
With a laugh and a shake of his head, Tony said, 'Nothing, Probie. Absolutely nothing at all.' Abby narrowed her eyes, but Tony ignored her glare. 'I hate to say it, but I'm going to have to love you and leave you. I'll see you guys tomorrow.' He stood and pulled out his wallet, tossing down some notes. 'That should take care of the bill. Don't do anything I wouldn't, kids.'
'Like that narrows anything down,' Tim scoffed.
Tony kept his smile in place and waited until he was outside before muttering, 'If only you knew, Probie, oh how you'd laugh.'
The atmosphere in the office the next morning was considerably lighter, with Tony and Ziva taking it in turns to tease Tim about how long he'd stayed at the bar with Abby. Even Gibbs had a tiny smile for a couple of the comments. They spent the day doing follow-up work on the Andersen case, but for once, the phones stayed silent and five o'clock rolled around without a new case presenting itself.
'Go home, people,' Gibbs said. 'Enjoy your weekend off.' He shut down his computer and tidied the last of his paperwork away. When he left, for a last coffee run, Tony assumed, Ziva turned to him and Tim in amazement.
'Gibbs is actually leaving on time?'
'It looks like it,' Tim said, standing quickly. 'I'm going now, before he changes his mind or a fresh case comes in. See you Monday, guys.' He hurried off towards the elevator. Ziva blinked, then grabbed her coat and purse and followed.
'Do not spend the entire weekend in bed, Tony,' she called with a grin.
'Not on my own, no,' Tony called back. He took his time closing down his computer and by the time Gibbs returned with a travel mug of coffee and a bag of danishes, Tony was just about ready to go.
'Shall we?' Gibbs asked courteously.
'After you, boss,' Tony smiled. They travelled down in the elevator in companionable silence and out in the parking lot, Tony unlocked his car and waited for Gibbs to grab the bag from his trunk. While Tony drove, Gibbs tuned the radio to a station playing classic rock. After a couple of hours, Tony pulled off the I-295 and into a rest stop.
'I don't know about you, boss, but I'm getting kinda hungry. And I could use some coffee.' Tony turned and smiled at Gibbs. To his surprise, Gibbs looked more relaxed than he'd seen him in a long time.
'Sure, Tony. Could use a bite and a coffee too. Come on.' He unfolded his tall frame from the car and Tony took a moment to admire his easy grace before locking the car and following.
The rest stop was clean, but that was the best that could be said for it. The burgers were dry and the fries greasy. The coffee, though it tasted awful, had enough caffeine in it that Tony could feel himself start to fidget after half a cup.
'Wow, this stuff's got a kick,' he said, blinking.
Gibbs drained his cup and put it back down on the table with a steady hand. 'Hadn't noticed.'
'You know, I'm surprised you don't just get a shunt put in, then you can mainline caffeine to your heart's content. It's not as though you drink it for the taste,' Tony rattled on.
Gibbs snorted. 'Might be an idea at that, but it'd get in the way of apprehending suspects.'
'You could always throw the bag at them?'
'And waste good coffee? Not a chance, DiNozzo.' Gibbs was outright smiling.
Tony leaned forward. 'But that's the point, boss,' he said earnestly. 'It could be terrible coffee and you'd never have to know.'
As Gibbs laughed, Tony sat back and grinned happily. 'You know, I don't think I've ever seen you this cheerful.'
The older man shrugged. 'Been a while since I got away for anything other than work.'
'But this is connected with work, kind of.'
'Yeah, an hour spent talking with this guy tomorrow over lunch, then the weekend's ours. You figure out what you want to do yet?'
It was Tony's turn to shrug. 'I was thinking maybe head into New York, go round the Met, find somewhere to eat, take in a show? You know you can take a bicycle tour of the city? They run it at four am when the traffic's light, go round the fish market, that kind of thing.'
Gibbs shook his head. 'The rest sounds fine to me, Tony, but if you think I'm getting up to cycle around New York at four in the morning, you're out of your mind.'
Tony grinned. 'Didn't say I was going on it, just that it's there. Tourists, huh?'
'Yeah.'
They got more coffee to go and Tony drove the rest of the way without stopping. He found them a Best Western and Gibbs booked them a twin room.
'I can probably put it on expenses,' he said as they carried their bags up. 'But there's no way they'll spring for two rooms.'
Tony blinked in surprise. 'Oh, okay.'
