Even the colour of the walls had changed.

That sickeningly sweet lavender of his old squad room had been repainted to a seemingly even more disgusting pumpkin colour. Apparently NCIS still didn't hold interior design as one of their top priorities.

He didn't see a single agent that he recognised. Marty wasn't huddled under that tiny desk beneath the staircase anymore. Johnson had disappeared from in front of the elevator. Hartley wasn't sitting on the other side of his old barrier anymore, or what he could only assume was his old barrier. The layout had changed with the agents. It was, admittedly, much more roomy now. A lot more space. To run, to argue, to fret, to bicker. To do what NCIS agents do best.

And even that damn silver coffee machine had gone. For the better, he did note. You could choose your own strength now. Installed under Gibbs' influence no doubt. Not that he'd believe that Gibbs would end up drinking from it anyway.

"It's not coffee," he'd insist.

Nevertheless, it was the heat radiating from the steaming styrofoam in his own hand that seemed to be the only thing in the room that felt familiar at all. You could always rely on coffee.

He let out a deep breath in preparation and stepped out of the elevator quickly, inhaling the sour, new-carpet smell of his old home. As much as he'd deny it himself, he missed the smell of this place. The scent that no matter how long you were there, never seemed to change. Never seemed to make that transition from the new- to old-carpet smell. If there was such a thing. That scent that seemed to be able to wake you up at four-thirty in the morning when two showers, a subzero temperature and even coffee couldn't. That scent that would always cause your chest to instantly flinch, your heart to jump a tenth and your head to settle into it's usual routine of anxious foresight and anticipation, just as it was doing now.

He rounded the heavy silver slider doors, took a few more strides and was finally able to locate two faces he did recognise. Both were bent studiously over their respective desks, shuffling masses of files and writing quick code-notes. One was typing sporadically, two-fingered, he noticed, at the keyboard in front of him, obviously searching for or entering suspect information. A cell phone rang in front of him. He stopped typing and took a look at the caller ID.

"Damn it, Olivia," he grumbled. "When I say I'm at work, it means I'm at work. ‘No answer' means I don't want to talk to you."

He then proceeded to harshly press down on a button. It stopped ringing.

The other agent was talking with someone on the landline.

"Good morning. Yes, hello, Ma'am, I'm calling from NCIS. No, no, Ma'am. Not CSI, NCIS. It stands for the Naval Crim... No, Ma'am... No, my name is Special Agent Caitlin... No, not Catherine. Yes, my name is Special Agent Kate Todd. No, not Catherine Willows. My name's not Catherine. No, Kate's not short for Catherine. Yes, of course you can have the name Kate without it having to be short for Catherine! Yes, it's short for Caitlin... Okay, yes, you're right about that. Okay, Ma'am, you know what, I think I've kept you for long enough. That's fine. No, don't worry. You've been a huge help. Thank you. Yes. Good bye."

She slammed down the phone hastily and exhaled curtly.

"At least some things haven't changed around here."

The two faces swung up and around to look at the man who'd just entered their office.

"What the hell are you doing here?" DiNozzo said gruffly, standing from behind his desk.

Kate followed suit, equally as surprised.

"Gibbs didn't tell you about the case?" the man asked.

Neither of the blank looks vanished from their faces. Quite clearly, ‘no', was their answer.

A long, deep squeal suddenly came from further the hallway. The three of them jolted their heads suddenly to see who it was.

A tall, dark haired girl in a lab jacket came flying toward the man and leapt into his arms.

"Burley!" Abby squeaked.

"Hey, Abs," Burley managed, wheezing through his crushed lungs.

Abby had grown out her hair. It was the same ashen black, like matted charcoal streaks on a canvas, but now it was long enough to be pulled it into two pigtails. The only woman he knew with hair that could drown out the colour around it. Her expressions hadn't changed though. Her smile had grown wider and the tattoos had multiplied, but she still looked the same, really, even with the extra knowledge of half a decade slung across her shoulders. She was still Abby, full and playful and smiling, and for the first time since Burley had stepped foot in the building, he felt the surge of familiarity.

Abby squeezed him tightly with that large grin plastered across her lips. "I've missed you!"

"Missed you too, girl."

He planted a chaste kiss, a brother's kiss, on her cheek and pressed his nose into her collarbone and closed his eyes. The spikes on her choker pressed into his neck - - not too sharp, but not too soft. Just the way he remembered they used too.

It was good to see Abby. Really. He had hoped that she and Gibbs and Ducky would miss him and would know that he had missed them, but he hadn't realised before now how much he really had missed them. He had been lonely. Abby and Ducky had both offered to visit him whenever he docked or had been in Washington but he had always tastefully declined, forever worried that any contact with his old team would just reawaken his deeply buried regret with his decision to leave them. And he had hoped that they had understood, and hadn't held it against him. Abby had lit up like it was Christmas, so he supposed she hadn't.

But he had needed to leave. He had needed to move on and move up. He couldn't spend the rest of his life under Gibbs' wing. He wasn't a child anymore, despite Gibbs' tendency to often see him that way. But he was still young - - and that youth was coupled with a kind of innate innocence that made him seem even younger than he was. And even though he had become ashamed - - not of Gibbs, but of his reasons for staying - - he still liked the childish memories, the feeling of being protected and treasured. And that was probably the reason he had decided to return.

Burley sincerely hoped that he didn't look as stupidly happy as he felt about this.

Or as stupidly happy as she looked, really. He could feel Abby's plump, deep scarlet-lipped smile pressed into the side of his ear.

Absence did make the heart grow fonder.

Abby continued to crush her arms around him for a few seconds.

"Havin' a tad of trouble breathin', Abs," Burley finally said.

"Oh, sorry." Abby lowered herself to the ground, still smiling broadly, before letting out a huff and swiftly thrusting out an arm and whacking Burley hard against the shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You have missed bowling practice for the last..." Abby began counting on her fingers, "Two hundred and twenty-eight weeks! The nuns are furious with you! Well, the ones who's Alzheimer's hasn't gone to second term... But even they've noticed that our scores have slipped below 390!"

"I'm sorry, Abs. I just... I couldn't ever find a replacement! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good bowler willing to play with nuns every Thursday night?"

"Yes," she stated. "It's easy."

Abby pointed behind her to McGee, who'd been silently watching the exchange between the two of them with an expression of complete confusion and utter bewilderment for the last few minutes.

"He even wears the outfit?" Burley asked.

Tony and Kate had seen Abby's costume. Their eyes both lit up as they turned to face McGee.

McGee himself now suddenly leapt from his chair. "No, no, no, no! Now, that we had altered. The nuns bent the rules a little for me, you know. The pink shirt just... I don't know if it was quite me."

"Is that right?" Burley smirked. "Personally, I thought it was rather flattering."

"Only on you, Burley," Abby smiled teasingly.

Burley smiled back. He missed this familiarity. The instant familiarity in the exchange of a simple few words. He missed the knowing sideways glances as well as the usual flirtatious ones. The "I know what you're thinking"s and the "Don't even think about doing what I know you're about to do"s.

McGee stepped cautiously over to the agent and eyed him steadily. "I don't think we've met. Tim McGee."

"Stan Burley."

They shook hands.

"How do you know Abby?" McGee asked, still confounded. He thought he knew most of Abby's friends.

Burley smiled. "I used to work here. For Gibbs. I transferred five years ago. I met Agent DiNozzo and Agent Todd last year when Gibbs agreed to help me out on a case."

"Ah," McGee said, finally understanding. "And you're..."

"Here about the Burke case," Gibbs said as he strode through the desks and up to Burley. "Nice to see you again, Stan."

"You too, boss." Burley eyed him suspiciously. Something had just caught him slightly off-guard. He ignored it.

Gibbs didn't look as happy to see him as he'd expected.

"Why do we need help with the Burke case?" Tony asked, the words coming out a little more defensive than he'd anticipated.

Gibbs glanced over to Tony but ignored his question. "Long flight?" he asked Burley.

"Would've gone quicker with reading material."

Gibbs smirked through a pained expression. "Brief him, Tony."

"Lieutenant Harrison Burke," Tony said, still eyeing Burley with a glimmer of distaste in his eye. He pressed a button on the remote, bringing up a picture on the plasma.

"Harry?" Burley suddenly stammered. "Harrison Burke? David's son?"

The four other agents looked toward him.

"You know David Burke?" Kate asked.

"Harry... Harry's dead?" Burley's eyes quickly lost the raw and eager glimmer that they'd entered the building with.

Gibbs looked to him, his silence expressing a confirmation.

Burley's eyes widened in horrified realisation. No discussion. No comments. No information. No files. No reason to say no. And Gibbs knew damn well that he'd never deny his old boss a favour. Gibbs knew him too well and he hated it. He hated that after five years of absence, he could still be played by him. How could he walk back into his old home, his old office, and his old boss' company and expect anything else? And the thing that annoyed him the most was that he couldn't even summon the self-respect to be surprised, let alone pissed off.

"Gibbs..." Burley stumbled, flashing his eyes up in the direction of his old boss. "Gibbs, you know I can't..."

Burke. David Burke. Every person living and breathing in Washington, and many that were dead, knew the name. Multi-billion dollar media mogul. The President Pro Tempore. Highest ranking senator in the United States for ten years running.

And Stan Burley had walked by his side for eight of them.

"Can't what, Stan?" Gibbs asked condescendingly.

The three other agents furrowed their foreheads in confusion.

"I love my job, Gibbs. I'd like to keep it."

"You don't work for him anymore, Stan."

"Gibbs - - You know Harry and you know David. You don't want to mix me up in this." He was surprised by the begging sound in his voice. "I just... Harry... I can't believe Harry's dead..." he hesitated, his eyes falling away from the screen momentarily. "Gibbs, if we begin to officially dig up what we both already unofficially know..."

