A Whole New World

A Whole New World by Germankitty

(Written for the Fandoms Galore Reverse Bang 2024; artwork by Aussiefan70)

Disclaimer: All things NCIS belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS. The title is taken from "A Whole New World" by Mena Massoud and Naomi Scott, from the Guy Ritchie movie "Aladdin" (2019), ©Walt Disney Pictures. The title of Pt. 1 comes from the musical "The King and I" by Rodgers and Hammerstein. This is written just for fun, no payment is being received, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Alternate universe. When Pedro Hernandez ordered the hit on Gibbs' family, only Shannon died in the car crash; Kelly survived albeit with a permanent impairment. Tony DiNozzo never met Agent Gibbs in Baltimore and therefore was never recruited by him to join NCIS. g

The story starts halfway through 2009, between seasons 6 and 7; Michelle Lee, the team's probie, never killed Brent Langer, who is Gibbs' SFA, and Ziva is back in Israel for good.

.

Author's Note: There's quite a bit of hand-waving going on in this story, and I apologize for that. First off, I'm neither American nor do I live in the US – all I know of police procedures, etc. comes from decades of watching TV procedurals, from "Columbo" to "NCIS". I've researched what I could; Metro PD does indeed have the department and position mentioned, and there is public transport between the Navy Yard and Metro Central Station in Washington, DC as mentioned – although used with some creative license to fit the story. Likewise, other locations have been chosen to make certain events at least plausible, if you squint a little.

Also, because this is an AU, Gibbs has led a different life and therefore doesn't quite conform to the character we saw on-screen.

That being said, many thanks to Aussiefan70 for the beta, the artwork that inspired me to tackle this particular plot bunny after plaguing me for ages, as well as adapting the original art to fit the resulting story. I hope she – and you all – enjoy the story. So, please pass by the feedback box on your way out?  

Part One: Shall We Dance?

Chapter 1:

Gibbs parked his Challenger in the driveway, collected his go-bag, and ambled towards the front door. A quick turn of the key, and he set foot into his house for the first time within the last four days. He grinned; something smelled wonderful, and his stomach growled. He dropped his keys into a wooden bowl on the small console table, his bag to the side, and prodded it with a foot so that it wouldn't obstruct the hallway. Next, he hung his jacket sloppily on a wall hook right above; he'd take care of both properly later, and following that tempting aroma, made his way into the kitchen.

"Honey, I'm home," he announced with a grin as he pushed open the door to be greeted with the sight of a lovely redhead slicing a heap of mushrooms at the countertop.

The slender young woman looked up and rolled her eyes. "Aren't you ever getting tired of saying that?" she asked drily, her tone belied by the smile curving her lips. "Just because I happen to be a redhead like Lucy doesn't mean you get to be Desi," she added. "You're my dad, not my husband."

"Yeah, well. Fits the situation, so why not?" he replied, stepping forward to hug her shoulders and kiss her soft cheek. "Hey, baby."

She kissed him back. "Hey, Dad. I'm glad you're home."

"Me, too," he murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "This last case took forever, but we finally got the dirtbag."

"Don't you always?"

"I wish. If we did, we'd have a lot fewer cold cases." He grimaced. "But enough of work. Need any help?"

"Not at the moment, but thanks."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay." He watched as she took a couple of sideways steps, picked up the cutting board, and scraped the sliced mushrooms into a skillet next to a large pot where something brown was simmering gently. "What're you making? Smells great."

"Turkey stew," Kelly replied, then chuckled at his expression. "Sorry. I know you prefer beef or pork, but I was running late, and this is quicker."

"It's fine," he reassured her, squeezing her shoulder and taking a step back. "Is there time for me to get cleaned up, or do you need me sooner?"

She gave him a look. "Are you going to take longer than your usual fifteen minutes to shower and get changed?" When Gibbs just raised an eyebrow, she laughed. "Didn't think so. Go, shoo; I'll finish up here and you can help when you're done."

Gibbs touched two fingers to his temple, a gesture Kelly had dubbed his 'cowboy salute' when she was small. "Yes, ma'am," he drawled. "Right away, ma'am."

Kelly flicked the damp rag she was using to wipe down the countertop against his arm. "Daaad! You're from Stillwater, Pennsylvania, not Stillwater, Oklahoma!"

He grinned; he knew she hated it when he adopted a fake Southern accent. Mostly because he couldn't really pull it off; he just liked to rile her a little. "You don't say. Really?"

"Hmph," she huffed, giving him a mock glare. "What did I ever do to be saddled with you as my dad?"

Suddenly serious, he reached for her hand and pressed it against his face. "You lived, Kells," he murmured huskily. "When I wasn't here to protect you and your mom and that scumbag tried to kill you both – at least I got to keep you. Something I'm grateful for every day of my life."

She smiled tremulously. "I'm glad I have you, too, Dad," she whispered. "You're the best – corny lines, bad accent, and all." Then, in a move that was pure Shannon and sent a familiar pang through Gibbs' chest, Kelly freed her hand, ran it around his neck, upward into his hair, and lightly tapped the back of his head. "Go," she told him softly. "Dinner'll be ready when you are."

He returned her smile. "Yes, baby." He gently disengaged and left the kitchen, collected his go-bag, and walked upstairs to shower and change.

◄●♦●►

Exactly 14.5 minutes later, Gibbs came back, glad to feel properly clean again after nearly three weeks with back-to-back cases that had kept the team at the office with showers snatched infrequently at the gym and naps under their desks for days on end. They'd solved them all, but the stress and the ultimate indignity of having been forced to cede jurisdiction on one to the FBI because a detail they, NCIS' flagship team, had discovered during their investigation – the victim hadn't been Navy after all, but the murder had tied in with a case Langer, his SFA, had worked on during his stint as a Fibbie – were still frustrating as hell.

Kelly was at the stove, stirring, seasoning, and putting other finishing touches to her stew. She asked him to put the gnocchi she'd chosen to go with it from the pot into a serving bowl, toss the salad and set the table. Gibbs was happy to comply. Lastly, he transferred the pot of meat swimming in rich gravy from the stove onto a wire rack on the table, and they ate.

Chapter 2:

Afterward, they made quick work of putting the kitchen to rights again; Kelly was a neat cook who cleaned while she worked, so it was pretty much only a matter of stacking the dishwasher and rinsing the pots Kelly had used, plus doing general clean-up. As the early-summer evening was nice, Gibbs suggested they take their after-dinner drinks to the back porch. Kelly happily agreed.

Soon, Gibbs had two padded recliners set up, a large thermos cup of coffee, and a double bourbon for himself on a folding table between them. Kelly had some ginger lemon tea steeping for herself and made a detour to the bathroom before joining her father.

"Dad? Hold the door for me, please?"

"Sure, princess." Gibbs got up and opened the screen door all the way so that Kelly could easily pass through, the tray with the teapot, a mug that already had some sugar and a spoon dropped into it, and a glass of cream sherry over ice placed on the seat of her rollator walker. As usual, he tried to ignore the need for her mobility helper as best he could, and let the door swing shut again.

Kelly thanked him prettily as she maneuvered around the table, transferred the tray over, and pushed the walker out of the way, taking a few cautious steps around the chair and sat down with a pleased sigh. He was used to and didn't mind doing these small, domestic tasks for his daughter, but as always, they sent a familiar wave of anger and regret through him. It had been eighteen years last February when Pedro Hernandez, that drug-peddling lowlife, had ordered the hit on NIS agent Mitchell while driving his girls to a safe house. Shannon had been killed in the resultant crash as well, and a part of him would always grieve what he'd lost. But as a father, he grieved even more that his little girl had had to grow up without her beloved Mommy … and that her life had irrevocably changed for another reason.

Kelly had survived the car crash but with a severely damaged hip. For the rest of her life, she would be dependent on walking aids – getting by with just a cane around the house on good days, a walker or crutches at work, but at worst, on her bad days, only a wheelchair would do. The energy and zest for life Kelly had had before had been stolen from her forever.

Grief could eventually subside over time; it would become muted, less sharp, and could be channeled into other areas. Gibbs had learned the hard way by having to leave active duty to become a single father, and eventually made a good life for them despite their loss. Kelly would never get her full range of motion back, and while she was happy enough, he knew that she sometimes resented the limits her impairment imposed on her. Inadvertently, his eyes wandered to the handles of her walker, half-hidden behind Kelly's chair, and he couldn't help glaring balefully at the constant reminder of what his baby girl – a tomboy who always preferred to run when others walked – had lost. 

Kelly noticed, reached over, and patted him lightly on the arm. "Don't."

"Kelly, I—"

She shook her head. "No, Dad. It is what it is. I still have you, Grandpa Jack and the Fielding grands, and a job I love. It's a good life."

"You could've had so much more. Should've," Jethro said hoarsely.

"Yes. I know. But I could've died with Mom, and I honestly can't stand the thought of what that would've done to you."

"Might've tried to eat my gun," he admitted with a rueful grimace.

Kelly winced and hid her face in her mug, drinking down half of her tea. "Please don't say that." 