'What, you weren't going to try claiming it? You said yourself it's work-related.' Gibbs said, dropping his bag on the bed closest to the door.
Tony shook his head. 'Didn't even occur to me. Damn, I must be slipping.'
Gibbs grinned. 'Must be, DiNozzo, must be. Tomorrow night's on your own dime, though.'
'Got it.' Tony disappeared into the bathroom to grab a shower, taking a minute under the spray to enjoy the water pounding his shoulders.
'Hello,' he murmured, feeling a familiar sensation. 'Nice of you to join me.' His hand found his hardening erection and, with the water and a little shower gel, he brought himself off, leaning against the tiled wall until his knees steadied and his breathing evened out. He washed quickly, then turned off the shower and dried himself off with one of the too-small white towels provided, missing the luxury of his own thick, soft towels, before pulling on shorts and a t-shirt and leaving the bathroom.
Gibbs took his turn in the bathroom as Tony settled into the queen-sized bed by the window. Instead of turning on the TV, he lay down and listened to the sound of Gibbs taking his own quick shower. The agent came out of the bathroom with a swirl of steam, dressed in sweats and a faded NCIS t-shirt and climbed into the other bed.
'Night, boss,' Tony murmured.
'Night, Tony.' Gibbs turned out the light and Tony fell alseep to a sense of rightness, somewhere deep in his chest, that he very carefully kept from thinking about.
Despite the long drive the previous evening, Tony woke up early. He changed into running shorts and slipped out of the room. After a quick conversation with the desk clerk, he set off on a route that was only a couple of miles long, but fairly easy to follow, and by the time he got back to the hotel, he was wide awake and ready for breakfast.
Gibbs was up and showered when he entered the room. 'Sleep well, boss?' Tony asked cheerfully, rummaging in his bag for a clean set of clothes.
'Surprisingly well. You see anywhere decent for breakfast while you were out?'
'Yeah, actually. Real mom and pop diner. Give me five minutes and I'll be ready to go.' He hurried through the bathroom and emerged, fully dressed and with his hair artfully tousled. Another minute more and his bag was packed.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Gibbs looked up from his book. 'All set?'
Tony nodded. 'Let's go get you some coffee before you turn into an ogre.' He grinned.
The older man raised an eyebrow and stood. 'Careful, DiNozzo. If I turn into an ogre, you'll be first on the menu.'
'You'd eat me over bacon and eggs?' Tony asked, holding the door open.
'Long pig,' Gibbs said with a straight face, strolling past.
Tony gave an exaggerated shudder and followed. They checked out, dropping their bags into the trunk of the car before making the short walk to the diner. Over coffee and toast, bacon and eggs, waffles, Tony charmed the waitress into telling them what there was to do to kill a few hours. Not much, as it turned out, but there was a nature trail, which they managed to not get lost on, finding their way back to the car and then to their appointment with Dr Childs with relative ease.
The address was for a little vegetarian eatery just around the corner from the university medical center. Tony groaned when he saw it and Gibbs looked less than impressed.
'Didn't you check it?' the older man grumbled. 'I hate tofu.'
'It's not like it's called Sprouts 'R' Us, boss,' Tony said, pushing open the door and walking inside. The walls were painted a light green and a border of curling vines had been stencilled around the edges. There were only a dozen small tables, and most were crowded with students. A burly red-haired man in his late forties stood up at one of the tables towards the back of the room.
'Guessing that's our guy,' Gibbs said, threading his way between the tables. 'Doctor Childs? Special Agent Gibbs, and this is Special Agent DiNozzo.'
'Pleasure to meet you,' Dr Childs said, holding out his hand to Gibbs and Tony in turn. They shook and, for all his hand was large, his grip was light. Tony suspected it was probably from years of delicate lab work. Once they were all seated, a waitress came round to take their order.
'Could we have a menu, please?' Tony asked politely.
'Just what's on the board,' the waitress said, unsmiling. With the barest of nods, she indicated the wall to the side of the room. A chalkboard had a meager list of options, scrawled in a barely legible hand. With a wince, Tony ordered the greek salad and, scowling, Gibbs did the same. His scowl deepened when the waitress shook her head sadly at his request for coffee.
'Your heart,' she sniffed, ignoring his glare.
Blithely, the doctor ordered an egg white omelet with roast mixed vegetables with the ease of one who ate there often, then beamed at the agents.
'So, you said you had a case involving an imprinted couple. Did you bring those test results with you?'