"Who says that's going to happen?" Gibbs asked. "We're investigating Harry's murder, not David's political agenda. I want you with me for this case because you knew Harrison. Not because you worked for his father."

"You were David Burke's aide?" Tony asked, remembering their hostile conversation twelve months ago.

Burley's eyes felt blurry. Harry Burke was dead. He didn't understand it and it was making his head ache. The cheer of seeing Abby had fizzled out of him, and all that was left was a blinding confusion and hurt.

He ignored Tony. "Don't make me do this, Gibbs."

"I'm not." Gibbs' eyes bore into him.

Yes he was.

Burley's head was pounding, his heart was racing, and the adrenaline from the sight of seeing his old team was fading away just as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling hung-over and suddenly tired. So hateful, too, were all of his frustrations coming out here, and he wasn't going to care about Gibbs' case and whether or not he really should help him out with it because Harry was the victim here, and he was a friend, and David's son, and he was beginning to see red, and Gibbs was asking him to betray a friend's trust, and Gibbs had helped him, and Gibbs had been there, and Gibbs had saved his job when it needed saving and given him second chances when he hadn't deserved them, and Harry was dead.

"I know you and Harry were close." Gibbs words seemed warbled.

"Harry was like a brother."

"Then help me find his killer."

There was a killer. Burley stood with his knees locked and his skin pale, staring blankly at the picture of Lieutenant Harrison Burke on the plasma. Someone had killed Harry. It was hard to avoid the look of mixed anger and sorrow on Burley's face. Harry - - Harry Burke was dead. Which was ridiculous, of course, because it was Harry, and people like Harry didn't die. Couldn't die. Except he had, and probably so horribly that he couldn't even bring himself to picture his death. It just tried to flicker in between memories, like a changeover in a movie. Harry was teasing him, his eyes interested and playful as he pointed out the girl at the other end of the bar, and then, Harry was pale and blue at the lips, and hanging, or foaming at the mouth, or beaten, or stabbed.

"How?" Burley's words caught in his throat.

Gibbs was silent.

"Shot," Kate said, looking bewildered at the human wreck that was standing in front of her.

"I..." Burley sighed.

"Stan, you know you're going to hunt down the bastard."

Burley's throat felt swollen and dry and he tried to swallow.

"It's just a matter of whether you're going to let me help you."

Burley finally turned to look at Gibbs. His eyes weren't distant and cold like he'd expected them to be. They were pale and glossy and pleading with Burley to let him in.

Gibbs knew that Burley needed his help.

And Burley had no choice.

It helped a lot that the body lying on the floor wasn't Harry.

Harry had never looked like that. So used, so old. Wadded up and thrown away.

Lines and cracks had etched themselves into the man's face in blood and sweat, adding ten years of undeserved pain and experience in a single moment. Both of his eyes were surrounded by dark bruising, extending all the way down his right cheekbone to his jaw. His sandy hair was starched with blood, and lying in matted tangles against the ground. A night wind had sent dirt and gravel over him, mixing in with the blood like glitter. Shimmer and shine.

It was almost enough to make his face unidentifiable, but the fresh bruises and sticky maroon layer of blood couldn't hide his features or the open, staring hazel eyes, locked vacantly into a meaningless expression. If it weren't for the hideous Hawaiian shirt fluid-plastered to the man's chest, Burley wouldn't have even trusted himself to provide an accurate I.D.

"You don't have to be here for this." Gibbs' voice sounded oddly distant and comforting.

Burley stood from his squatting position next to the body. "Yes, I do. It's a requirement for any active duty agent on a team." His words were official and emotionless, as if read straight from a textbook. He was white-lipped and looked colder than stone, moving around the body with his camera and snapping away at every minute feature. A dark purple-grey footprint on the chest. A dirty, bloody gash across the temple. Shards of glass littered around the fingers.

Behind him, Burley heard the desperate wretching sounds of a probationary agent throwing up. He felt his own stomach shift, and he wished that he would throw up or cry or something, anything - - but his eyes stayed dry and the initial wave of nausea passed and he lifted the camera lens to his eye and - - click. He had too many years of training, had seen too many decompositions for a recent death to make him queasy, however messy it was, and he'd spent too long trying to be Gibbs to cry: his emotions were like strangers swimming around in his head. They moved through him, sobbing, or just standing motionless in shock, and he watched them, and felt for them, but he wasn't them.

Tony could only imagine what it was like to be processing a friend. Carefully selecting and magnifying every detail of their body that made them eligible to be "dead". He knelt onto the uncomfortable, stony asphalt and snapped a photo of the way Harry's Hawaiian shirt had been pushed up around his chest. He shot his bare and bloody stomach, zooming in on each of the three awkwardly broken ribs. He framed his rugged, stubbled chin with his camera and shot those glassy brown eyes and pinkish lips twice, making sure that the angle was enough to catch the bruises on his neck. Tony looked down at the body again and took another picture, no longer sure what he was capturing but hoping to record a little of this senselessness, giving in to one blurry photo out of an otherwise perfect roll.

As if by silent agreement with Burley, Tony was the one who shot the gluey cerise pool that had formed on Harry's chest. The gunshot wound was about four inches below Harry's left collarbone. Straight through his vitals. It was a through and through, and Tony could see McGee out of the corner of his eye collecting the bullet fragments from the cement wall above him. The blood from the puncture was thicker and darker than that on his face and arms. It was blood from the heart, sticky and clotting and oozing serum, scarlet staining the bright orange sunset on his shirt and turning the rich emerald palm leaves a murky shade of brown.

Gibbs hadn't wanted Burley there at the crime scene. He didn't want an agent staring blankly at a corpse, disregarding instructions and ignoring evidence, taking up space and distracting his other investigators with pained expressions of remorse and guilt.

But it seemed that Burley's firm determination not to be affected by Harry's bloodied corpse was turning the agent into a colder, more methodical, crime scene analyser. He wasn't ignoring crime scene procedure. He wasn't ignoring trace evidence. He wasn't even ignoring the body itself. In fact, he was picking up on more than the rest of the team were together, unwavering in his objective focus. It was as if he'd temporarily forgotten who Harrison Burke was, momentarily blocking him from memory. His face, his body, his clothes. Stan Burley had never befriended the man lying dead in the alleyway behind Club Neon.

"You want to tell me about the body, Duck?" Gibbs said, finally tearing his eyes away from the agent.

Ducky squatted down, his hands folded over his knees. "Nothing you haven't seen, unfortunately. I expect the cause of death to be fairly straightforward. Our young man was shot once through his chest, probably perforating both his left lung and heart."

"And the bruising?"

"There are at least three sets of footprints on the body. I'd postulate a guess at a group mugging. It may well have been random."

They both knew all too well what it would mean if the case turned out to have been one unconnected to a motive. Random meant that they would have no place to start looking, and that they would likely finish without having found anything. They were working in the dark. His least favourite method of operations.

"It wasn't random, Gibbs. I can tell you that much," Burley said, not taking his eyes from behind his camera. "And it wasn't a gang kill."

Gibbs turned to him.

"He was shot, Gibbs. Harry isn't the kind of guy who would've deserved to be, but he was the kind of guy who easily could be if he pushed a particular someone the right way." Burley ducked his head behind his camera once more and - - click.

Gibbs was silent for a moment. The narrowed eyes told him everything he needed to know: the kid was concentrating. Good. The sudden tension in the shoulders told him something more important: Burley was angry. At least it was better than sorrowful.

"Any estimate time of death, Ducky?" Gibbs asked, turning back to his M.E..

Ducky's words caught in his throat. He hesitated, feeling clumsy and stupid, the words slipping away from him as he looked desperately at Stan. He knew Gibbs wanted Burley with him for this case because he knew the victim, but he hadn't believed that the boy would be so disconnected in his aid. He watched Stan's eyes move across Gibbs' face and then down to Lieutenant Burke's cadaver, implacable and cold. That was how they were, then. This was what happened when it didn't happen to someone else. His own despondency nudged at him, but Stan's was a maelstrom that pulled it from underneath his skin to be devoured. They had never taught him - - and he had never learned - - a platitude for this.

"From liver temperature, we estimate a little over thirty hours. I'd presume that Lieutenant Burke was killed late Friday night or early yesterday morning."

Gibbs nodded slightly.

"McGee, bag the rest of the samples and get them back to Abby. DiNozzo, Kate, I want you interviewing every single person that knew him, anyone's who's heard of him or anyone who even saw him yesterday. Start with the family. Burley, you're with me."

The team made a move to carry out Gibbs' orders.

Burley packed away his Nixon and removed his gloves, before moving to stand beside Harry's body.

Ducky let Palmer pass with a body bag and kit and Burley felt him suddenly standing too close. Ducky knew that he'd been quiet for too long, but he still couldn't summon the comforting words that seemed always readily available for strangers. He could only think to tell his old friend what he knew.

"His death was instant, Stan. He didn't pass in pain," Ducky said, touching a hand to the young agent's shoulder.

Burley turned to him with ice in his eyes. "Unless you call three broken ribs and four knife slices to the torso painless, Ducky, I beg to differ." He turned, letting Ducky's hand fall limply from his shoulder.

One day, Kate swore, she would find a way to make sure she was able to work with people that were genetically unable to hold an intelligent conversation about hamburgers.

DiNozzo sat there beside her, riding shotgun, nibbling at the bread roll and meat patty while he read over a hastily put-together history of Burke's military career. He occasionally threw comments over his shoulder about deployments and awards, which at least made more sense than the occasional remark about the quality of different brands of mustard. He had an unerring sense of timing, because every time Kate's fingers were starting to itch to hit him like a naughty puppy, he would turn around and say that there had been an ambush on Burke's platoon reported a year ago, and they could maybe check that out this afternoon.