"Nothing but the truth." Shannon and Kelly had been his world; having half of it ripped away so senselessly had been infinitely harder to bear than learning that his mother had chosen to take her own life to spare her husband and son having to witness her inevitable decline into death from cancer. Some days, he truly couldn't fathom how Jackson had been able to go on. His rebellious teenage self certainly hadn't helped until the Marines managed to straighten him out.

His train of thought was derailed from its morose track by Kelly. "That's a truth I don't need to hear. Or want to," she grumbled. "So drop it, okay?"

Yeah, that sentiment was also familiar. "Okay," he conceded willingly enough, finished his coffee, and chased the last swallow with a sip of bourbon. "Change of subject?"

"Sure," Kelly agreed, gifting him a genuine smile as she took another sip of tea. "Anything specific?"

Gibbs leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, I've been thinkin'—"

"Uh-oh," Kelly muttered, "danger, Will Robinson!" She giggled when the cheeky comment earned herself an exasperated huff.

"Brat."

"Yes. But you love me anyway," she said with a wink. "So what were you thinking about?"

Gibbs smirked back, pleased to hear her sassy tone, then laid out his plans. "Well, what with us more or less camping out at the Yard the last few weeks, HR badgered Director Vance into giving us some extra time off. I'll have to go back into the office tomorrow morning to sign off on the reports Langer said he was going to finish tonight, but then I'm free until Monday. Weather forecast is good, so I thought, why not go up to the cabin for the weekend? I should be ready to leave by noon at the latest, so that'd give us pretty much two whole days. We could stop for a nice meal somewhere on the way home and could be back by bedtime on Sunday. Sound good?"

Kelly didn't answer right away, which made Jethro frown. Usually, she jumped at every chance to go up into the woods – she loved being able to watch the forest animals, having a campfire, and wandering down to the small pond half a mile away where she could splash around, take out the dinghy he'd built with her, or fish to her heart's content, and not have to put up with the pitying looks and over-solicitous remarks she would get due to her physical limitations when visiting Jackson in Stillwater. This lack of enthusiasm was new and unexpected. He turned his head so he could see her face.

"Kells? You gotta work late this weekend?" Kelly was a librarian at George Washington University; usually, her shift ended around 3 pm on Fridays, but sometimes a delivery of new books that needed sorting or a professor's special project meant she'd have to stay longer.

She blinked. "What? Uh, no."

"Can't take tomorrow afternoon off? We can leave early on Saturday instead …"

"No, that wouldn't be a problem," she demurred, fiddling with her spoon.

"Then what is it? You usually jump at the chance of going to the cabin."

Kelly's lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. "I know …"

Reluctance was evident in her voice, her posture, and the fact that she wouldn't meet his eyes. "So what's the but?" he asked quietly. "There is one, isn't there."

The young woman closed her eyes and drew a shuddering breath. Jethro was hard-pressed not to jump up and … shake her? Hug her? Neither? Both? If this were an interrogation, he'd know what to do to get a witness or victim to open up; however, Kelly was neither. She was his daughter, whom he loved with everything he had.

She shot him a sideways glance, a mix of hope, chagrin, and … fear? Oh, this wasn't on. He almost didn't hear what she whispered. "It's not that I wouldn't like to go to the cabin with you, but …"

He reached over and took her near hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's okay if you've already made other plans."

"I … I kinda have," she admitted in a small voice.

"Plans that don't involve your old man, I assume," Gibbs said drolly, trying to cover the slight hurt and disappointment he suddenly felt with a bit of levity. Kelly was twenty-six years old; she had every right to have a private life. He just wanted to know what it entailed – and what he needed to do to protect her. Not that he'd tell her that.

"Talk to me, baby," he murmured. "You know you can tell me anything."

Kelly inhaled deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, then bravely met his concerned gaze. "I have a date on Saturday."

Oh. That was new. Well, not entirely; Kelly had had boyfriends before, one during high school and a couple during college – as far as he knew, she was still exchanging emails with the last one, Trevor or Terry, whatever his name had been, and surely she would've mentioned if – Troy? Trent? – had come back to DC from his job in Dallas to visit his family. It also didn't sound like she'd just planned an outing with a colleague, or one of the college boys she sometimes joined for coffee or a meal at some on-campus eatery. And if it were one of her female friends, she wouldn't have called it a date. No, judging by the blush coloring her cheeks a fetching pink, this was what Abby would call a 'date date'.

Trying to hide his sudden apprehension, Gibbs frowned. Kelly was an adult, he reminded himself sternly. She could date someone if she wanted to. Still, he couldn't help the involuntary shudder racing down his spine at the mere thought and strove to keep his voice even. "Ah. Someone I know?" he asked, as casually as possible.

To his surprise, Kelly's brows wrinkled just a bit. "I don't know," she replied slowly, drinking the last of her tea and setting the mug back onto the tray. "Maybe?"

Wait, what?

Gibbs sat up, somewhat alarmed. They had no friends or acquaintances with sons, grandsons, nephews, or cousins close to Kelly's age; the only other explanation he could think of was someone military, or in law enforcement – maybe a junior agent or one of the Marines doing guard duty she'd met at the Navy Yard? One of the baby agents occasionally trailing after Fornell? Or – God forbid – a JAG officer? Now he did shudder, at least inwardly. Given the choice between a Fibbie and a lawyer, he couldn't say which might be worse.

With an effort, Jethro forced himself not to grimace and managed to produce a noncommittal "Oh? And how would that be?"

Now that the big confession was out of the way, Kelly leaned back in her chair and smiled in a way that he had last seen on his deceased wife's face – usually when Shannon was pleased about something she knew he would dislike, but couldn't rationally object to. The expression made him feel equally nostalgic and disgruntled. He hated it.

Kelly's voice yanked him out of what was most definitely not the beginning of a funk. "His name is Anthony DiNozzo, Jr.," she said. "He's with MPDC." She flashed him a grin. "Captain of the Criminal Investigations Division, actually; I know you've met the Assistant Chief of the ISB a couple of times."

Gibbs swallowed a groan. A LEO – with Metro? One of the people he regularly clashed with on crime scenes if Langer wasn't around? That was worse than having to share jurisdiction with a Fibbie! Also, a captain? That meant he had to be quite a bit older than Kelly; they didn't just promote someone who'd just earned his gold shield to that position … 

 Kelly wasn't finished yet. "At least you'll have something to talk about when you get to meet him," she remarked guilelessly.

What? She was already thinking of introducing this guy to him? Even before the first date? This was bad! 

"It won't be like with Travis," she mused. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with being an accountant, he's good at his job and a genuinely nice guy, but you've got to admit, Dad, it doesn't exactly mesh well with a Marine-turned-Federal-Agent as far as common interests go." She laughed softly. "I daresay you won't have that problem with Tony, what with both of you being investigators and all."

Jethro grunted, not trusting himself to comment. Right now, he was still struggling with the idea of Kelly – his baby girl – having a date with an older man who was a fairly high-ranking police officer. He resolved there and then to have McGee run as thorough a background check as he could without tripping any alarms. He'd set him right onto it come Monday morning. And God help him if he found anything shady…

Slender fingers circled his wrist, yanking him out of his broody thoughts. He looked up and met Kelly's eyes, slightly darkened from their usual clear blue between finely drawn auburn brows now scrunched up in a small V right on top of her nose.

"Dad?"

"Kells," he sighed, summoning a smile from somewhere and giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Sorry, princess. I was just trying to come to grips with the fact that you're having a date with a senior LEO."

She giggled, and her forehead smoothed. "The way you say that sounds as if it's something to disapprove of," she said. "Do you?"

"I'll reserve judgment for now," he grumbled, giving her a mock scowl. "Where, when and how did you meet this DeNosy guy anyway?"

She pursed her lips, sending him a reproachful look. "It's DiNozzo, and we met Monday last week."

"Right, that's when; now to the where and how, please?"

To his surprise, she withdrew her hand from his, leaned back in her chair once more, and reached for her sherry. The last bits of not-yet-melted ice clinked against the rim of the small goblet as she took a sip. The way she slanted another look at him was familiar – exactly like other times when she'd done something she knew might get her scolded.

"Well, it's kind of a long story," she hedged.

Gibbs slightly shifted his chair around to better look at her, and leaned back himself, outwardly relaxed, but coiled like a spring under the surface. He took up his glass that still held a finger of the bourbon he'd poured earlier, and took a swallow himself. "Evening's still young," he said. "I have time."

Kelly sighed. "You're not going to let it go, are you."

He gave her what Abby called 'the eyebrow'. "Ya think?"

"Sometimes, I hate that you're an investigator," she groused.

"I know." He quirked a small smile. "Now spill, Kelly Anne."

She rolled her eyes even as she couldn't hide a reluctant grin in return. "Well, if you're double-naming me …okay." She put her glass back on the table and leaned forward, braced her elbows on her knees, and clasped her hands. "Promise you won't get mad?"

Now Jethro rolled his eyes. "We'll see about that." Then he relented and patted her arm. "Talk to me, baby."

Defeated by the undeniable warmth in her father's voice, Kelly drew a deep breath and told her story.

◄●♦●►

"So, last Monday," she started. "Remember that you asked me to bring you some fresh clothes?"

"Sure," Gibbs said easily. "I'd run out, and you also brought iced coffee for me, three different flavors of iced tea for the team, and some of those chicken-and-salad wraps," he recalled. "Was nice to have something homemade rather than takeaway or from a vending machine."