'Most people want to know what happened first,' Tony said, pulling a slim file out of his backpack. 'I had to get special permission to show you these.' He handed it over and watched as the doctor opened it and eagerly scanned the pages.
The food had arrived, looking surprisingly appetising for all its lack of meat and bread, before the doctor looked up again.
'This is wonderful work. You must thank Ms Sciuto; she's incredibly thorough.'
'I know,' Gibbs said drily. 'That's why she was hired.'
'Not many people would have noticed the discrepancy in the initial results, let alone ascribed it any significance. And to be honest, the study that Ron and I did wasn't that widely published.' He closed the file and put it to one side, then tucked into his omelet with evident enjoyment while Tony and Gibbs picked at their salads. 'So, what did happen?' he asked around a mouthful of egg.
Tony glanced at Gibbs before speaking. 'We had a dead petty officer found at the back of a bar. She'd been beaten and her neck was broken. Turns out she met her soul mate while on deployment, but while they were on shore leave, her girlfriend's husband came home early and caught them in bed.'
'That's awful,' the doctor said, frowning. 'What about the girlfriend? Did he...?'
'No, but it was about as bad as it gets short of murder. She's getting help,' Tony said.
Doctor Childs shook his head. 'There's nothing much anyone can do to help.'
'Why?' Gibbs asked. 'What happens when one partner dies?'
'We didn't have any data for that at the time we ran our initial study,' Childs began. 'But I've made a point of keeping in touch with the initial subjects, the ones that were imprinted. Over the last twenty years, six have died or been killed, and of their partners, four have in effect committed suicide.'
'Really?' Tony's eyebrows shot up. 'Boss...'
'How recently had they met?' Childs asked.
'About six weeks prior to the murder,' Gibbs said.
'In that case, that puts the surviving partner at a lower risk of suicide, but even so, there's around a thirty per cent higher risk.' Childs explained. 'For couples who've been imprinted longer than a year, that figure goes up to around ninety per cent.'
'Wow,' Tony said, stunned.
'What did you mean by 'died or been killed'?' Gibbs asked.
'Interestingly, a large proportion of imprinted couples have one or both partners in the armed forces, law enforcement, the emergency services, that kind of thing,' Childs said. 'It's fascinating. I don't have any data on why, but I have a few suppositions I'd love to be able to test. Unfortunately, that's not really my area; it's more sociology or anthropology, I guess, and there's no funding for that kind of research.'
'So what's your theory?' Tony asked.
'I have a couple. It could be that people who are susceptible to imprinting are drawn to careers that are likely to bring them into contact with large numbers of people to maximise their chances of meeting their partner, but in that case, I'd expect to see a lot of teachers, even store clerks, anyone who deals with the public on a daily basis. I suspect there's a link somewhere between the way imprinting works and the things that make for successful soldiers or police.'
'Or sailors,' Gibbs said.
'Absolutely,' Childs agreed. 'I'd say that the mechanism in the brain that has it waiting for imprinting to happen, the state of the brain pre-imprint, is probably close to ideal for people who feel called to protect society in whatever way. There's probably some evolutionary advantage in having the people who keep the wolves from the door be fiercely dedicated to each other.'
'Sounds plausible,' Tony said.
'There's no way of knowing, not without doing a lot more research, and like I said, the funding's all in Alzheimer's research, that kind of thing. No one wants to acknowlege the potential for an overriding biological basis for a tiny incidence of what's most likely to be homosexuality within the armed forces.'
'I can see why,' Gibbs said. 'So most of these imprinted couples are gay?'
'Not all, no, but most. Although that's misleading, I think,' Childs said. 'When we asked them separately about their sexuality pre-imprinting, almost all of them identified as heterosexual. Not many even said they were bisexual, and only a tiny number said they were gay.'
'But they imprinted on members of the same sex, and those relationships were sexual,' Gibbs clarified.
'Yes, which is why it's so fascinating. It really is an anthropologist's dream study, looking into why these men, usually, who are incredibly invested in heteronormativity, ever end up in active homosexual partnerships. I suspect one reason is simply that, in the absence of any other outlet for their sexuality, they turn to the person who is their only source of arousal.'
'So you're saying they go gay for each other, but they have no choice,' Tony queried.
'That's it.' Childs smiled.
'What happens if they can't accept it? Have you had any cases where that's happened?' Tony asked.