"So, what do you think about all of this?" Tony asked. He stepped out of the sedan and tore his crime scene jacket off.

"About all of what?" Kate returned, mirroring his actions.

"You know. Burley."

Kate smiled her disappointment. She wondered how long it was going to take before DiNozzo finally let that jealousy sizzle to the surface.

"Please, DiNozzo. Don't start this again."

"Don't start what?"

"I told you a year ago. It's a completely different thing. Between you and Gibbs and Gibbs and Burley."

"And if I remember correctly, I had as little idea of what you were talking about then as I do now," he said, flicking on his sunglasses and sports jacket.

"Come on, Tony. Gibbs' probably never had a field agent work under him that didn't fall madly at his feet in desperate need of praise. And he's probably never had one that he did eventually step down to and give a little bit." Tony didn't say anything. He rotated his McDonalds cup on the roof of the car but didn't drink. "He's closer to you, though," she finally said. "In my opinion."

"He isn't."

"So you are jealous?"

"It's not the same thing."

Kate smiled proudly, taking a step up on to the porch.

Tony scoffed when he realised what she'd done. And besides, he wasn't. Just because Gibbs had come to Burley's rescue, just because, for all the much-touted favouritism that he'd heard so much about from Ducky and Abby, Burley wasn't the one on Gibbs' team anymore. He was. And because Gibbs had spoken to him within a year of working together. And he had known his name after two. And got it right.

To their surprise, the door opened as Tony and Kate climbed onto the Burke family's front patio. A woman stood back in the shadows, propping the security door open for them with one foot.

The house was spectacular. Stone brick walls surrounded the manor like a heavily guarded castle and the luscious gardens and elegant wrought-iron fences were reminiscent of the kind you imagine in childhood horror stories. It was what Kate and Tony had expected from the billionaire media mogul turned politician, but that made it no less impressive.

"I thought NCIS would show up soon," the elderly woman said tonelessly. "Although I expected to see Stan first."

Tony dropped his shoulders and looked to her with soft eyes. "Ashleigh Burke?" he asked quietly.

She stepped aside. They accepted her invitation silently.

The house was as clean and magnificent as the exterior. The floorboard was smooth and sleek with polish and the furniture was all dark, hardwood timber with expensive trimmings and cuts. Tony and Kate followed the woman's winding path, but she stayed ahead of them, never turning around. They were left with her back - - her small shoulders and her bobbing blonde hair. She made her way into the living room and offered them a seat, which they both accepted graciously.

Ashleigh Burke brought Kate a cup of coffee and then asked Tony if he wanted anything. When he said no, she only stared at him blankly and then retreated to the kitchen again where he heard the minute clangs of pots knocking against each other. Kate put the coffee cup down carefully on the coaster and looked to Tony. He shrugged.

Mrs. Burke finally returned carrying a tray of biscuits and cakes, a teapot, ceramic cups and a sugar pot.

Tony and Kate stared perplexedly at her as she placed the tray on the small table and smiled at them.

"Please, I made them last night," she said. "Take one."

"We're fine thank you," Kate said. She suddenly shot a glare at Tony as she saw him reach out to grab a cream-encrusted tea-cake. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and retreated his fingers like a small boy who'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Mrs. Burke..." Kate began.

"Please, call me Ashleigh."

"Ashleigh . . . "

"I've never lost a child before," Ashleigh said, a weak smile forcefully pressed into her lips.

Kate and Tony were both silent.

"I have three, so you'd think losing one would be only a third as bad as losing an only child. Perhaps I should feel grateful." A small, pained smile followed.

"Mrs. Burke," Kate said, shifting forward on her seat and clasping her hands together, "Losing only one child should never hurt any less."

Kate knew her words were redundant, but it was what she'd been trained to say. She felt her mouth squirm. She hated talking to people when they were vulnerable like this, open and hurting. Particularly those who'd lost a child. It was like someone had stabbed them through a dozen times and then trusted them to get up and keep going, keep walking. People were counting on them, after all, so all they could do was just press their hands over the cuts to slow the blood-flow. That was grief. Grief was walking wounded, stumbling around, looking straight ahead, and gradually realizing that the blood on the floor wasn't your own, after all.

"Again, Agent Todd, it's Ashleigh."

"Ashleigh," she returned politely, "do you mind if we ask you a few questions about your son?"

She didn't answer at first, just toyed with the ratty belt of her dress, but finally said, "Whatever I can do to help. Ask whatever you need to."

Tony played softball for a few minutes, tossing out easy questions about daily routine and family friends, trying to stop himself from tapping his fingers against the coffee table.

"Did you know of anyone who may have wanted to harm your son?" he asked.

"No," she said. He thought he could hear the low thrum of defensiveness and ferocity in her voice, her anger at being underestimated. "He only made enemies overseas."

"He'd been deployed recently," Kate said. Tony had told her between mouthfuls of burger on the way over.

"To Iraq, last August. He only got back three months ago." She whimpered slightly, as if tears were about to follow.

Tony dove in before they did. "And you haven't noticed any strange behaviour from Harrison lately?"

"No," she said. "We're very close . . . We were very close. I would have asked him if anything was wrong. But I knew all of Harry's friends. Who he worked with. Everyone he knew adored him."

As gently as he could, Tony said, "It may not be someone he knew that we're looking for, Mrs. Burke."

"There wasn't anyone. There wasn't anyone like that. Harry wouldn't have ever gotten himself mixed up with anyone dangerous."

"Ashleigh - - "

"Agent DiNozzo, don't you think I would have known if someone had been . . . wanting to harm my own son?" The anger that had sustained her suddenly rushed out in those words and Tony could only see a woman again, a mother without her child, her fingers knotted in her bathrobe, her hair stringy and oily, and she bit her lip against the tears. "No one - - no one would've gotten Harry mixed up in that kind of life. He never said a word about anything being wrong. He was happy. He was the good one."

The two agents looked pointedly at her. "The good one?" Kate asked.

The woman dropped her eyes to the floor and swallowed. She picked up a teacup resting on its saucer and Kate watched as it began to rattle violently. Ashleigh placed it back on the saucer before it fell with a sharp clank.

"My other son, and my daughter. They - - "

Ashleigh's words choked in her throat.

"Ashleigh, it's okay," Kate said, resting soft eyes and a hand on hers. "Take your time."

"Dean and Emma. They've been . . . The family . . . We don't have much contact with either of them. I couldn't even tell you how to find them." She scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

"Can we ask why?" Tony said.

"Dean. He's, uh - - " Ashleigh quickly looked out the window, as if to find something that would distract her. "Dean tended to spend a lot of his father's money and he . . . he's had a few problems with drugs and . . . You can understand that David feels he needs to keep himself as far from that as possible."

"And Emma?" Tony asked.

"Emma is very close with Dean. They're the two youngest. They share the same social circles, as far as I'm aware. I haven't seen or talked to her in months, agents. I'm very sorry."

"Is it at all possible that Harrison may have told Dean or Emma something that he wouldn't have told you?" Tony asked.

"Harry and Dean were brothers, Agent DiNozzo. They were inseparable from birth until college. But once Dean began to - - " She paused and swallowed painfully. " - - Harry was always the one getting him out of trouble. Debts, money, women. Harry was always there for him, paying off his dues and pulling him out of groups before it got too bad. David and I began to notice that it was getting to him. We told him to leave Dean alone. That if Dean had problems, he needed to sort them out for himself. He didn't talk to his brother for a while, even after he returned from Iraq, but I'm sure it was only to satisfy myself and his father. Harry wasn't the kind of boy to leave his brother in trouble."

"Thank you for your help, Ashleigh," Kate said.

"But - - My, God. You . . . You don't think that this had anything to do with - - " Ashleigh stammered.

"We can't tell you anything at the moment, Ashleigh. But for the time being, nothing points to Dean being involved in any way," Kate said.

Kate knew she was lying through her teeth. More than anything, now at least, they would be turning to Dean's problems for some answers.

"Dean sounds like Harry's unlicensed confidant," Tony said. He peeled off his sunglasses and stepped back into the sedan. "It's not like he's going to let Daddy dearest know if he's got problems going down on the other side of town."

"Don't get too excited, DiNozzo. Dean could also be a dead end," Kate replied. She slammed the door and turned the key in the ignition.

"Could also be a lead, Agent Todd. If you had a brother you'd understand how much they're really willing to share with each other."

"Oh, and an only child would know?" she snapped back.

Tony whipped his head around to face her. He sent her an icy stare and squeezed his jaw together. Kate looked back at him. Maybe it was the midday light coming through the window accentuating the lines across his face, but DiNozzo suddenly looked older. Hurt and misunderstood and old. What had she said?

Tony pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose. "Keep in mind we found Burke out the back of a high-profile underground nightclub, Kate. Probably Dean's kind of atmosphere. It sounds to me like Harry kept Dean out of trouble and Dean kept Harry grounded," he said calmly. "It's a hard life being a Navy Lieutenant about to take over Daddy's billion dollar empire." His final comment was iced with sarcasm.

Tony was right. And at least they had somewhere to go from now. They weren't working blind. Harry may have told Dean something, when he was having a few drinks with him in the local bar or shooting hoops with him at the local court. And if he had said anything, anything at all, they had to find it. It was like doing an autopsy, and they could tell Ducky that - - it was like cutting through the surface and finding all the blood the body had skilfully hid inside.

Gibbs' own crime scene sketches had always been sparse and functional, transposing only necessities. It had never been one of his talents. Given the choice, he had assigned the duty to his field agents. He would watch DiNozzo alternate between the pad and the camera, and would wonder if it meant anything that DiNozzo completed them at the scene and that his were almost unbearably lush, with each drop of blood clinging to the pavement lingering in graphite on the paper. His eyes never moved from the body, as if he could only look at it once without losing his mind and had to get everything in one shot so he never had to return to the mangled flesh, to the broken bone, to the cloyingly copper scent of blood. Stan Burley drew from memory, each detail unwinding from the tip of his pencil as he sat at his desk, eyes narrowed in concentration.