"Someone has to make sure you get a healthy meal at least once a week," she said archly. "But anyway, both the duffle and the cooler were too much for me to carry, so I took a cab."

"Good," he nodded. "And in case I forgot, the team said thanks."

Kelly waved it off, but she knew her Dad was pleased that she didn't just look out for him, but also cared for his colleagues. "They're welcome, of course. But the thing is, when I got back to the gate, the last cab was just leaving. The duty guard, Wilkerson, offered to call me another, but guessed that it might take at least twenty minutes or so – there was a thing going on on the USS Barry, and the ferry bus was delayed, so … anyway, long story short, a Transit Shuttle happened to draw up, and I decided to ride that to the Smithsonian, then switch to the subway or a bus, whatever was more convenient, and stop over at Metro Central to have lunch myself."

"That Greek place you told me about?"

"Yeah; they make the best salads with gyros meat and feta. So, at the Smithsonian, I caught the 681 bus on Independence Avenue, got on … and, well, there was a bit of a dust-up just when we turned into Pennsylvania Avenue," she admitted reluctantly.

Jethro sat up, alarmed. "What kind of dust-up?" he asked sharply.

Kelly sighed again. "A handful of teenagers got on with me. Not a gang or anything, just a bunch of guys who thought they were hot stuff, being loud, boisterous, generally fooling around – not quite obnoxious yet, but getting there, you know?"

Gibbs knew, indeed. "Did they do something to you?"

"No – one of them actually helped me get my walker onboard, folded it up, and waited until I'd sat down and could stash it away before he rejoined his friends."

"Hmph. So what was this dust-up, then?"

She grimaced. "Well … I was in one of those seats near the middle, with my back to the window, and opposite of me sat a woman with a baby in a stroller and a little girl, maybe five or six years old. The mom was explaining something about the pendant the girl was wearing; it was a Nazar amulet – you've seen these Islamic blue eye bead ornaments, right? – when an older lady sitting nearby made a very nasty remark about it, and the headscarf the woman was wearing, even saying that 'these people' should not be allowed to be even near 'good Christian folk'. Yeah, right," Kelly snorted. "Like she was such a shining example, being so holier-than-thou and openly bigoted! She was ten times worse than Grandma Joanne!"

Jethro winced. Shannon's mother could be a real piece of work. Kelly heard the slight hissing sound and met his eyes with a rueful grin. "I know, right?" Shaking her head, she continued. "Anyway, one of the teenagers loudly agreed with that … that woman," she spat the word like an insult, "and before I knew it, some other idiots chimed in, too, and a moment later, the guys started harassing the Muslim lady, who was just sitting there quietly, minding her own business. I don't think they truly meant it, but—"

"Mob mentality," Gibbs nodded grimly. "That's how riots can start."

"Well, it wasn't quite a riot, but they nearly shoved the little girl off the bench, and rocked the stroller so hard that it almost tipped over. The girl started to cry, and her mom looked so helpless, didn't know what to do … Everybody else was just sitting there, either egging the punks on or … or doing nothing!"

Yeah, that would've done it. He knew his daughter; there was no way she would've let such a thing pass. "And of course, you had to get involved."

Kelly flushed and sat up, gripping the arms of her chair. "Yes! I had to!" 

"Why?"

"Because nobody else would," Kelly cried indignantly. "They acted like it was all a giant joke, laughing their fool heads off, and all the other passengers nearby seemed to think it was perfectly okay! One man even said to his wife that it was good to see some nice, patriotic boys having fun!" She snorted. "Well, it certainly wasn't fun for that lady and her kids, and definitely not my idea of patriotism, either!" 

"It's not that I don't agree, Kelly, but still – why couldn't you leave things alone? What if they'd turned on you next?"

The young woman glared at him. "It wouldn't have mattered, Dad."

Exasperated, Jethro shook his head. "Kelly—"

"Like you wouldn’t have said or done something," she replied heatedly. "Or expected Tim, or Brent, anyone on your team, to intervene if they'd been there and seen an innocent person being harassed—"

"Dammit, Kelly, that's my job – it's my duty to step between civilians and danger. Not yours," he broke in. "Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of you for standing up for what is right. But Kells, if it puts you in danger of being hurt … that's different."

"Why? How?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to list all the reasons, but before he could say a single word, Kelly held up her hand. "If you're going to tell me it's because I'm a woman and handicapped, don't even bother." She inhaled deeply. "You and Grandpa Jack always taught me that evil prospers if good people don't step in, which is exactly what I tried to do, nothing more or less."

"Being obnoxious and a public nuisance hardly classifies as evil," he tried to refute her argument.

"Maybe not," she admitted grudgingly "And I might have let it slide – well, except for telling them exactly what I thought of their behavior."

Gibbs smirked. When Kelly gave someone a piece of her mind, that usually translated to a scathing putdown and often managed to render an offender helplessly lost for words. Another talent she'd inherited from Shannon. "So why didn't you?" he wanted to know.

"Because these goons started using very ugly slurs," she said quietly. "They threatened to tear off the lady's hijab, to take the little girl's eye pendant and throw it out … and one of those punks actually grabbed it and tried to rip it off, hurting her neck. That's when I got up and tried to stop them."

Gibbs closed his eyes, blew out his breath, and shook his head. Of course, she did. As much as he was exasperated about Kelly once again leaping head-first into a situation she should never have been in, some part of him nearly burst with pride over his remarkable, brave, foolish daughter. Shannon totally would've approved. However, that still didn't explain how a police captain got involved.

"And? Did you?"

"I'm pretty sure I could've," Kelly said somewhat sheepishly, "only, the bus driver finally noticed something was going on behind him, and yelled for everyone to shut the hell up and behave. I think he may have looked over his shoulder, or something – anyway, he was distracted for a moment, the bus swerved a little, hit the curb, I lost my balance and fell on my bad hip. Somebody tried to help me up but tripped over my walker and fell on top of me. It hurt like the dickens, and I might've screamed, I don't remember, and that's when the driver just stopped the bus, locked all the doors, and called 9-1-1."

Chapter 3:

WMPD Captain Anthony D. DiNozzo Jr left the Canadian Embassy on 501 Pennsylvania Avenue NW shortly after lunchtime on a sunny but cool Monday morning. He'd personally delivered the paperwork exonerating the ambassador's chief attaché from any wrongdoing in a traffic accident the man had been involved in several weeks ago. In his opinion, this could easily have been done by one of the lieutenants in his department, but he was still fairly new to his job, and the Assistant Chief heading the Investigative Services Bureau of Washington Metro PD had hinted strongly that it would be good politics if he went in person and made nice with the diplomats.

Oh, well. Not exactly what he'd signed up for when he joined the Academy after college, but since he'd been injured out of fieldwork a year ago and had transferred into his current job, it was all part and parcel of playing the game. And as an erstwhile undercover specialist, he could play it better than most.

Nobody said he had to like it, though.

The detective who had been assigned as his driver drew the department sedan up at the main entrance and opened the door for him, barely hiding a smile as Tony walked down the steps and folded himself into the passenger seat.  "Everything okay, sir?" he asked as his boss unbuttoned his uniform jacket, shifted until he was comfortable, and reached for the seatbelt.

"Don't ask, Smithers," Tony grumbled, buckled up and in the same motion toggled the switch to listen in to whatever came from dispatch – an action that after nearly fifteen years of fieldwork was as instinctive as breathing. "Diplomats. Gah."

"That bad?"

Tony gave him an unimpressed look. "Chief made me go, because politics. What do you think?"

Smithers laughed and eased the sedan forward, waiting for a space to thread into the busy traffic flow. "Shouldn't have let yourself get promoted if you hate it so much, sir," he said cheekily. Most officers in the department had already learned that their new captain wasn't fond of formality – as long as they stayed respectful, they could talk to him like a normal person. Which was quite a relief after his very much by-the-book predecessor.

"Yeah, well, nobody told me I'd have to—"

Tony was interrupted as the feed from dispatch suddenly came alive. "Attention, all units! Disturbance on a 681 bus going north towards Metro Central station, at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Indiana Plaza. Passengers harassing a Muslim family, one person possibly injured. Attenti—"

"Smithers, go!" Tony commanded, snatching up the mic. "Dispatch, this is Capt. DiNozzo and Det. Smithers," he rattled off their shield numbers and car ID even as his driver turned on the car's lights and siren. "We're already on Pennsylvania going north, literally two minutes out."

"Understood, Captain. Backup will be there in ten minutes; ambulance to follow. No violence or weapons reported, but be careful anyway!"

"Will do. DiNozzo out." He grabbed the oh-shit handle as Smithers saw a break and gunned the engine, hurtling towards the incident site as fast as possible. Due to the typical traffic congestion, it took them 3.5 minutes rather than the two Tony had estimated, but they were still the first on scene. Smithers killed the motor and both men jumped out, hands on their weapon holsters just in case, and approached the bus. Tony rapped on the front entrance. "Metro PD! Open up," he called, then repeated it after several seconds.

There was a small commotion inside, the bus shook lightly as passengers moved around, and then the door was opened manually by the driver, who gave them the once-over. Luckily, Tony was wearing his dress blues, which apparently was enough ID for the driver. "That was fast," the man said with obvious relief.