Childs shook his head. 'Our study only dealt with existing couples. Short of testing everyone within the armed forces and the emergency services, there's no way we could identify people who're struggling against imprinting. I'm certain there are imprinted people out there who can't accept their fixation on the other person.'
'What do you suppose happens to them?' Tony was leaning forwards in his seat, fascinated by what he was hearing.
'I'd imagine it's the same thing that happens to anyone who suddenly feels drawn to someone they don't want to be attracted to, someone they think it's wrong to be attracted to,' Childs said. 'Only they don't have the option of attempting to subsume that attraction in someone more appropriate. Anger, denial, avoidance, and in extreme cases, violence, murder, suicide. I suppose they can try to be with someone else, but the only sexual arousal they're capable of would be when they imagine they're with the person they're imprinted on.'
'What about reversing the effects of imprinting? Is that possible? What happens if they can't be together, or if one party dies? Does the imprinting stay with you for life, or does it ever go away?' Tony asked.
'I don't know how imprinting works in the first place, so I have no way of knowing if it's possible to reverse. What I've found is that where one person is, say, stationed well away from the other over a long period of time - and we're talking years, here - they gradually regain some capability for sexual arousal by other people. It suggests the imprint is reinforced through physical contact, through touch, sight, sound, smell.
'Where one half of an imprinted couple dies, if their partner survives the initial grieving process, the same thing happens. Over the years, they regain a limited capacity for intimate interaction with other people. But they're always searching, on some level, for what they had. I know of only one case, where one person was killed in an accident right after our study finished, and twelve years later, the surviving imprinted came back to me with his new partner. They'd been assigned to work together - they were detectives - and when I ran the blood tests, it showed they'd imprinted on each other. But that's the only case I know where someone's re-imprinted.' Childs pushed away his empty plate.
'So, doomed to be together or spend the rest of their life searching for their soul mate? It sounds like the plot of a movie. Maybe you should get Hollywood interested; that'd give you the money to do more studies,' Tony said.
'Maybe I should,' Childs agreed.
'So how did you identify these couples in the first place?' Gibbs asked.
'We screened couples firstly through a questionnaire. It takes about fifteen minutes to complete and asks about changes in arousal patterns and so on. And then there's the blood tests; it's pretty much what your Ms Sciuto did.' Childs looked from Gibbs to Tony and back again. 'You know, it's been about eight years since I last dug them out, but would you gentlemen mind filling out the questionnaire for me? It all adds to my sample size, helps me understand this thing a little better.'
Tony snorted. 'We're not imprinted, doctor. We're not even a couple.'
'But you are in law enforcement and unless I'm very mistaken, you're ex-military, right, Agent Gibbs?' Childs said.
'No such thing as an ex-marine,' Gibbs said. 'And DiNozzo worked three police forces before I hired him.'
'All right, then. I have better coffee than they serve here, anyway.' Childs said.
Gibbs looked at Tony, who rolled his eyes, then raised his hand to attract the attention of the surly waitress. 'Check!'
It was only a two minute walk to Childs' office. Buried in a maze of corridors towards the rear of the medical center, the office reminded Tony of Ducky's, its walls lined with filing cabinets and bookshelves overflowing with journals and books. There was room for a chair behind the desk, on which, to one side, sat a pc with twin flat-screen monitors, and on the other side of the desk, for two uncomfortable plastic and metal visitors chairs, on which Tony and Gibbs sat.
'So how do you want to do this?' Tony asked, shifting as he tried to get comfortable on the hard seat. Beside him, Gibbs was still, back ramrod-straight and not a hint of discomfort showing.
'Let me just print you off the questionnaire. If I was conducting my study, this part would be done blind, which is to say you'd each be assigned a number and I wouldn't know who you were until after I'd processed your questionnaire. As it is, my grad students have a lounge just down the hall, which has a little more space and is where the good coffee's kept.' Childs clicked a few times with his mouse then, half-hidden on top of a filing cabinet in the corner of the room, a small printer whirred to life. He retrieved the printouts, fumbled in his drawer for a couple of pens, then handed one to each.
'If you could drop these back in here when you're done, that'd be wonderful. I'll have someone ready to do the blood test by then.'
'Whoa, wait a minute,' Tony said, pausing in the doorway. 'You didn't say you were taking blood too!'
Childs looked at him in surprise. 'But of course! How else can I confirm you're not imprinted?'
Gibbs sighed. 'As long as that's all. Out of curiosity, what would the next stage be, if one of us was imprinted and this was part of your study?'