He found Burley already in the office, leaning back in DiNozzo's chair and shielded in aviator sunglasses that bounced all of the room's fluorescent light onto the files sprawled at his feet on the desk. When Burley tossed the file of sketches at him, Gibbs picked them out of the air with a studied grace, catching the spine in the palm of his hand. Burley didn't have the time to admire it.

"DiNozzo will kill you if he finds you sitting there."

"Let him try." Burley didn't budge. Not even the aviators were removed.

Gibbs took a seat behind his desk. "Burke. Information. Now."

Burley still didn't move. "Lieutenant Harrison Burke. Thirty-four. Born New York, New York. Dropped out of Columbia University in his freshman year to join the U.S. Marine Corps. Still on active service. Has served in Afghanistan, Haiti, Iran, Iraq. Deployed most recently to Iraq last August, returned three months ago. Has been awarded a Purple Heart, Marine Corps Expeditionary Medal and a Navy Expert Pistol Medal. Father, David Burke. U.S. Senator and President of Osiris Publishing Corporation. Mother, Ashleigh Burke. Teacher, student counsellor. Harrison was Vice President and signatory to Osiris."

He had that tone again. Like reading from a textbook.

"Anyone can pull up a record, Stan. That's not why you're here."

Burley kicked his feet off his desk, finally slid off those ridiculous sunglasses and uncapped his cup of coffee. He inhaled deeply and looked toward Gibbs. "Good son. Good brother. Loyal to his father, to the business, to the Navy. No steady girlfriends as far as I'm aware, although I hadn't spoken much to him since he got back from Iraq." He paused. "Burke was a good marine. That should tell you enough, Gibbs. He kept himself out of trouble. Kept those around him out of trouble. Always had coffee on hand."

Gibbs smiled. "That's better. Now tell me what he was doing behind the Neon."

"He's a thirty-four year old single marine just back from Iraq, Gibbs. A good night out would've been one where he didn't end up in his own bed. Neon's a good place for an easy hook-up."

Impossibly sly grin. "Is that right?"

Burley rolled his eyes. "Bouncer said he remembered Harry coming in around one a.m.. Remembered him ‘cause of the shirt. Doesn't remember him leaving, though, which would make sense seeing as he was found out the back. Two exits he could've left through. One's through the kitchen, so highly unlikely. No one else saw him leave. No one saw him in the alley. Only witness we have is the dog walker who found him. It'll be impossible to round up witnesses from inside the club that night."

"Drunk idiots desperately trying to get their clothes off aren't the only ones who were in the club that night."

"I'll go see what I can get from the bartenders . . . " Burley trailed, picking up his sunglasses and backpack again and heading toward the elevator.

- - - -

"Did you flirt with her?"

"No, Abby," McGee sighed, "I did not flirt with Jessica." He pulled an evidence bag from the box and began untaping it. "And I didn't speak Hargon with her or smile too much or do a strip-tease or exercise any of my other powers, so please stop asking."

Abby smiled. "I hate to tell you this McGee, but you don't have any super-special-flirting ‘powers'. Particularly at a Recon 1940 convention."

He frowned blankly at her for a moment, before a small, cheeky grin spread across his lips, "Well, you always said that my - - "

"So, I dusted the broken beer bottle for fingerprints," Abby said, suddenly turning back to the screen. McGee smiled broadly. "I only found one set and they belonged to the vic."

"And the bullet?" McGee asked.

"Running it through the database now. If it was a mugging or a gang kill, we'll probably get a hit."

"No other DNA on the vic's clothing?"

"Ducky sent all of it up and the only blood belonged to Lieutenant Burke."

"No other fluids? Sweat?"

"No sweat. Although I did find residue of isovaleraldehyde, isoamyl alcohol, damascenone, phenylethanol, lupulone, humulene . . . "

"Beer and tequila."

Abby smiled. "Burke was having himself one hell of a night when he was killed. I haven't gotten the blood results back yet, so I couldn't tell you his own alcohol levels, but by the looks of everyone who was spilling their drinks on him, they'd be pretty high."

"Gibbs wants you to send off for a tox screen too. Apparently the Neon is a hotspot for spiking."

A screen behind Abby suddenly began beeping.

"We've got a hit on the bullet," Abby said, clicking the mouse.

Abby's bottom lip dropped as she stared at the screen in shock.

"What it is it?" McGee asked.

"Are you sure you didn't find any other bullets at the scene, McGee?"

"Yes. I'm positive. Why?"

Abby straightened to look at him.

"The bullet you found was fired from the Lieutenant's own gun."

"Suicide?" Burley choked. "Impossible, Gibbs."

"Because?" the voice crackled through the cell phone.

Burley flicked his overcoat out from within the car and slammed the door behind him. "Because, I said so. Harry was not suicidal."

"And what if he was?"

"And if he was, he wouldn't have done it out the back of some deadbeat nightclub."

Gibbs was silent. He knew Burley was right. Marines died with honour and pride, not with a gunshot to the heart in the middle of some putrid alley. But a profession couldn't be used as evidence.

"The evidence shows otherwise."

"The evidence shows that he was shot with his own gun, Gibbs. Doesn't mean he pulled the trigger."

"The gun was found in his hand, Stan. And there aren't any other fingerprints."

Burley stopped walking abruptly. The tension in his shoulders suddenly climbed to his neck. "You know damn well that there are a hundred other reasons why that could be."

"And suicide's a viable one of them, Stan."

Burley scowled quietly. "You know what, Gibbs, you hired me because you trusted me as an investigator. You pulled me back on to this team because you trusted my knowledge of the victim. You called to ask if I thought suicide was a viable route and I've said no. Now either accept or reject my opinion, stop pussy-footing around and let me get back to my job."

Burley hung up.

He exhaled violently and thrust his cell phone back in to his pocket.

He'd never done that before. He took a wild stab in the dark and guessed that no one had ever done that before. Gibbs hung up on you, not the other way around.

Still, Gibbs should have known better than to ask him back on to the team and not expect there to be some frustration. One of his best friends was dead, for God's sake. Harry was dead. Harry. Harry from downtown New York who was always pointing out the perfect girl for him sitting at the other end of the bar or beating him sixty-one – twelve in weekend basketball. And he was dead. And that was just - - unacceptable. An offence. Things like death didn't happen to people like Harry. Dead was permanent. No one could fix dead. Not even Gibbs. He wanted to grieve and Gibbs hadn't given him space to grieve. The killer hadn't given him space to grieve.

He was allowed to grieve. He had a right to grieve. And if making icy comments to Ducky and hanging up on Gibbs was the way he had to do it, then everyone had to wake up and damn well realise that.

Burley let a long breath escape through his nose and finally calmed himself, pulling his overcoat off as he walked into Club Neon.

The club seemed to be all one room at first glance. A huge concrete dance floor was surrounded by neon pattern-coated walls that seemed to just drift off into darkness, leaving more than a hundred square feet of space for deeds to stay hidden. Multicoloured fluorescent lights were stamped to the high ceiling and Burley could count next to fifty industrial-power studio lamps around the corners and stage that would no doubt be used for strobing.

Once your eyes had adjusted, however, it became apparent that this was merely "the commoner's" ground, the floor still slick and sticky from alcohol, and still littered with dead glow-sticks and broken heels from the night before. In the far right corner Burley could see a small, glowing red hallway leading off toward backstage. The back left had an equivalent, flooded with a lime green glow that would put Hollywood alien tractor beams to shame. As he turned to look around the room, more and more doors sporadically appeared, hidden in the shadows behind couches and booths.

He turned his attention back to the one man standing behind the bar. He looked young, no older than twenty-five, and was delicately washing out martini flutes and shot glasses.

"Special Agent Burley. NCIS." He flipped his I.D. wallet out and over.

"You're here about the dead guy out the back, right?"

"Right."

"Can't tell you much. I did serve him almost every time he was at the bar, though. That shirt was pretty hard to forget. Looked like he was in some Havana club in Cuba. Gave him rounds of five tequila shots all night. Came to the bar a few times with another guy and sometimes a really good-looking blonde chick. Don't think she was his girlfriend, though. The guy was getting pretty drunk, and unless he was gay, he would've had his hand snaking up her top within four shots."

"I don't know if Lieutenant Burke was the kind of guy to - - "

"Look, believe me Agent Burley, if you saw this girl, you'd understand."

Burley eyed the barman for a moment. If there was one thing he had picked up as his years as an agent it was that barmen and bargirls picked up on a hell of a lot more than people gave them credit for. They profiled their customers better than most professionals; they were able to tell you exactly what kind of money John Doe entered the club with, how likely he was to be pulling or puking on the dance floor, and even if Johnny Boy had gone home with Blonde #3 or Brunette #5, whether they'd seen them leave or not.

"How drunk was he?" Burley asked.

"Look, he was by no means stumbling around the floor or throwing up in the corner, but he definitely would've been heading that way had he not stopped when he did."

"And what time was that?"

"Probably around two-thirty, maybe three."

"And you never saw who he was here with?"

"Like I said, another guy and that girl came to the bar a few times with him, and he was ordering five shots at a time, but other than that, I have no idea. All I know was that he had a damn good time while he was inside."

- - - -

Ducky looked worn. His field examination of the body had been clipped and concise, with no divergences in the flow of thought, and that, if nothing else, had told Gibbs that the case was taking its toll on him. Or at least Burley was taking his toll on him. He'd heard Burley's remark before they'd left the crime scene.