"You got lucky, we were just about a quarter mile away," Tony said drily. "I'm Capt. DiNozzo, this is Det. Smithers." Both men briefly flashed their badges, and the driver nodded.

"Vincent Solivio," he said, "Loudon County Transit. I'll get my ID—"

"Later, Mr. Solivio," Smithers interrupted, politely but firmly. "We'd rather know about the nature of the disturbance first if you don't mind."

"Right, of course," the Filipino driver murmured, wiped his forehead, and stepped back to let them climb up. He sealed the door again, turned towards the middle of the bus, and indicated a handful of teenage boys huddled against the middle door, looking both defiant and apprehensive. They were ringed by several other passengers, most of whom glared or scowled at them. "Those punks," Solivio nodded at the teens, "were being kinda loud and rowdy when they boarded at the Smithsonian, nothing too bad, just a nuisance. Then for some reason, they started harassing that lady and her kids," he gestured towards a young Muslim woman who looked quite pale as she cuddled a little girl and a baby on her lap. "No idea why."

"They were grabbing at the lady's headscarf, saying they were gonna make her look normal, and one of them tried to rip off the little girl's necklace," someone called from the back.

"Yeah, and they were messing with the stroller," another person added. "It was wobbling all over the place, and both kids started crying. Their mom didn't do anything, she was just trying to protect and keep them calm."

Solivio spoke up again. "I gotta admit, I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on back here because of traffic and such, but suddenly this other lady—" he pointed to a pretty redhead sitting on the floor, obviously in pain as she was rubbing her right hip and leg, Tony noticed, "—well, she decided to butt in and got up. That's against regs while the bus is moving, so I yelled at everybody to settle down. It distracted me enough that I accidentally hit the curb, and she fell. Somebody else jumped up to help the lady but got tangled up in her walker and fell on top of her. That's when she must've gotten hurt because she cried out, so I turned off the engine, locked the doors, and went to see what was going on. These other folks then yanked the punks that started it all off of the first lady and corralled them, I called it in, and … well, here you are," he finished his recital, wiping his face once more. He looked royally pissed.

Not that Tony or Smithers blamed him.

A teenage girl sitting two rows away from the disturbance muttered something under her breath, only to be shushed by a slightly older girl sitting next to her. They looked alike enough to be related; possibly siblings. Smithers, who happened to be standing only a couple of feet away, caught a few words that made his ears perk up.

"What was that, miss?" he addressed the teenager. "Can you repeat that, please?"

The girl blushed and squirmed. "'Twas nuthin'," she mumbled.

"Nothing important, she means," the other girl added. "Right, Lindsey?"

Lindsey glowered, shrugged, and pressed her lips together – something that told the two experienced officers that the girl most likely knew a detail that could be important, but was reluctant to defy her companion.

Tony stepped forward and crouched next to the bench Lindsey sat on. Summoning his most genial smile, he tilted his head. "I think Miss Lindsey does have something to tell us. She seems like a very perceptive young lady to me. Don't you agree, Detective Smithers?"

Smithers was no slouch, catching on easily. "Absolutely, Captain DiNozzo," he confirmed. "Maybe Miss Lindsey knows how this whole fracas started?"

"Oh, that would be super helpful," Tony said, turning back towards the girls. "Is Det. Smithers right?"

Having an older, good-looking man ask her so charmingly, the girl smiled back shyly. "I guess," she murmured.

"I thought so," Tony praised her. "So, would you mind telling us what you saw, or noticed, please?"

Lindsey blushed harder and shifted in her seat. "DoIhafta?"

"No, you don't have to," Smithers conceded. "But it would be a big help to us." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw four more uniformed policemen entering the bus, and jerked his head at them, indicating they should deal with the teenaged perps. Within minutes, they had them cuffed and off the bus. All the other passengers, though, stayed where they were, waiting curiously for what Lindsey might tell the officers.

"Anything you know, any small detail, could be the one thing to let us solve the case," Tony cajoled. "Please?"

Lindsey looked up at her companion. "Can I, Darla?"

"You'll pester me to death if I say no, won't you," the older girl sighed. Seeing the tiny smirk Lindsey didn't bother to hide, she groaned. "Oh, go ahead then. But don't come whining to me if Mom and Dad read you the riot act tonight!" Yep, they were siblings alright.

"I won't, promise!"

"Great." Smithers smiled and pulled out his notebook. "Now, Lindsey, this is where you sat all the time?" She nodded. "And did you see or hear anything – like how this all started, maybe?"

"Yeah …" And she proceeded to give what seemed like a fairly accurate account of what had happened. Smithers let her talk, jotting everything down until she ran out of steam. "The guys weren't really that bad, they even helped the lady with her walker when they got in, they were just showing off and being crass, until—" She suddenly clammed up.

"Until what, Miss Lindsey?" Tony, who had listened attentively, asked gently.

The girl frowned. "Well … it all went bad when that lady—" she indicated an older woman sitting across the aisle, "—said something mean about the lady and her kids," she finished in a rush.

Tony spared the woman a brief glance, assessing her. Stereotypical middle-class suburbanite, very prim and proper, a pale and much less gracious copy of former First Lady Barbara Bush, down to wearing a necklace of chunky white beads. He knew the type and a sick feeling began to coil in his stomach. "Mean how?" he asked, forcing himself to stay calm. 

Lindsey hemmed and hawed a little, then blurted out, "She said that people like the lady and her kids shouldn't be allowed to sit near good Christian people. Like her, I guess. And those boys just laughed and agreed and started getting mean, too. And most everybody was laughing!" She drew a deep breath. "Reverend Camden always tells us in church that truly good people shouldn't be mean to other people even when they're not exactly like us. But everybody was; being mean, I mean. Until that other lady told them to stop and tried to help … and that's when the driver yelled and the bus bumped and kinda twisted a bit, and she fell and hurt herself when that man tripped over her walker and fell on her," she finished in a rush, pointing to the passenger who was propping up the redhead until the paramedics who had arrived in the meantime had finished setting up a gurney outside.

Tony briefly closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before he let his eyes sweep over the passengers sitting nearby and crowding close. His expression had morphed from genial to cold and stern, so much that the Barbara Bush wannabe winced. Her face turned a very unbecoming shade of red as she literally clutched her 'pearls' and looked away.

"Let me get this right," he said slowly as he straightened to his full height, "One person expresses prejudice – worse, blatant bigotry in public, towards a person you all confirm had done nothing to provoke such behavior, and every one of you thinks it's okay to laugh as she and her children – very young children, I might add – are being harassed and victimized by a gang of two-bit bullies, and the only person who steps up to the plate is a young woman with a physical handicap? Who gets injured in the process, even if it's by accident? Is that what happened?"

Almost no one would meet his eyes; some people had blanched, and others were flushed with embarrassment at the obvious censure in his voice. The ensuing silence was deafening and told its own, shameful story.

Disgusted, Tony barely remembered to thank Lindsey for her account, praising her for giving them the information. He directed Smithers to get the girls' contact details to ensure the parents would permit her to make a formal statement later. Then he turned away to find out what was up with the victims and the injured redhead.

This was not the day he'd expected to have when he left the office that morning.

◄●♦●►

As it turned out, the harassment victim, Daniya Jaberi, her daughter Hadila, and baby son Eljas, were unharmed; Hadila's pendant had been worn on a silk ribbon, and the attempt to tear it off had merely left a bruise on the back of her neck that could easily be treated with some medicated ointment. The baby was too young to understand what happened and soon calmed down with a bottle and some pretzel sticks a remorseful passenger produced to munch on. Mrs Jaberi was understandably rattled and disturbed but weathered her ordeal surprisingly well.

Tony wasn't the only one who winced and glared when she told them it hadn’t been the first time she'd encountered racial and/or religious prejudice. Her resigned smile and weary acceptance only made it worse.

"It shouldn't have happened," Tony told her as they all gathered outside, next to the Grand Army of the Republic Memorial at the center of Indiana Plaza. The bus had been cleared to leave, much to the driver's relief, and he was carefully maneuvering the large vehicle back into traffic on 7th Street, to resume his route and report to his superiors. "Not those other times, and not today."

"No, it shouldn't," Daniya agreed quietly, firmly holding her daughter's hand lest she ran off. "But people will be people; there are good ones and bad ones everywhere. One bad person started today's events; some ignorant and misguided persons carried it further."

"You can press charges, Mrs Jaberi," Tony said gently.

"They did little more than use ugly words; we weren't truly hurt …"

"Not this time, thankfully, but some words can hurt as much, or more than, an actual blow. People who do such a thing should face the consequences and be punished."

The young woman mulled that over. "How would these boys be punished?"

He shrugged. "Honestly, it would depend on the judge, and on how good a defense attorney they can get. If it's declared a misdemeanor, they'll maybe get a fine and some form of community service. But if they get charged with a hate crime – and that's a possibility – at least those idiots who physically attacked you and your daughter might face some time in juvenile detention."

She frowned. "That means prison?"

"Not necessarily. As nobody was actually injured, they might be sent to a special correction camp for a time, with lessons, physical labor, and most likely behavioral therapy."

Daniya tilted her head. "And does this form of punishment work?"  