Childs smiled. 'If, by some remote chance, you turned out to be imprinted, I'd want to do a follow-up interview with you and your imprinted partner. In the study, we ran follow-up tests, measuring brainwaves, which parts of the brain are active during arousal, anger, fear, etcetera, and we also looked at the physiological effects of arousal.'
'Is that where you hooked up people's... parts... and showed them photos?' Tony asked.
'Essentially, yes,' Childs said earnestly. 'But we had such uniform results that we were able to confirm the correlation between restricted arousal to stimuli and the results of the brain tests, which is why we concluded that the blood test is a very accurate way of diagnosing imprinted people. As I said, there's a lot of follow-up work to be done, but there's no funding. Maybe with a change in administration, one that's more likely to work towards repealing the military's policy of 'don't ask, don't tell', that'll change. Until then, I'll keep working on other things.' Childs looked almost forlorn, standing in his cramped office with no prospect of getting back to the research he so clearly loved.
'Okay,' Tony drawled. 'We'll get right on these for you.' He plastered on a smile and led the way back down the corridor to the graduate students' lounge. Decorated in institutional beige and grey, the decor wasn't great, but the chairs were comfy and the coffee was indeed the good stuff. Tony hunted out clean mugs and poured for them both, finding creamer and sweetener for his own in a little basket beside the coffee pot. Gibbs took a seat at one side of the table and grunted his thanks for the coffee.
'I fancy stopping somewhere for a burger after this,' Tony said, taking the chair opposite. 'How about you, boss?'
Gibbs glanced over the top of the paper he was holding at arm's length. 'Sounds good to me.'
Without a word, Tony pulled a narrow case out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. Gibbs took it and put on his reading glasses just as Tony read the first set of questions and choked.
'Problem, DiNozzo?' Gibbs asked.
'I, uh... You know, this chair's wobbly. I'll go sit over there.' Tony bolted for the table at the far side of the room, sitting where he could keep an eye on the other man. The last thing he needed was to find Gibbs reading over his shoulder. With a sigh, he uncapped the pen and started filling in the questionnaire.
1. When was the last time you had sexual intercourse?
It took closer to twenty minutes, two cups of coffee each and red faces before they dropped their questionnaires back on Doctor Childs' desk.
'Any problems?'
'Nope,' Tony said, not quite meeting the doctor's eyes.
'Seemed pretty straightforward to me,' Gibbs concurred. He was very carefully not looking at his subordinate.
'Glad to hear it. Would you both roll up your left sleeve, please?' Quickly and professionally, he drew a couple of vials of blood from Gibbs first, then turned his attention to Tony. 'Would you rather I used your other arm?' he asked.
'No, left's fine. Why?' Tony asked.
'It looks as though you've had blood taken pretty recently. I can try a different vein, though.'
'Oh! Yeah, sorry, I forgot. Go ahead, do your vampire thing. Arm'll be fine.' Tony squeezed his hand into a fist a couple of times and Doctor Childs took the blood he needed.
'Something you want to tell me about?' Gibbs asked mildly.
Tony shook his head. 'Nothing to worry about, boss. Ducky just wanted to run some tests, you know how he gets.'
Gibbs shot him a look that Tony knew meant they'd be talking later, or at least, Gibbs would be interrogating him and if he couldn't think of a way to sidetrack the man, he'd better be ready to answer.
'Can I take a number so I can let you know your results?' Childs asked hopefully.
'Sure.' Tony rattled off his cell number. 'You can reach me any time on it.'
'How about you, Special Agent Gibbs?'
'Chances are if you reach Tony, you'll get me,' Gibbs said.
'Okay, then. Thank you for coming all this way to see me,' Childs stood and shook Gibbs' hand, then Tony's.
'Thanks for making the time to talk with us,' Tony said. 'When we get back, I'll have to go see our survivor. Do you mind if I give her your number?'
'Not at all, please do.' With a smile, Doctor Childs ushered them out of his office and they went in search of a second lunch.
Gibbs waited until they had eaten, driven down to the Big Apple, seen all the Degas and Klimt either of them were interested in at the Met, and found an Ethiopian restaurant for dinner before he brought up the topic both men knew was coming.
'So, tests?'
'Yeah, probably just low on iron or something.' Tony smiled. 'I ordered the beef, it'll be fine.'
Gibbs raised an eyebrow and waited.