Hell, he could sympathise. He only had to find the bodies. Ducky was the one who had to cut them open, had to be shut in with them for hours in autopsy, and his refusal to let them be just empty flesh multiplied the problem. Ducky didn't see a shell. He saw a young man, still there, still present. And then he had to reach in and cut out his torn and mangled heart.

Gibbs could never have done it. There was a reason Ducky was one of the best men he knew.

"It is possible, Jethro. The angle of the bullet's trajectory is consistent with the Lieutenant having fired upon himself. Although, in my professional opinion, it's still far less likely - - "

"What else did you find, Duck?"

Ducky sighed. "Internally, his body was the picture of perfect health. A non-smoker, heart was in good order. Even his liver was far less damaged than most men his age. An average marine."

"And externally?"

"The beating that the Lieutenant received was indeed inflicted before his death. You can see here," Ducky pointed to the X-Ray on the light-board, "mild amounts of internal bleeding and a very small level of cerebral haemorrhaging. Although, they weren't the cause of his death. As I suspected, that prize went to the bullet wound." Ducky paused quickly, as if stopping to form his next sentence. "I can also tell you now that whoever did this had training, Jethro. The blows to his chest and head were selective and precise. There are hardly any wayward bruises on his shoulders or the neck. In a usual beating or mugging, the bruising is messy and sporadic, spread out all over the body. These injuries are consistent with an attacker who knew exactly where to hit. Specific ribs. The temple. The base of the skull."

"Military training?" Gibbs asked.

"I couldn't say. Although there is one other thing I need to show you . . . "

Ducky picked up Burke's right arm by the wrist and twisted the hand around to face Gibbs. He pointed at the knuckles. "There are hardly any defensive wounds anywhere on his hands or arms. And neither myself nor Mr. Palmer could find any scrapings from under his nails. If the victim struggled, he didn't begin until it was far too late."

"Also consistent with a suicide, Duck."

Ducky sighed. "Jethro, I believe you're coming off as rather cold-hearted to Agent Burley at the moment. I don't see why you're so adamant that the lieutenant committed - - "

"Ducky, I am not the one being adamant. I am following the trail that the evidence leaves us, not relying on friends' opinions to sway my own. Yes, I brought Stan back because he has insight into the victim's life. No, I'm not going to base our entire investigation on every word that he says about him."

Ducky paused and looked softly at Gibbs. The man was right. Gibbs wasn't being cold. He was just doing his job.

Ducky sighed. "Well, if indeed it was a suicide, then yes. The lack of wounding is consistent. But if it was a murder - - "

" - - Then he didn't fight back," Gibbs finished, already stepping through the sliding doors.

- - - -

"Okay," Tony said, flicking the plasma on. "So we have Lieutenant Harrison Burke. Thirty-four. Marine. Heir to Daddy's publishing empire. Shot out the back of Club Neon on Saturday morning. Ducky confirms time-of-death to be approximately three am."

"Right," Kate replied, getting up from her desk. She walked to Tony's side in front of the plasma. "Now let's just say, for theory's sake, it wasn't suicide." She looked gently at Burley, who was leaning against Gibbs' desk. He returned a soft smile. "We know that he got in at around midnight. So that means, within the space of those three hours, he met someone who wanted him dead."

"Or they could've come in with him," Burley answered, crossing his arms. "Bartender said that he was ordering rounds of five shots all night. He was there with four other people. We know at least one male and one female and that the woman wasn't his girlfriend."

"You trust the bartender that much?" Tony asked.

"I trust my gut, DiNozzo. Harry didn't go for blondes."

Tony sneered. "Well, if we don't know who she is, then that might be a place to start, Agent Burley."

"The sketch artist is already at the club working on it, Agent DiNozzo." Burley grinned.

"Nice work, Stan," Gibbs said, striding into the bullpen. "Get an I.D. on the male as well?"

"Again, sketch artist is working on it. Keep in mind it was midnight on a Saturday, Gibbs. Barman's never going to give a perfect picture of either of them while all the music and drinks and lights were going on around them."

"Well, that's why we need to get something to compare it to," Gibbs said, taking a seat at his desk. "If this was a murder, I wanna know why the hell a marine wasn't fighting back against his own attacker." He paused and looked over his shoulder. "McGee!" he shouted.

McGee shot out from behind a laptop sitting on his desk.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"I . . . uh, I'm trying to get into the lieutenant's computer?"

"And?"

"Well," he looked toward Burley with a apologetic frown, "If he was suicidal, he may have written something in a blog or ordered medication over the internet. . ."

"I don't want to hear what you're looking for, McGee, I want to hear what you've found."

"Well, so far nothing, boss."

Gibbs dropped his elbow to the desk heavily and turned to glare at him.

"Boss, Burke's hard drive's been encrypted."

"Well . . . " Gibbs waved a hand around in the air. "Uncrypt it."

"It's not that easy, Gibbs. The encryption coding on here is pretty sophisticated. He's using a sixty-four bit . . . " McGee looked up from his screen and saw four pale-blank faces staring down at him. "It's uh . . . "

"Can you work with Abby?" Gibbs asked.

"I can do just about anything you want with Abby."

DiNozzo made a lurching noise. "Probie!"

"But to be fair - - " McGee continued.

" - - and not disgusting," Tony added.

" - - it'll still take hours to crack this kind of coding."

Gibbs paused. "You've got two."

McGee quickly snatched up the laptop and began moving toward the elevator.

Gibbs turned back to the three other agents. "Stan, why the hell does a marine lieutenant have software on his computer that's able to keep my top computer forensic specialist out?"

"I don't know, boss," Stan answered, quickly standing to attention. "He could have had files pertaining to delicate operations in Iraq . . ."

"Hasn't been involved with one since January."

"Could've been need-to-know."

"I know what's need-to-know," Gibbs said, standing slowly to Burley's eye-level.

"Gibbs could get access to the dead aliens at Area 51, Burley," DiNozzo said quietly, yet still with a hint of smugness.

"I know what Gibbs has access to, DiNozzo."

"Well then maybe - - "

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs suddenly shouted. Tony's head snapped around.

"Yes, boss."

"I said I wanted to know everything about anyone he knows. Why do I still not have interview reports from his brother and sister sitting neatly piled on my desk?"

"Well, Gibbs, see there was a slight problem with that," Kate said, taking a step toward him.

"And in what way would that be, Agent Todd?"

"In the way that - - " she looked desperately to Tony for help. Tony held up his hands defensively; she wasn't getting any from him. "Gibbs, we can't find any record of a Dean or Emma Burke."

"Why the hell not?" Gibbs growled.

Kate began to loosely open and close her mouth, as if she were trying to say something but the words just weren't coming out.

Burley sighed and stepped in quickly. "Both Dean and Emma have lived and worked under aliases for the last six or seven years, Gibbs," he said. "I'd met them a few times when I'd gone out with Harry. They don't like to keep any connection with their father's name."

"So what name are they connected to?"

"I don't know, boss. They never told me."

Gibbs stared fiercely at the three agents standing in front of him.

"So . . . " Burley stammered. "I'm . . . going to . . . go through their past social security numbers, past employment records . . ."

"No you're not."

"I'm not?"

"You're coming with me," Gibbs grabbed his overcoat and stepped out from behind his desk. He began walking toward the elevator. "We are going to take a quick trip down to your old office. Kate, Tony, if I don't have Dean and Emma Burke's aliases, locations, occupations, and even what they put on their toast in the morning on my desk by the time I get back, you two will want to be out of here so fast you'll be asking what names you can change your own to."

They had secured the Senator's offices badly. There should have been more space left around the building. Instead, the area lined off by police officers and security guards was claustrophobic, and the media outside were using up all the air. Microphones and had been shoved into Gibbs and Burley's faces as soon as they had stepped from the car, all of them recognising the blank vehicle and overcoats and shouting their names. Burley had ducked through the flashes and jumble of cameras and wires to make it out, obviously experienced in this field. Gibbs looked ahead of him. Burley had already switched to press mode, and seemingly aware he was more experienced in this arena and leading Gibbs behind him, began weaving heavily through the pressing journalists and mixing between charismatic smile and humourless investigator. They had seemed to know Burley well, better than the media should know any ordinary senator's ex-aide.

The two agents finally emerged from the mess and began walking toward the building's elaborate revolving door. "Tell me you didn't say anything to them, Gibbs," Burley said, stepping up inside the building. He'd seen Gibbs in action against the press and he wanted to make sure that off all cases, this wasn't the one affected by it.

"One asked me about a conspiracy and a cheating mother and then - - some story about a drug problem that I didn't really understand. It may have also involved an illegitimate sister."

"You'll get used to it," Burley said, smiling.

"Death shouldn't be entertainment, Stan. I hope I never do."

Burley stepped in to the elevator ahead of Gibbs, who followed authoritatively. Burley leant over and pressed the fifth floor button. The elevator doors stayed open, waiting for those few more passengers that it didn't know weren't coming.

"You miss this place, Stan?"

"Certain things about it," Burley said, looking toward the top of the door, waiting.

"Your boss?"

Neither seemed to be willing to look at the other.

"Only when I worked for you." Burley finally smiled.

Gibbs smiled back.

The elevator doors finally closed.

Without a pause, Burley instantly switched to back to investigator mode as he stepped out on to the fifth floor. "NCIS," he said, walking over to the young receptionist. Burley didn't recognise her, but then again, David tended to change receptionists as often as he changed his bed sheets.

She smiled sweetly, almost too sugary for either of their tastes. "Senator Burke has been expecting you, Agents. He's the first door on the left."

Gibbs and Burley nodded their thanks and began walking down the hall.

The whole place smelled like cigarettes and mothballs, although no one they'd seen so far seemed to be smoking and neither of them had noticed any cupboards or drawers lying around that desperately called out to be cleansed of a moth infestation. It did, however, give the building a certain sense of age, and neither Gibbs nor Burley felt like it was a crowd that they readily fitted into.