Tony grimaced. "Less often and less well than one would hope," he admitted.

"I see. Can I think about this?"

"Of course. Make sure to leave your contact information with Det. Smithers; we'll come back to you once we know more."

"Thank you, I will," she smiled and waved when somebody called her name. An elderly man was hurrying toward them. "My father-in-law," she explained. "I called him; he will take us home."

"That's good," Tony said, curbing his impulse to offer a handshake. As she was obviously following her faith's dress code, he assumed, rightly, that she would refuse it as he was not a blood relation, and preferred to avoid the awkwardness of making her openly reject his touch. However, he gave in to another impulse. "On a personal note, let me just say that I'm sorry this happened to you. Today, and in the past," he said sincerely.

He was rewarded with another, brighter smile. "This isn't your apology to make, Captain, but I thank you anyway. I spoke about the bad persons; you and your officers have shown that there are good persons as well." Her expression softened as she glanced over to the ambulance where the EMTs were still fussing over the redhead. "And none as good as Miss Gibbs."

He snorted softly. "What she did was certainly brave," he murmured. "But for all her courage, some would call her foolish; she could easily have endangered herself and been hurt more than you ever were if things had gone differently."

She nodded mutely, accepting the truth of his words. "And yet, she didn't hesitate. Isn't that the mark of a good person?" she asked, with just a hint of censure.

"No," he contradicted with a smile, then raised a hand to stop any protest she might make. "It's not just the sign of a person who's merely good – it shows us who's the best."

Daniya nodded. "I agree." She lightly bowed her head. "Again, my thanks. We will speak again."

He returned the gesture. "I'm looking forward to it."

A few minutes later, the young woman and her children had been bundled into her father-in-law's car and were driving off. Tony watched them disappear among all the other vehicles about in the typical Monday afternoon traffic the capital was notorious for. He loosened his shoulders, tugged his uniform jacket back into place, and went over to the ambulance where the paramedics seemed to be done with the pretty redhead – Kelly Anne Gibbs, as he now knew her name to be.

Time to see how she was doing, and what she had to say about what had happened.

Chapter 4:

"So that's how I met Tony," Kelly finished. "The paramedics wanted to take me to a hospital for X-rays, but I said no; I was hurt, yes, but I knew I'd have a massive bruise at worst."

"You should've made sure," Jethro scolded but snapped his mouth shut when Kelly gave him her Look – the one Shannon used to give both of them when they'd done or said something stupid.

"Dad," Kelly said with exaggerated patience, "you know that I'm very aware of what's going on with my hip, and when I might have to let someone take a closer look. Never mind that I wouldn't have wanted to see some strange intern, a half-baked resident, or whoever else happened to be on duty at Gosh Whatta U Med Center."

"Dr Wilson—"

"Is taking a sabbatical over the summer. As I told you."

"Ducky could've checked you over."

She snorted. "Dad, I love the old dear to bits, but he's a medical examiner. He examines dead people. And in case you've missed it, I'm still very much alive, thank you very much!"

He ran his hands through his hair. "Doesn't mean Ducky's incompetent," he huffed. "He looks after the team all the time!"

"That's your choice," she said, "not mine. But he can take a look at the reports if you insist."

"It'd make me feel better," Gibbs confessed.

Kelly rolled her eyes but patted his arm. "Okay, you can take him a copy tomorrow." She smiled slightly. "Seriously, my hip felt pretty much the way it did when I fell off Grandpa Jack's porch because of that rotted board when I was fifteen. Bad, yes, but hardly life-threatening. I'm sure you remember that when you rushed me to the hospital in Bloomsberg, they confirmed that all I had were bruises, and a few scratches and splinters. Well, this time there were no splinters, just the bruises." And a turned ankle that had made walking rather painful the rest of the week, she didn't say. "I still had some of the ointment Doc Wilson had prescribed when I slipped on the sidewalk in February, and the pharmacy made no fuss about giving me a refill when I ran out. Yes, my hip and leg were pretty technicolor at first, but it's all faded to the usual yellow and brown by now and doesn’t even hurt anymore. Trust me, I'm fine!"

Gibbs stared at his daughter, wanting to believe, but his gut told him he was missing something. Then the lightbulb went off. "That's why you were using your crutches most of last week," he realized. He'd been too distracted by their last case to connect some of the dots – especially since Kelly had been so cheerful. A lot of things he'd dismissed as unimportant suddenly made much more sense. "Kells, you should have told me!"

She shook her head and sighed. "Dad, honestly, there was nothing you could've done. And you were so consumed with work …"

"Work isn't more important than you, baby," he murmured and cupped her cheek. Kelly smiled and covered his calloused hand with her own, pressing it against her soft skin.

"I know that. And I promise, next time I will. Okay?"

"Okay," he conceded grudgingly. "But there better not be a next time, young lady!"

He ignored her chuckles and reached for his glass only to find it empty, as was Kelly's, and offered to refill their drinks. After everything Kelly had told him tonight, he definitely needed more liquid fortification. She agreed, and soon they were both comfortably leaning back once more, contemplating the lantern he had lit. As they so often did, the auburn locks that were Kelly's legacy from her mother shone with golden highlights in the candle's soft glow. Jethro took his first sip, swallowed, then cleared his throat.

"So, did this Metro Captain ask you on a date at the incident site? Pretty unprofessional of him."

Kelly scowled at him over the rim of her glass. "No, he didn't," she huffed.

"Used your info to track you down, then? Not much better, if you ask me."

"No, Dad," the young woman sighed. "If you must know, he planned to call me earlier this week – for a legitimate reason, too – but we accidentally met at Potomac Mills on Saturday."   

"Didn't you go with your friend Maddie?"

"Yeah, but Mads wanted to go back to a store in the back wing to have another look at a jacket she'd tried on earlier. All the walking we'd already done had been a little too much, I decided to sit that one out and treat myself to lunch at The Cheesecake Factory instead while waiting for her."

Gibbs grinned. "Let me guess – your usual, the Shrimp and Chicken Gumbo?" He was no fan of seafood, but Kelly loved it, and indulged whenever she could, especially at the Potomac Mills Mall. Even he had to admit that the food there wasn't half bad.

She laughed. "No, no this time. I had Avocado Tacos and a piece of their Oreo cheesecake. And a Factory Hot Chocolate."

"Ah, your sweet tooth struck again?"

"Yep. And just as I was starting on my dessert, Tony came in to buy a Caramel Royale Macchiato."

He pretended to gag, only to make her giggle. "Oh, come on, Dad – it's kind of nice to find a guy who prefers coffee that's not your Marine tar!"

"There's real coffee – my type of coffee – then there's dishwater coffee, coffee with milk and sugar, and then there's girly coffee. I've seen that stuff; no self-respecting guy would ever drink something that has layered milk and coffee. Layers! Topped with syrup! And then eats it with a spoon, for cripes' sake. What real man does that?!?"

His disgusted expression sent Kelly into peals of laughter. "Newsflash, Dad – real men also eat quiche," she gasped once she could breathe again. "I know, because you do!"

"Quiche has eggs, onion, and bacon," he grumbled. "That's manly food."   

"Only if you ignore the leek and cream," she teased. "And the pie crust."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. Minor details."

She started laughing again. "OMG, you just sounded like one of the freshman students!"

"No, I didn't!"

"You totally did," she contradicted with a broad grin, then sobered. "Anyway, back to Tony – he saw me sitting there, enjoying my cheesecake, and came over and asked whether he could join me. I saw no reason why not, so we had our drinks and had a nice conversation. Over stuff that had nothing to do with what happened on the bus," she added, then frowned. "Well, except for the part where he told me the Jaberis – that's the family of the woman that was harassed – have invited him, the other detective, and me to dinner at 'The Bedouin', that's a restaurant they own in Adams Morgan, to say thanks for helping Daniya and her kids." She smiled. "I mean, it's really not necessary for them to thank us, but Tony had looked it up, and the place even has a Michelin star! How can I refuse something like that?"

"That's where the captain is taking you?"

"Uh huh. It's even relatively early; they do have dinner service, but usually close shortly after nine because the whole family joins in evening prayers each day as soon as the last bit of daylight has gone." After a moment, she added, "You won't even have to worry about Tony drinking and driving; the restaurant doesn't serve alcohol."

"He's a police officer; he'd be a fine example for being in law enforcement if he drove under the influence!"

Jethro was completely serious, but inwardly, he felt some relief. This 'date date' that had him so worried earlier suddenly seemed not so ominous anymore. Yes, Kelly was going out with an older man he'd never heard of until today, but there was still time to run a preliminary background check on him in the morning; he was not the most computer-literate person and certainly no match for McGee or Abby, but he knew how to do the basics. Besides, no matter what he thought about local LEOs in general, being a Captain in Metro PD did mean something. It wasn't the worst character reference someone could have, not by a long shot.

Also, Kelly was right – it was a nice gesture from the victim's family, inviting her and the two first responders to dinner after they had helped, each in their own way. It also was a legitimate reason for the Captain to pick her up so they could go together. It wasn't really a date when other people would be there as well, was it? After all, they'd only met twice, much too soon for any kind of …of intimacy, right? He cringed inwardly at the mere thought. Surely that didn't equate to a wedding on the horizon.