Tony sighed. 'It's nothing that affects the job, boss, I promise. Scout's honor.'
'I didn't think you were ever in the scouts, DiNozzo,' Gibbs said. Their food arrived at the table, and Tony busied himself with sampling the dishes.
'Let's try this again, shall we?' Gibbs said after a few minutes. 'Are you going to tell me what tests Ducky's running?'
Tony shrugged. 'He said he wanted to take some blood to run some tests, but didn't tell me what they were. That's all. So no, I'm not going to tell you because I don't know. Can we drop this?'
'Why did Ducky think he needed to run tests on you, Tony? Will you tell me that?'
Tony shook his head. 'It's personal and that's all I'm prepared to say. I'm not sick, it's not anything that would interfere with me doing my job to the best of my abilities and Ducky likes to worry.'
Gibbs stared at him for a moment, then sighed, his forehead creasing in a worried frown. 'Tony, you aren't just the job. If there's something wrong, something you want to talk about, you can tell me. You should know that by now.'
Tony barked a surprised laugh. 'You telling me you care about me? Above and beyond the job?'
Gibbs sat back, equally surprised. 'Of course I do! You're my senior agent, you've worked with me longer than anyone. Heck, you've stayed at my house often enough.'
'You know, much as that gives me the warm fuzzies, you don't exactly invite the sharing of personal information. Not unless it means we can't do the job,' Tony said cynically. 'But thanks for letting me stay in your spare room. Really appreciate it. Next time the boiler blows up or the landlord decides to fumigate, I'll be right there. So what did you think of the Mondrian?'
Gibbs gave in and they spent the rest of the meal discussing what they'd seen at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that afternoon. They followed up their meal with a visit to a quiet little jazz bar and a few drinks, then walked back to their hotel. Another shared room, although this one was paid for by Tony, and once again he fell asleep quickly, lulled by the sound of Gibbs' slow breathing.
Gibbs was up first and while he was in the shower, Tony used the time to take care of his morning wood, jerking off quickly and quietly into a handful of tissues. Still half-asleep, he lobbed the wad of tissues at the wastebin and dozed for a few warm, luxurious minutes until Gibbs emerged in a cloud of steam, scrubbed pink and with a towel wrapped around his hips.
'Up and at 'em, DiNozzo,' Gibbs said with a little smile. 'You missed that bike tour.'
Yawning, Tony stretched lazily and made a rude gesture. 'Not sorry 'bout that,' he said and climbed out of bed. On his way to the bathroom, Gibbs cuffed the back of his head. 'Ow! What was that for?' Tony whined, turning to face the older man.
'You flip me the bird, there are consequences,' Gibbs said mildly. 'Get your ass through the bathroom so we can go find coffee.'
'On it, boss.' Rubbing his head, Tony did as he was told. Mindful of Gibbs' caffeine addiction, he ignored the resurgence of interest from his cock under the warm spray from the shower and was ready to go in under ten minutes. Shortly thereafter they found themselves in another diner having breakfast.
'Got anything planned for today?' Gibbs asked, once he'd finished his first cup of coffee and started on the second.
'I thought about doing some shopping,' Tony said, deadpan. 'It's the perfect opportunity to get you out of those Sears sales specials. There's a great little place only a few blocks from here, proper gentleman's tailor.' As a look of horror crossed the ex-marine's face, Tony couldn't hold in his laughter. 'Sorry boss,' he gasped, wiping his eyes. 'That was too good to pass up!'
Gibbs scowled. 'I take it your plan doesn't involve me having to shoot you, then.'
'Nope,' Tony grinned. 'I did a little checking around and there's a Maritime Museum out at Fort Schuyler. Thought maybe we could head on over and spend a few hours there before we have to drive home.'
'Good thinking,' Gibbs said approvingly.
'Thanks.' Tony beamed, enjoying the rare praise.
It was dark by the time Tony pulled up outside Gibbs' house. Not even slow, heavy traffic had put a dent in his happiness. 'Had a great weekend, boss. Thanks for coming along.'
'No problem,' Gibbs said, opening the car door. 'Been a while since I got away like that.' He hesitated, half out of the car, then looked back. 'Want to come in for a beer?'
Tony thought hard for a few moments then, reluctantly, shook his head. 'I still have a few things to do before work tomorrow. Rain check?'
'Next time, then,' Gibbs said. He shut the door, claimed his bag from the trunk, then jogged up the steps to the front door and went inside.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.