As they had stepped out of the cold, silver elevator, they had both instantly noted the transformation from October-painted walls and plasterboard reception desks to crimson patterned carpeting and rich mahogany timber. Olive and maroon leather-bound legal textbooks seemed to bound the walls of every office they walked past, seemingly unused since their purchase as they collected layer upon layer of dust and grime, reflecting the wearying men sitting at their desks in front of them.

For over ten years, Burley had called this building his life. From sharpening pencils to scribing transcripts to typing up proposals for the Senate, he would follow close on the heels of David, or whoever else he happened to be working for at the time, like an overgrown puppy. It would have been frustrating for them if the kid hadn't been as good as he was or hadn't been practically been stumbling over his own feet in his eagerness to impress and climb.

The only times Gibbs had worked with Senators was when they had been ex-marines. Any other stories he'd heard from co-workers had involved long, drawn out investigations, lack of co-operation and striking amounts of arrogance and self-importance. Senators in Washington were known for their climbing abilities, and there was a reason why many had fallen off the ladder as they'd stepped to the next sprung.

With all this information at bay, Gibbs had walked into David Burke's office expecting to see a silver-haired, double-breasted suit and tie, already walking toward them with a hand outstretched waiting to be accepted. Instead, the man sat there stiffly, looking civilian and mussed in his crinkled suit and worked-down tie, a glass of scotch clenched between his fingers.

He did however, stand slowly with a pained smile to welcome Stan as he entered the room. He walked out from behind his desk, drew Burley's hand in to a shake and threw his other arm around Stan's shoulders, pulling him into somewhat of an embrace.

"Hey, boss," Burley said.

"It's good to see you again, Stan," Burke said, removing his arm from around the agent's shoulders. "I only wish it were under better circumstances." Burke had almost been youthful before today; sudden lines and a cherry pink smear had been added to the corners of his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, David," Burley said.

"It's good to know that you'll be assisting on the case," Burke said. He sighed heavily, the breath coming out a little unsteadily. He rested his rear against the edge of his thick timber desk and extended his hand to the two seats in front of him, offering them to the agents.

"I guess you should be thanking him for convincing me to join the Service," Burley replied, taking a seat. Gibbs followed.

"Yes," Burke smiled. "Harry always did think that you were in the wrong line-of-work. I honestly hope he was right."

Burley smiled softly.

"We're very sorry for your loss, Senator," Gibbs said.

"I don't think I have the time for you to be considerate, Agents," Burke said, dropping his glass to the table. "Ask me what you need to. I've done my bit for the press and I'd like to get home to my wife as soon as possible."

Burley looked toward Gibbs who nodded his ‘go ahead'.

"Please," Burke said. "I'll tell you anything I can to help you find my son's killer."

"We're not sure if it was a murder, Senator," Gibbs said. He could feel Burley's glare bearing straight into the side of his head. He ignored it.

"What are you suggesting my son's death was then, Agent Gibbs?" Burke suddenly sat a little straighter.

"Your son was fatally wounded from a gunshot. The bullet found belonged to Harrison's own service weapon."

Burke's eyes clouded over and his body was swiftly raised from the desk. "Are you suggesting that my son committed suicide?" He looked to Burley to confirm or deny his question. Burley looked sympathetically toward him. Gibbs stayed silent.

"I can tell you now that my son's death was not a suicide, Gibbs. I want to know who the hell killed him!" Burke's words suddenly choked in his throat. He exhaled and pressed the heel of his hand to his face, fingers wiping ineffectually against his eyes.

Agreement was the only route Gibbs figured he could take: Burke could not be comforted and would not respond to any syrupy attempts at conciliation. He could never have gotten closer by apologizing; it meant nothing that he was sorry for Burke's loss. It would have to be enough that he and his old colleague, his friend, were there. He couldn't offer solace that was better than agreement.

"Okay, Senator, what about you? Do you know anyone who might've wanted to use your son to get to you?"

Burke's smile was perfect, graceless. "The list is over a hundred pages long."

It was probably true, but still, something tugged at him.

"Is there anyone that stands out in particular? Political opponents, protestors?" Burley asked.

"Not really." He sighed. "None stupid enough to risk that kind of a blow to their name if caught. And none willing to commit a murder to do so."

"What about Osiris?" Gibbs asked. "Your son was the heir to the company. Any opponents or colleagues that would've wanted him out of the picture?"

Burke sat back down on the edge of his desk. "As much as the media make out that we are, not everyone at the top of the commercial world is a tyrant, Agent Gibbs. Any opponents I have are also with me on a Friday night at the local bar. The only person I've pissed off lately has been . . . But that's not even worth discussing . . ."

"What's not?"

"In a few days we were due to sign a merger with Taylor Square Productions. It was about to put the Saturn Network out of the picture in terms of advertising. Harry was a signatory to the deal. It's obviously not going ahead now because of . . . this . . . but Roy wasn't the kind to take to - - "

"Roy . . . " Gibbs prodded.

"Roy Stein. CEO of Saturn. But, Agent Gibbs, it's a route that I can honestly say isn't worth pursuing . . . "

"If it leads me to your son's killer, Senator, I think I'll be the judge of that."

- - - -

Tony woke up staring at the tiny clock on his phone, which told him that it was five-fifty in the afternoon and that Kate had let him sleep for ten minutes more than he should have. He shifted and almost fell from his chair as he straightened. The banging and cluttering around from across the room had to be Kate, and he knew that she was doing it deliberately to wake him up. Still, the precious few minutes of sleep had put him in a good humour, even if they hadn't taken away his exhaustion, so he was willing enough to not throw any paperclips at her. Just yet.

He rearranged his shirt, smoothing down wrinkles, and wiped a smudge of tomato sauce of his sleeve, where it had apparently come to rest next to his second burger of the day. He looked up, hoping that Kate would be a little rumpled herself, and knowing that she wouldn't be. She was shuffling papers and files around her desk with a phone pressed to her ear.

"Get anything yet?" he asked her.

"I might have if there were two agents trying," she replied, not taking her eyes off a file in her hand.

Tony grinned through heavy eyelids. "Nothing in the parent's wills? No voting registration files?"

Kate dropped a tax return from ninety-nine down on to the desk. "Nothing."

"Okay, so we've done - - "

"I've done - - "

Tony glared at her. " - - universities, social security numbers . . . "

"Employment records, inheritance information, hospital records, everything. It's like they've both legally changed their names without any paperwork to show it. I guess a word in from the senator might have helped them disappear."

Dinozzo sighed and pressed a hand to his face, cutting his profile into two jagged pieces. "You know, back in Baltimore we were always told to record any aliases or name changes. And the way their mother talked about them, you'd think that they'd at least have robbed a few Easy Marts, been picked up for dope a few times. Maybe we should check out some police reports."

Kate looked up. "You know, that's not bad idea, DiNozzo. You can have moments of brilliance when you want to."

Tony grinned boyishly. "Moments?"

"Well, you couldn't strain your brain all the time could you?" She smiled wickedly. "Something might break."

"I think a few things already have," Gibbs said, walking back into the bullpen. Burley followed closely in tow. "Now tell me you've not spent three hours worried about the sturdiness of DiNozzo's brain."

Tony leapt from his seat. "Well, we haven't got anything yet, boss. I just thought that we should try checking some police reports for aliases and . . . "

Gibbs stopped walking and turned back to glare at him.

" . . . and I should've thought to do that three hours ago," Tony said, returning sheepishly to his desk.

"Burley," Gibbs continued. "I want you to check out this Stein guy. Everything about the Saturn Network on my desk within the hour. DiNozzo, Todd, you find Dean and Emma and interview them tonight."

Gibbs grabbed a file from his desk and began walking toward the elevator.

Tony took a seat behind his desk and pulled out a stack of files. "It'll take forever to go through these. We'll be interviewing them at four in the morning."

"Maybe if you'd had your moment of brilliance a little earlier we wouldn't be," Kate replied.

"Maybe if you'd had any moments of brilliance - - "

"Well it was a bit hard to concentrate with the snoring coming from across the room - - "

"I do not snore - - "

"Oh, please."

" - - that loudly . . . "

"Guys," Burley said. "I think I've got something for you - - "

The two agents continued to bicker over the top of him.

"The Director could've heard you, Tony - - "

Burley threw a robbery from eighty-nine at Tony's head before any words came out of his mouth. Tony looked over to him, poison flashing through his eyes.

"I said I found something, Tony," Burley said. "Cocaine bust in two thousand and five. Called himself Dean Westwood."

Tony was already standing and reaching for the drawer with his I.D. and weapon. "Address?"

Kate pulled the file up on her own computer screen. "Told the cops he was living with a girlfriend at the time . . . "

"Where'd they pick him up?" Tony asked.

"A park downtown. Why?" Kate asked.

"He'll change his girlfriend more often than he changes his pickup joint," Tony said, throwing his jacket over his shoulder.

Kate collected her own gun. "What? You think we should go to the park?"

"DiNozzo's right, Kate," Burley said. Tony smiled at her. "It's a Saturday evening. He'll be going out tonight. LSD, Eccies. Might get lucky."

Kate holstered her weapon and smiled wickedly at Tony. "Too bad you won't be tonight, DiNozzo."

"Never know," he smiled. "Women find men who visit the park a turn on, Katie."

Kate snarled and pulled on her jacket.

"I'm driving - - "

"I'm driving - - "

Their voices came out over the top of each other before they both bolted for the set of keys sitting on Gibbs' desk.