Of course not. His baby girl had both feet firmly on the ground; she wasn't given to flights of fancy or some overly romantic nonsense. She might never see this guy again. Besides, what could the Metro captain do, dance into the sunset with Kells?

As if!   

Author's Note: In case you're wondering, I've shamelessly filched the names  "Reverend Camden" from the 1990s show "7th Heaven", and "Dr. Wilson" from "House, M.D." #sorryNotsorry

Chapter 5:

As Tony got ready to leave his apartment near Dupont Circle and drive to the address Kelly Gibbs had given him when he'd taken her statement, he found that he was actually looking forward to the evening. The young woman had impressed him – despite being in considerable pain, she had assured him that she was perfectly able to give him all the information he needed about the incident, and had readily agreed to accompany him to HQ right away after the paramedics had somewhat reluctantly cleared her to go. Her report had been calm, concise, and factual; hardly surprising when she'd revealed that her father was an agent at NCIS, heading the premier investigative team.

Smithers had driven her home afterward, and on his return commented very favorably on her intelligence and friendly disposition. After the chance meeting at Potomac Mills, Tony had to agree – especially as she'd also displayed a sense of humor that meshed nicely with his own. As she didn't drive, it had seemed natural to offer to pick her up, and it was certainly not going to be a hardship to spend a few hours on Saturday evening in her company.

He determinedly decided not to dwell on the fact that Ms. Gibbs, with her long, auburn locks, sparkling blue eyes, and smooth skin that looked incredibly soft, was also one of the prettiest and nicest women he had met in what seemed like far too long. Certainly since relocating to the capital at the beginning of the year, though.

He shook his head, adjusted his tie, and shrugged into his jacket. Grabbing his wallet and keys, he left, walking quickly to his car. As soon as he'd programmed the address into his GPS, he drove off toward Alexandria, feeling a sense of anticipation he hadn't had for ages. He was looking forward to having a pleasant time, with good food and better company; he was sure of that much, even if he didn't know the lovely Ms Gibbs all that well yet.

'She's worth getting to know better,' a little voice at the back of his mind murmured.

Tony snorted; Kelly Gibbs was much too young to entertain thoughts about how kissable her lips looked when she smiled at him.

'Eleven years is nothing,' the voice scoffed. 'You're hardly robbing the cradle.'

"Oh, shut up," he muttered. "Tonight is just about a vic's family saying thanks. Kinda nice to be appreciated for doing my job this once. Nothing else." One could almost call it work-related. Right? Right.

'Wrong. You want it to be more.'

"No, I don't."

'Liar.'

"Am not. Besides, what else could it be?" Great, now he was talking to himself. Maybe he shouldn't have weaseled out of that last psych eval. He switched lanes to get onto Theodore Roosevelt Bridge, crossing the Potomac into Maryland.

'A date.'

"No. No way."

'And why not?'

"Because—" Tony stopped, suddenly unsure. Why indeed not? They already were going out to dinner, albeit not on their own, and it was going to end early enough that they could do something nice afterward, just the two of them, if they wanted. Especially since Smithers had called off – so there was no one to comment on anything. Also, thanks to her father's job, she had to be familiar enough with the demands of his career not to be put off (unlike the last woman he'd dated) and she had seemed to have enjoyed meeting him at the mall. Hell, they even discovered that they shared a love of gourmet coffee!

'So why can't this be a date?' that irritating little voice asked.

"Just because," he sighed at last, turning left just past Washington Blvd into Alexandria and the residential neighborhood where Kelly lived with her father. Her address was in a quiet street with lots of older, well-maintained homes lined with tall trees. A place for families. A place he could see himsel—

Whoa. Stop. No. Not going there. No way, nohow. It was way, way too soon to even contemplate. And he was most assuredly not feeling a sense of loss and emptiness as he dived head-first into denial and resolutely shut off that train of thought.

Tony breathed a silent sigh of relief as his GPS informed him he'd reached his destination. Parking in the driveway behind a beautifully restored and maintained yellow Challenger – now that was a car he wouldn't mind taking for a test drive – he got out, buttoned his jacket, walked up to the door, and rang the bell. A moment later, it opened, and Tony found himself face-to-face with an older man about his own height, fit and trim, with iron-grey, badly-cut hair, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look into the very depths of his soul.

Uh-oh.

 ◄●♦●►

Tony wouldn't let that icy stare disconcert him. Reminding himself that he was a decorated police officer with nearly twenty years on the Force under his belt, had looked into killers' eyes without flinching more than once, and had brought down a mafia mob family in Philadelphia only two years out of the Academy. Piece of cake. He could do this.

'This' being meeting the father of the girl he wanted to date. Before that first date had even started. Before he had even consciously made up his mind. Before he had at least an idea whether Kelly would even like to date him.

Wait, hadn't he decided that tonight was not a date less than ten minutes ago? Where the hell did that turnaround come from? And what did it mean?

Tony had never felt so unprepared for a situation in his life. All he knew was that he was facing a skilled federal agent, a retired Marine and former scout sniper, someone who had a reputation for eating local cops for breakfast, if the scuttlebutt he'd heard around the office was correct. And he was meeting the man at his house – his own turf? Without a carefully thought-through plan of action? Had he lost his mind?

Probably. Over luscious red hair, sparkling blue eyes, a gorgeous smile, intelligence, wit, and more courage than sense. All in one slender, lithe, curvy-in-all-the-right-places package.

He was so screwed.  

If this were an old-time Western, they would be two gunslingers facing off on a sun-baked, deserted main street, with the townfolk hiding behind doors lest they got caught in the crossfire once weapons were drawn. He liked to think of himself as a modern-day Will Kane, Gary Cooper's character in 'High Noon' – righteously taking on the bad guy, even if it might cost him his marriage. Only, Gibbs wasn't a bad guy; at the moment, the other man reminded him most strongly of Clint Eastwood in 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' – taciturn, watchful, doing the right thing with one well-placed bullet before riding off into the sunset. The only thing missing was the half-chewed cheroot in his mouth.

However, this was not a Mexican stand-off. Mentally shrugging off the disturbing, if compelling, imagery playing in his mind, Tony did what he did best – draw on his undercover skills. He met that cool, wary stare without flinching, painted a smile on his face, and gave a respectful nod.

"Agent Gibbs."

The man had a poker face that would make a killing in Vegas. "Captain DiNozzo." Not even his voice gave anything away. He also didn't move, stood unmoving in the half-opened door, a silent sentinel to his home and family.

Well, no time like the present to take the proverbial bull by the horns. And when did I start thinking in clichés, anyway? Tony grinned and visibly relaxed his stance.

"Vetted me already, didya?"

An eyebrow twitched, and a small smile quirked Gibbs' mouth. "Just hit the highlights," he admitted, still a bit gruffly but with a hint of thaw in his voice. "It was … interesting."

"I hope you missed the blooper reel," Tony quipped, still caught up a little in his movie analogy.

For once, Gibbs caught a pop culture reference, thanks to McGee and Abby's chatter when they'd come back from some geeky convention in Baltimore over Memorial Day a few weeks ago. The eyebrow went higher. "You have one?"

Tony chuckled. "Doesn't everyone?"

Somehow, Gibbs seemed to twig to the humor of the situation. "Would you believe me if I said I don't?"

Tony tilted his head and gave the man a long, slow look. "Well … you have quite the reputation here in DC, Agent Gibbs," he drawled. And boy, hadn't that been fun to hear from the officers in his department when he'd casually mentioned he was taking out Kelly Gibbs!

"I know." And that was definitely a grin on his face now. Tony mentally pumped his fist. Win! "Some of what you've heard may even be true."

Before Tony could do more than open his mouth, Kelly appeared in the hallway behind her father.

"Are you two quite done measuring your ding-a-lings?" she asked, sounding equally exasperated and amused. She didn't wait for a reply, just opened the door all the way. "Tony, please come in. Dad, be nice."

The men exchanged a sheepish look.

"Yes, ma'am/yes, dear," they said, nearly in unison. Gibbs stepped aside and gestured for Tony to enter the house.

She smirked. "And already you're agreeing on something. Now was that so hard?" Again, she didn't let them answer. "Dad, there's no time for coffee. Tony, I'll just be a minute." She turned around and walked slowly along the wall, to a staircase that was equipped with a chair lift. She sat down and pressed a button; the seat began to move up. "Behave, you two."

They followed her progress until she reached the upper landing and walked away, presumably to her room. Tony took a deep breath, held it for a second or two, exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Bossy little thing, isn't she," he said without thinking.

"Yup. Got it from her mother," Gibbs admitted. "Shan used the same tone with both of us. Worked every time, too."

"If Kelly's anything like her, she must've been one hell of a woman," Tony replied.

"She was."

Tony had done some homework on LJ Gibbs, too, and recognized something in the man's voice and expression that told him exactly what he needed to know about this man. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly.

And for once, Jethro didn't close up and accepted the words for what they were. Sympathy, not pity. "Thanks."

Tony nodded, then decided to lighten the atmosphere before the situation got truly awkward. He slanted a sideways look at the older man. "Seriously, though – ding-a-lings? Where did that come from?"

Gibbs laughed. "A novelty song by Chuck Berry, came out in '72. Was all the rage at my high school prom. For some reason, my father kept the record, even though it annoyed the hell out of the parents at the time."