Thirty seconds into the drive, Kate was grateful that she'd picked a vending machine with bottles instead of cans, because without the option of sealing her drink, she would have had citrus-flavored clothes before Tony had made it out of the parking lot. Perhaps he was trying to show off that he had a stronger grip when it came to car keys, or maybe he'd just driven too much with Gibbs. She settled for clenching white-knuckled hands around her knees and trying to remember whether she had ever cleaned up her will and testament after moving to DC. If she had stuck it in the closet along with her old squash racket, it would probably take an archaeological expedition to unearth it, and all of her money would end up going to Jews for Jesus, or the YMCA.

"Now, Kate, I want you to let me do most of the talking with this guy. I've worked drug cases before. You got to handle junkies in a certain way - - "

"You think I couldn't handle myself with a drug addict?" Kate retorted.

"Might be a dealer now. I just don't know if you know what questions to ask."

"I'm trained as a profiler, Tony. I know how to get what I want out of someone."

"Why doesn't Gibbs let you do more interrogations then?"

"Because unlike some, I don't need regular inflations of my ego."

Tony scoffed. They strolled briskly across the park, hands swinging side by side. It was already half past six but animated children, still too young to attend school, still ran across the pathway in front of them, bouncing balls and throwing sticks to dogs, whether they owned them or not. The grass around them was bright green, basking in the warm red glow of dusk.

A few hundred feet away stood the basketball courts, filled with groups of guys enthusiastically passing the ball around. The youthful players, clad in clammy multicolour sweaters, stood out against the melancholy concrete of the court. One of them dribbled the ball nimbly past his friends and shot it into the tatty, chained hoop.

The two agents walked through the crosshatched fences toward a group of guys bouncing some balls off-court. They looked at the two like they were tourists.

"Hi," Kate said. "Is Dean down today?"

"Dean who?" a young blond man replied.

"Dean Westwood. We've been told he hangs out here," Tony stepped in.

"So do lots of people."

"Brown hair. About twenty-nine," Kate clarified.

The guy flipped his hand towards the players on the court, some swinging the ball wildly, some not: "Take your pick."

"Thanks for your help, fellas," Tony smiled, sarcastically.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a guy called Dean, brown hair, about twenty-nine," Kate asked as she strode toward the next huddle of men.

"What about one called Eric, dark, ‘bout twenty-five?" said a dark guy, about twenty-five.

"No, thanks. Smart arses aren't my style," she replied, with a smirk. Tony laughed, intaking a sharp breath.

The guy snarled his lips and flipped a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a guy jogging off the court.

The man had a basketball under his arm and was grinning from ear to ear, his green eyes sparkling. His cheeks were flushed pink and his forehead was beaded with sweat. His skin was tanned, and the muscles on his bare arms glinted moistly in the evening light. Dean Westwood was devastatingly handsome, in an after-shave commercial kind of way. And he knew it. And he looked nothing like a Coke junkie.

"Dean Westwood?" Tony asked.

"Who wants to know?" he said, wiping an arm over his brow.

"Agent DiNozzo, Agent Todd," Kate said. "NCIS."

"Oh, man, my brother told me about you guys. I think it was you guys. You're like CSI but you work on dead sailors, right?" He smiled.

"Something like that," Tony replied grimly.

Dean was four inches shorter than Tony and it clearly frustrated him; he kept drawing himself up to the balls of his feet to make eye contact. Under normal circumstances, Tony would have drawn himself up to his full height just to be contrary, but he wouldn't want to be on the other end of the news Dean was about to receive, so instead he rounded his shoulders, slumped, and lost two inches. Disguise without decoration. Why use props when he was this good without them?

"We need to ask you about your brother."

"Why are you asking me about my brother?"

"He's dead," Tony answered.

In the space of half a second, so was the air between them. Kate watched as the blood immediately drained out of Dean's face and his boyish features suddenly grew old and ashen.

"Ha . . . Harry's dead?" Dean stammered.

His voice had been a combination of fear and shock. Kate nodded gently.

"I . . . When . . . did he . . . ?"

"Friday night. He was found out the back of Club Neon. Shot."

Dean suddenly looked as if he'd just lost his balance and sat quickly on a nearby bench. Tony and Kate stayed standing.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Tony asked.

"I, uh . . . I was there with him. At the club that night. We went out for a few drinks. A bit of fun. I figured he'd just hooked a girl or gone home or something after a few hours."

"You two are still in contact regularly?" Kate asked.

"You've talked to my parents," he stated bluntly.

Tony and Kate were silent.

"It was the first time I'd seen Harry since he'd gotten back from Iraq. I know my mother told him to keep away from me, but Harry and I were still tight."

"Anything about him seem strange to you? Any odd behaviour?" Tony asked.

"Mmm, no . . . not as far as I can remember. Although . . . " He stopped abruptly.

"Although what?" Kate asked.

This time it was Dean who cleared his throat, looking uneasy. Dean looked away and watched as a friend shot and missed the hoop, before he replied. "I'm sure you've read my files, agents."

"We're not here to bust you on drugs, Dean," Tony said. "We just want to know about Harrison."

Dean sighed. "I had a bit of an altercation with my dealer that night, at the club. Harry was there and managed to wheedle me out of it. But they were pretty pissed at me. I just . . . Oh my, God. I . . . They might've . . . You mean, Harry's dead because of . . ?"

"Pissed enough to bring it back up outside?" Tony asked.

Dean rubbed at his eyes ineffectually. "Maybe. Yes, I guess. I'd be surprised if they hadn't. But I don't know if it would've lead to a murder - - "

"What kind of an altercation was it?"

"The usual. I didn't pay on time. Harry paid them there but told them that I'd never be dealing with them again. They weren't happy."

"You still stayed at the club though?"

"A few drinks and some crack relaxes you a bit." He smiled painfully.

"Harry as well?" Tony asked, taken aback.

"You didn't know?" he stammered. "I, uh . . . I don't think my parents would want to know about his . . . bad habit."

"They might not have to," Kate replied.

Dean slumped a little, letting his arms dangle over his bent knees, looking back at the court and the players left on it. Slowly he started to speak. "Look, I wasn't the one to get him into it. He had a tough time in Afghanistan and a marine buddy hooked him up with it a few times. He wasn't a user. Just a party-popper. With him it was . . . manageable. He wasn't addicted. He was healthy. He didn't hang out on street corners."

"Who else were you there with that night?" Tony asked.

"There were two guys already there with Harry when I got there. I didn't talk to them much, so I couldn't even tell you their names. But I think Harry worked with them. Through Osiris, I mean. They weren't marines. They were suits. And Emma was there too."

"Your sister?" Tony asked. "We need to have a chat with her too."

"Good luck," Dean said. "She works at The Crimson."

The two agents looked at him to give a little more information.

"The Crimson?" Dean said, disbelieving. "Neither of you have ever worked a case that lead you to The Crimson? Johnny Keller?" He scoffed. "There's no way in hell a fed will get through his door. Let alone talk to one of his girls."

"Well, it's lucky we're not feds then," Tony smiled.

- - - -

Abby flipped a pigtail over her shoulder. "I know why he didn't fight back."

"Burke?" Gibbs asked. "You know why he didn't struggle?"

"Ducky sent me the stomach contents to see if he'd been drugged. We were lucky. One of the few that remains in the body for up to seven days." She moved to the computers and pulled something up on the screen, some unrecognisable chemical compound. Gibbs counted elements: nitrogen, hydrogen, carbon, oxygen . . . "It's Phenobarbital," she said. "Also known as - -"

"Luminal," he said.

"Very good, Gibbs. Have you been stealing my textbooks again?"

"Blacks. Dolls. I've worked a few overdoses before." He looked at the seemingly harmless link of chemicals. "Probably slipped into his drink, though." He had wanted something better than a readily-available sedative; something definitive that would scream a suspect's name. "Thanks, Abby."

"Don't walk away from me when I'm still speaking to you, Gibbs." Abby smiled.

Gibbs stopped and turned back. "What else you got?"

"I got the fax from the sketch artist. Burley confirms it as Harry's brother and sister. They were definitely there with him." She handed him an envelope. "You know, I love George. You should really work with him more often, Gibbs. I'd want him sketching me if I got killed by someone." She smiled seductively.

"No one will ever lay a finger on you, Abs."

"Aw, thanks, Gibbs. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"So does that crap you drink and it's never going to save your life."

"Caff-Pow has life saving abilities, Gibbs. It once stopped some acid McGee spilt from getting to my - - "

"Thanks, Abs," Gibbs trailed, already walking toward the door.

"Don't assume that's all I have," she said, holding up a warning finger.

He obediently stopped. "I give you full marks for showmanship."

"Well, technically it's what McGee has." She nodded toward the agent crouched over the desk behind her. "I just like getting all the credit for the collective effort of the underlings."

"I'm not your underling," McGee said from the table behind them. The laptop was still sitting in front him with a mess of colourful cables and wires leading to Abby's computer.

"You'll always be my underling, McGee," Abby smiled.

"What did you find, McGee?" Gibbs asked, cutting her short.

"Uh, I was able to partially hack into Burke's hard drive. I'm working on trying to recreate a virtual copy of everything to see if I can access the motherboard's - - "

"McGee," Abby whispered. "Gibbs doesn't speak geek."

McGee's bottom lip dropped. "I, uh . . . I still haven't accessed everything yet, but I found some files on his computer that I'm trying to print out now."

"Spit it out, McGee."

"They're all evidence files, boss. Burke was acting as a silent informant for the FBI."

Gibbs stared at him. "Who was he providing information on?"

"The Osiris Corporation. He was ratting out his own company, Gibbs."

"I love my job!" Tony shouted, standing from behind his desk.

Kate rolled her eyes. "You've got to be kidding me, Gibbs."

"We need to talk to his sister and his brother's dealer, Kate," Gibbs said, taking his gun from his desk. "Johnny Keller wasn't just Emma's boss. He's Dean's dealer as well. I want to know what happened that night. And I don't think you're going to pass for a customer in a strip club."