"And let me guess, that made you sing along all the louder?" Tony grinned and winked, then started to laugh as well when Gibbs gave him a 'who, me?' look. "Right, gotcha."

"They don't make songs like that anymore," Gibbs said faux-mournfully. "All that innuendo that set off the ladies' circle … and they couldn't do a thing because it wasn't actually offensive … it was priceless."

"Oh, I don't know," Tony chuckled. "The Buckeyes at Ohio State chose 'I'm Too Sexy' by Right Said Fred as a kind of signature tune back in '91." He shrugged. "Pissed off the cheerleaders no end. They got us back by complaining to the most rabidly feminist professor, who went right to the coaches. The consequences ... weren't pretty:"

Gibbs smirked. "Sensitivity seminars?"

"Every two weeks for three months."

"Ouch."

"As it was, we got lucky; if it had been in-season, most of us would've earned a suspension, too."

"You played?"

"Yeah – football, and basketball. Was even scouted for the NFL, until a damn Wolverine broke my leg during a Final Four game."

Gibbs winced. "That's rough."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, well. Spent a year in rehab, during which I got interested in Criminology. So I may have a 'what if' moment every once in a while, but I can't regret finding a job I love and am good at."

Jethro nodded. "Kind of what happened to me when I was invalided out of active duty and lost my wife. If I hadn't been recruited to join NCIS – NIS, back then – who knows where I'd have ended up."

They shared a look of mutual understanding. Law enforcement had provided salvation for both of them, and it felt strangely good to have found common ground already.

The moment was broken when the chair lift started to descend, bringing Kelly back to the bottom of the stairs. She'd inadvertently overheard part of the conversation when she'd left her room and was quietly pleased that her prediction of her father and Tony having things in common was coming true. However, she knew better than to show it.

She got up and slowly walked over to them. "Are you all done bonding?" she asked ingeniously. She swallowed her giggles when she became the focus of near-identical glares from blue and green eyes. "Because if you are, I'm ready to go, Tony."  

"Sure."

Kelly gave him a brilliant smile, took a firm hold of her walker, and went toward the door. As Jethro moved aside to let her pass, she stopped and touched his cheek. "Goodnight, Dad."

He bent down and pressed a kiss against her forehead. "Have fun," he murmured, then added out of habit, "Take care, and don't be late."

Kelly sighed and managed to not quite roll her eyes. "Yes, Dad." Deftly, she maneuvered her walker outside and down the small ramp attached to one side of the front step.

Tony watched her sidle around the Challenger to his car, turned to Gibbs, and met the man's eyes. They were no longer hard and assessing, but full of emotions Tony could take a good guess at – love and concern for his daughter predominant among them. "I'll bring her back safe and sound," he said quietly. "Trust me on this."

Jethro nodded once. "See that you do," he replied. The 'or else' remained unsaid, but was clearly understood.

"Right," Tony said, fished his keys out of his pocket, and gave them a little toss. "Until later, Gibbs."

Jethro just grunted and waited in the doorway, observing Kelly's date help her into the passenger seat, struggling a bit to fold up and put the walker in the trunk before opening the driver's door.

Just as the younger man was about to slide behind the wheel, a sudden impulse made Jethro call out. "DiNozzo."

Tony looked back and tilted his head questioningly.

"I'm working on it." Jethro saw understanding flash across the handsome features and received a thumbs up in return. Then the car door slammed shut, the motor purred to life, and a minute later he watched them drive away, back towards the District. Eventually, he went back into the house – his empty house. He wandered into the kitchen, took a beer out of the fridge, and popped the cap. Taking a sip, he realized he was feeling at a loss for what to do now, with no idea what to do. For a moment, he considered sitting out on the front porch, his rifle across his lap, and waiting for them to return, like some 1930s cartoon redneck. Then sanity reasserted itself, and he snorted a half-laugh.

Yeah, right. He might as well start planning his funeral if he did that … because Kelly would kill him. Most likely, Abby would help.

He huffed, took another swallow of beer, and wondered what he should do with himself instead. His eyes fell on the basement door, and a slow smile started to spread across his face. Down there were his tools and a stack of wood he'd bought quite some time ago. Maybe he could start a new project … hadn't Kelly begged him for a boat when she was much younger?

Gibbs shook his head at the whimsical notion and went to get changed. What kind of idiot would build a boat in a basement, anyway?

Author's Note: The convention McGee and Abby attended might well have been Balticon 2009 on May 22-25, held at the Marriott Hotel in Hunt Valley, MD. The Baltimore Science Fiction Society has run and organized the annual event since 1966.

Chapter 6:

"Oh god, I'm so full!" Kelly groaned as they left the Jaberis' restaurant a couple of hours later. "But every dish was so fantastic, I just couldn't pass any of it up!"

"Yeah, that Michelin star is well-earned," Tony agreed as he helped her into the car.

"Oh, for sure. I should try to persuade Dad to return with me sometime."

"Good luck with that," he laughed. He elaborated at her questioning glance, "I know I've barely met him, but somehow he strikes me as more a meat-and-potato kind of guy or maybe doing a mean barbecue."

"You're not wrong," she conceded. "Dad cooks a great steak in our fireplace."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "The fireplace? Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"Wow." He unbuttoned his jacket and adjusted the seatbelt, groaning softly as it tightened over his belly. "Oof."

Kelly giggled. "You're full, too," she crowed and smirked when he gave her a 'no kidding' look. "Seriously, I don't blame you. But maybe you should not have had that second helping of briouate."

She had loved those little fried pockets of flaky filo pastry, filled with almond paste, then dipped in a mix of honey and orange water, and planned to email Daniya for the recipe.

"But they went so well with the after-dinner mint tea!" Which had been an unexpected, but surprisingly pleasant alternative to espresso.

"Yes, I know, but two helpings of dessert after a five-course meal was maybe a little much?" she asked sweetly, giving him a mock-innocent look.

Tony's eyes were sparkling with mirth. "You could've stopped me," he grumbled.

"Yeah, right. Like anyone could make you stop doing something you want to do?"

She had him there. "How come you know me so well already? We've barely met," he pouted, the expression spoiled by his twitching lips.

Kelly shrugged. "I know my dad. In many ways you're not so different," she said simply.

Oh. Tony decided not to examine why this felt strangely pleasing – and that he really didn’t mind that she could see through his genial mask. He started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, and in an attempt to deflect said casually, "This is one time when I'm missing my condo in LA."

He'd already mentioned that he'd transferred from there last fall.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"The complex had a full gym and pool for the residents," he explained. "I could go home now and work off some of the calories. Spend some time on the treadmill, or the Bowflex …"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kelly's face go blank for a few seconds. "I wish I could do that," she murmured at last, sounding sad. "Dad built a shed in the yard to house my stationary bike, yoga equipment, and a few weights – things I can do on my own. For my twenty-first birthday, he installed a hot tub to relax in afterward. With my hip being as it is, there's not much more I can do."

"Hmm, yeah," Tony commiserated, then hesitated for a minute. "If you don't mind me asking, don't you do any other sports aside from therapy-type stuff?"

Kelly shrugged. "Like what? I attend group sessions at a clinic to keep limber and maintain muscle tone, have routines I do at home, the bike is for cardio, of course, and I try to walk as much as possible if and when I can, but other than that? Not really."

Remembering his kinesiology classes from college, Tony was pretty sure this wasn't enough. "You could try swimming; that's fairly low-impact," he suggested.

"I know, and I'd like to, but I'm too slow for the training lanes, and having to constantly dodge playing children in the leisure areas is just annoying. And honestly? Swimming laps by myself is boring," she admitted. "What's more, the average water temperature at most public pools is around 80°F – too cold for me. I'd need around 90°F or slightly higher to do me any good, and ideally a saline pool, too," she said. "Some hotels and private spas have at least heated pools, but they're either closed to non-guests, don't work with my work hours, or have membership fees that cost more than I can afford."

Tony frowned. He was no expert, but he knew many sports were accessible to people with disabilities nowadays; one had only to check last year's Summer Paralympics in Beijing, or look at the upcoming 2010 Winter event in Vancouver and Whistler, Canada. One of his frat brothers worked in sports medicine and told some amazing stories at their last reunion about the health benefits and accomplishments even amateurs could achieve. He also knew that there were inclusive facilities here in DC; one of his officers had a son with MS, and the kid was doing sports every chance he got at a community center near his home in DC. Surely there had to be similar places in, or near, Alexandria – and why wasn't Kelly availing herself of them?

They had to stop at a traffic light near the Lincoln Memorial, only a short distance from where they had to cross the Potomac to get back to Alexandria. Making a snap decision, Tony turned toward his pretty passenger.

"Listen, I've just had an idea," he started. "There's something I'd like to show you, if you're willing – and before you ask, no, it's not my stamp collection," he winked. "I think you would enjoy it … unless you want me to take you home right away."

As Kelly had been a little sad to see their evening out end so soon – as they'd known, the restaurant closed at 9 pm so the Jaberi family could gather for their evening prayers – she was not averse to spending more time with Tony. Especially as she secretly hoped whatever the handsome police officer had in mind would be … well, a little less public.

"No," she replied. "I mean, I don't feel like going home yet," she said, blushing faintly. "So, if you want to do something else, I'm game for whatever."

Tony couldn't help himself; he waggled his eyebrows and gave her a friendly leer. "Whatever? Why, Miss Gibbs, isn't that a bit forward?"

He laughed when she bopped his arm. "Whatever within reason, Captain DiNozzo," she said primly. "I trust whatever you're thinking of is something I can tell my father about. In full detail," she added.

"No problem," he assured her, leaving the Parkway at the next ramp, stopping briefly to reprogram his GPS. Then he turned around, driving in a northwesterly direction towards Columbia Heights. Following the tinny directions from his navigation device, Tony soon reached Girard Street, finding a parking space not far from a four-story brick building complex with a row of several high windows on the ground floor still lit. As they got out of the car and made their way to the entrance, faint music could be heard.

A small frown creased Kelly's forehead. This didn't look like a club or bar, or even a coffeehouse or tea room; what on earth could they be doing here? "Tony?" she asked, hesitating to follow him inside. "What is this place?"

"You'll see in a minute," he said, giving her a reassuring smile as he held open the door for her to pass through. "I promise, we'll leave if you don't like it."

"Okay …" She stepped into a spacious foyer; there was a reception area to the left, a lift and staircase were situated opposite the door, and a wide double door on the right seemed to lead into the room facing the street, going by the lit windows she'd seen outside. It was also where the music was coming from.

Before she could ask another question, the young man who'd sat at the reception desk came over to greet them.

"Hello, and welcome to the Recreational Center," he said with a smile. "I'm Matthew. How can I help you?" From the slightly guttural and slurred sound of his voice, as well as how he focused on their mouths, Kelly inferred that he was hearing-impaired and probably reading lips.

Tony shook hands with him. "Good evening. My name is Anthony DiNozzo, and this lovely lady is Ms. Kelly Gibbs. I heard of your programs through Detective Carlo Arletti, Metro PD."

"Ah, yes, his son Silvio is playing on our basketball team, isn't he?"

"Yes," Tony confirmed. "Ms. Gibbs seems to be unaware of what you're offering, and I was hoping to introduce her to a few programs."

Matthew's smile widened. "We're always happy to welcome new participants," he said. "Am I right that you're here tonight for the Interactive Club?" He gestured at the double doors.

"Yes." Tony smiled back. "I hope it's not inconvenient?"

"Not at all. Let me page our instructor," the young man said, went back to his desk, and activated an intercom. "Margo? There's some new people here; would you mind coming out for a minute?" A small screen on the device lit up briefly with a message, and he nodded as he read. "Someone will be here right away," he reported.

"Thanks, Matthew," Tony replied, touching Kelly's waist to indicate they should cross the foyer. Equal parts bewildered and intrigued, she complied. One of the doors opened before they'd even made it all the way, and a slim, middle-aged woman wearing a floaty skirt, a gypsy blouse, and kitten-heel shoes stepped out.

"Hello and welcome," she greeted. Her dark eyes had quickly registered Kelly's walker, but it didn't seem to faze her. "I'm Margo Feltens, the director of our Interactive Programs. What can I do for you?"

Tony performed the introductions again, then explained, "Well, my friend Kelly and I have just had a great dinner, but the evening's still young, and I was hoping to do something extra special for her." He smiled engagingly. "As you can see, we are a little limited in what we can do," he indicated her walker, "and I was hoping you could help us out."

"This is a date?" Ms. Feltens asked with a knowing smile.

Kelly's breath hitched a little, and Tony's fingers tightened a little where they were still resting on her waist. Despite having called it a date when she told her father about the outing, neither Tony nor she had explicitly defined it as such. Yet. But deep down Kelly hoped it might be, and when she looked up into Tony's eyes, she saw that same hope reflected in the green depths. 

"I'm pretty certain it is," Tony murmured huskily. "What do you think, Kelly?"

"Yes," she whispered. She knew her face must be flaming, but at this moment, she couldn't have cared less. "Yes. Yes, it is," she confirmed, her voice growing stronger with every syllable.

"Wonderful," Margo declared and clapped her hands. "Well, let's prove your young man right, Kelly, and show you how special it can be." She opened the double doors with a flourish.

Beyond them was a decent-sized hall with parquet flooring. At the back wall, a modest DJ station was set up next to a drinks station, groups of chairs, and small sofas lined the walls, and in the center of the room, several couples were dancing. At first glance, it looked like a stereotypical school dance or prom, but the people were of all ages – from teenagers to senior citizens. Tony whispered into her ear that the music might have come from every pre-Y2K high school movie ever made, but it didn't matter.

What mattered was that at least half of the people in the room seemed to have a disability of some kind – there were blind persons, a few were communicating in sign language, many were carrying canes, walked on crutches, or used a rollator, like Kelly. But what rooted her to the spot was the sight of maybe a dozen couples on the dance floor, moving to the music with enthusiasm and obvious joy – and every couple consisted of one able-bodied person and their partners sitting in wheelchairs.

Next to her, she heard Ms. Feltens prattle about the various inclusive programs the center offered, from yoga to archery, but she also mentioned bowling, basket- and volleyball, cycling, and a heated pool, all accessible and available to people with limited mobility, who sometimes, or always, needed a wheelchair. People like her.

Kelly nodded absently, hopefully in the right places, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the dancers. Her father remembered her as a tomboy before the car crash, but what little girl didn't dream of dancing with a handsome boy one day? Kelly had, too, but she'd believed that the dream had died with her mom – the only person who had known her secret.

Yet here was proof that her dream didn't have to stay dead. How hadn't she known people did this? That people could do this? That people could do the same stuff as other, able-bodied persons, do it with them even, and make it look …

The only word she could think of was normal.

Sure, it wasn't something that could be done at any old club. Granted, some of the moves – from both partners – looked a bit strange, even silly. Not every dancer was especially graceful, nor did they always get the moves right or hit the right rhythm. But every person out there did it anyway, or at least tried. Why hadn't her doctors or therapists ever told her that people who couldn't walk could still dance?

Kelly knew why. She had always resented, if not outright hated, her need for a wheelchair. Right from the start, she'd done her utmost to use it as rarely as possible, sometimes to the point where she would insist on using her cane or crutches even though it hurt even on 'good' days. If her walker was a necessary evil, then her wheelchair was truly the very last resort, only to be used on the worst days when the pain got so bad that she was left with no other choice. She'd always refused to listen when someone tried to change her mind. Eventually, her doctors and therapists had given up trying.

Being unexpectedly confronted with the fact that having to use a wheelchair was not the seventh level of hell was almost literally blowing her mind. Suddenly, she saw a whole new world right in front of her – a world nobody had shown her because she hadn't wanted to see.

Until Tony. She already knew that he'd been a two-sport college athlete whose dreams of going pro had been shattered along with his knee. He might have recovered sufficiently to lead a normal life, but he'd confessed that there were days when his old injury – and the one that had invalided him out of fieldwork not so long ago – gave him problems and that he had had to look for alternatives to stay fit and healthy enough not to lose what normalcy he had left.

Her whirling thoughts screeched to a halt when Tony grasped her hand and lifted it to his face. Placing a gentle kiss on her fingertips, he bent towards her and murmured, "You said you'd be game for anything. Did you mean it?"

She shook her head, dazed. "No, I— that is, yes, I—" She looked at him helplessly, with quivering lips. Tony seemed to understand the message she was unable to give and kissed her fingertips again.

"It's okay, sweet, I get it," he said softly, took a step back without releasing her hand, and sketched a rather flamboyant bow. "Miss Kelly," he intoned grandly, "if we had a wheelchair for you so that we could learn to dance together—"

"I'm sure one of our regulars wouldn't mind lending you one for a while," Ms. Feltens interjected gently, the smile she gave her full of compassion and understanding. Kelly felt her pulse begin to race. Suddenly, she couldn't imagine wanting anything more.

"Perfect," Tony said. "In that case, Miss Kelly – shall we dance?"

When she hesitated, not quite daring to believe this was actually happening, he gently cupped her cheek. "Please?"

Kelly blinked away a few tears as her heart felt like it might burst with happiness. There was only one answer she could give.

"Yes. I'd love to dance with you."

To Be Continued …

Author's Note 1: Part II will be posted within the next ten days.

Author's Note 2: The dessert: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Briouat

The restaurant is fictitious. Its location and quality are very loosely based on https://www.maydandc.com/, in Ashton Heights, DC.

Same goes for the Community Center – there is indeed a facility at https://dpr.dc.gov/ColumbiaHeights>1480 in DC that roughly matches the description given, but everything else about it is creative license.

(Oh, and the last name of the (fictional) Programs' director, Feltens, is actually taken from my very own ballroom dance teacher *mumblemumble* years ago. He is almost 80 years old now, and still active.)

 Lastly, here are some examples of wheelchair dancing:

https://youtu.be/Dfsa6fcpaCU?si=xcPoxU5Qjz3y4LK4 

https://youtu.be/NqmauvPEcjk?si=vZQ7s5ZjGmd_TK-u

https://youtu.be/NqmauvPEcjk?si=4uiyQnP6rLwJ0Kxu

https://youtu.be/_2PuGypJyZg?si=LGShiI8n_u9wdqwc