Kate scoffed. "Well, why DiNozzo? Why not Burley? McGee?"

"DiNozzo's our best undercover operative. Besides, Stan's going to be there to baby-sit."

"Great," Burley mumbled. "I get to spend the night slapping DiNozzo's hands away from girls' bare legs?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "You might also think about trying to do your job while you're there."

"Can we drink, boss?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. Coke."

"Gonna look kind of suspicious if we're not drinking at a club, boss."

"Gonna look kind of suspicious if you're desk's empty by the time you get back here, DiNozzo."

Tony's lips quickly snapped shut.

Kate continued. "Alcohol won't make a difference. As if Tony's going to be able to concentrate anyway - - "

"We could send you in as a dancer if you'd like, Agent Todd," Gibbs interrupted. "Apparently Keller's bouncers let some in each night out the back."

"I'd be up for that." Tony grinned wickedly.

Kate walked over to him, leant into his face and sent an icy glare. "I have training, DiNozzo. I can hurt you."

He smiled boyishly. "Well, you know that could work in your favour in a place like The Crimson."

- - - -

DiNozzo and Burley stepped out of the van, leaving Kate, McGee and Gibbs inside, wedged uncomfortably between monitors and keyboards and a whole range of other surveillance equipment of which none of them had any idea to use.

It was a cold night now, and both undercover agents pulled their jackets quickly around their bodies as their feet slipped unheeded into the puddles from the evening showers.

"Come on, Burley, you're not the least bit excited for this op?" Tony said, grinning through the cold.

"I'm trying to find Harry's killer, DiNozzo. I'm not here for a night out."

"Yeah, but technically, when you think about it, you're just getting both in one." Tony smiled, smoothing down his shirt.

He heard McGee's voice crackle through his earpiece. "Tony, would you stop fidgeting with your hair and smelling your breath? You're screwing up the communication equipment."

"Sorry, McGeek," Tony said quietly. "But do you want me to pass for a realistic customer or not?"

"Tony, would you just keep your mind on the case," Burley said beside him. "I'll identify Emma, we'll take her aside and question. Please don't make this last any longer than we have to."

Gibbs' voice suddenly came through the earwig. "Don't do anything stupid, DiNozzo."

"Like what, boss?" Tony asked incredulously.

"Blow your cover. Or get yourself killed."

"Yeah," Tony said, now a little concerned. "I'd like to try and avoid that too, boss."

The two agents walked casually up to the club's door. The Crimson was by far the seediest, and yet somehow the classiest looking strip joint that DiNozzo had ever seen. And that was saying something. It projected an air of panache and originality, starting right with the name. No cutesy title like "The Playground" or "The Tramps". Nothing that just screamed "See Naked Women Here". "The Crimson" was written in blood red letters across the top of the brick wall, lined with an aluminium and jet black trim. No flashing neon. Just a fluid cerise bulb.

A very large bouncer pressed a firm hand against DiNozzo's chest as he began to enter the club. "You on the list?" he asked.

Tony's eyes widened slightly, trying to cover his horror. "Uh . . . "

"So, no," the bouncer answered immediately. "You'll take the side door. Ground rules first. You get enthusiastic about giving tips to any of the dancers, and I reserve the right to give you the same treatment. Secondly, you insist on offering money to her to get her to make out with another dancer, she reserves the right to offer you money to do the same with your little buddy here." He nodded in Stan's direction.

Now it was Stan's turn to freeze in horror. "I don't think you have to worry about that happening tonight," he growled in Tony's direction.

Tony swallowed hard and smiled weakly toward the bouncer. He stepped into the side door behind Stan. Most strip clubs he'd visited seemed to work under the assumption that it was eternally 1985, with lots of pleather, lots of mirrors, interior decorating done by the House of Stallone, with consulting by Liberace and Bros, Inc. The Crimson was low-key, much like any other "regular" nightclub, with low lights, tables and chairs, a mahogany bar and an elevated stage. There were no animal prints, the name of the club wasn't spelled out in neon tubing anywhere. The only indication or reference to the fact you were in fact inside The Crimson was the high flooded lights spilling the same blood red colour from outside all around the room.

Within a matter of seconds, DiNozzo's face had melted to a heavenly look of pleasure. "Oh. My. God."

A tall, rich-skinned brunette sauntered slowly up to him, dressed in a black lace corset and stockings. She wrapped an elegant arm around his neck. "Hey, handsome. Welcome to The Crimson." She leant over and gave Burley the same introduction, not smiling, although her eyes glinting playfully. Tony dry swallowed, his eyes wide with hunger and his mouth slightly open in shock. Even Stan's eyes had begun to gloss over. His words choked in his throat before he quickly coughed to clear them. DiNozzo was too preoccupied with the room around him and what was inside it to even notice his partner's apparent faltering undercover special agent status. He sent a brimming smile toward the brunette, before he allowed her to lead him out into the room. Stan followed quickly after.

"DiNozzo." Gibbs' voice rustled through Tony's earpiece. Tony didn't hear him. His eyes and ears were fixated upon a half-naked blonde woman strolling lazily by the bar.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked.

"Hunh?" Tony's voice was heavy and clouded. "Wha... Yeah, I'm here, boss," Tony said dreamily as the blonde walked by him.

"For God's sake, DiNozzo, keep your voice down!"

Tony watched as the woman walked behind a curtain out toward the back.

"DiNozzo! Do you want to have a job at eight tomorrow morning?"

Tony finally snapped out of it. "What? Sorry, yes, boss. I'm clear. We're inside."

"Gee, I couldn't tell." Gibbs' voice was laced with sarcasm. "Now find Emma. And find out what the hell is wrong with Burley's earwig, he's not answering."

Tony looked over to the bar. Burley was sitting there with, what he assumed was, a lemonade in his hand, watching a short redhead climbing the bar, fetching drinks, with a broad, dumb grin on his face. "He's uh . . . He's gotten himself a drink. It looks like his earpiece has . . . fallen out behind the bar or something." DiNozzo winced at his attempt at a cover up.

"Jesus, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You don't think I can't tell when you're lying by now?"

"I'll just get him, boss." Tony grimaced and walked over to the bar and stood next to Burley. The other agent leaned back in his chair as he watched the girl reach once more for a dark alcohol-filled bottle, a small smile forming below those absurd, entirely unnecessary pair of sunglasses.

"We're inside a club, Burley. Take those ridiculous things off." Tony ripped the pair of sunglasses off Burley's face, which seemed to catch his attention. "Gibbs wants to know why you're not reffing back to him." He whispered so that only Burley could hear.

"What? Oh . . . damn it," he coughed. "My earwig must be . . . "

"Please don't start apologising for having testosterone running through your blood, Burley. The only person I know who could make himself completely oblivious at a place like this would be Gibbs. Actually, that's not true. McGee probably could too."

"Hey!" McGee yelled through DiNozzo's earpiece.

"Sorry, Probie. Of course you couldn't. If the girls were dancing on fifteen by fifteen foot plasma screens with high definition audio and six point one surround sound."

He could almost hear McGee's brow furrow in frustration. DiNozzo smiled. "Now, Burley. Time for business. I say you go for the Amazonian looking brunette in that far left corner," Tony nodded his head in the direction.

"DiNozzo, seriously, I think we need to - - "

"Agent Burley, do you really think we're going to pull off two casual strip club customers if we don't show a little interest in the product?"

Burley glared at him. "Fine. At least it's on record that it's your idea and not mine."

"You see Emma," Tony began, "and you come . . . "

His words suddenly dropped off as he felt a soft hand slip up his inner thigh.

He looked up to see a girl with honey-coloured hair, and with eyes so blue that Tony felt like taking his clothes off and diving in. "You, uh . . . you come . . . get me . . . " he trailed as the girl lifted him from his seat, smiling. "Maybe . . . If I'm not otherwise . . . occupied . . . "

Tony smiled toward the girl's back as she led him over to and gently pushed him down into a chair. His grin broadened as she slowly stretched a leg either side of his hips so his nose was almost pressing into her belly-button. He tilted his head back and looked up into those eyes again, letting his mouth loll open. His eyes glistened as he watched her lean down in to his ear.

"Now, what the hell are you doing in a place like this, cowboy?" she whispered.

Tony laughed silently and his grin widened even further, if that was possible. He cocked his head backward in pleasure as the girl slowly began nuzzling her nose and lips between his neck and jaw line.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"What's your's?" he replied in a gravely voice.

She tilted her head to look at him, letting a small smile creep across her plush lips, and wrapped one of her legs down and around his. She slowly slid into his lap and slipped her arms around him. "Victoria," she said softly, still looking deeply into his eyes. Her hands travelled down his back, over his shoulder blades, sliding in a ladder pattern down his spine.

"Ah." It was more an exhalation of breath than an actual acknowledgement from Tony's end. "Pretty name."

Her eyes bore into his playfully as she hooked some of her fingers up underneath Tony's shirt and let them begin working their way up his sides. She felt his hips buckle underneath her and heard the almost silent, throaty moan vibrate throughout his chest. Her smile twitched at the effect she was having on her customer.

A voice crackled through Tony's earpiece. "I'm not paid enough to do this job." He wasn't focused enough to even comprehend who it belonged to.

Victoria gently pushed downward onto Tony's lap, grinding further into him, forcing him to release an even louder groan of satisfaction and his eyes to begin clouding over. He was breathing heavily now, his breaths more panting than steady.

"Do you know if . . . " he began. Victoria began running a hand through his hair and forced his head backward so that she was now looking down onto his face. DiNozzo smiled in wonder at those eyes once more. "Do you know if . . . " he breathed.

"If what?" she asked sweetly.

"If . . . any girls . . . named Emma work here?"

Victoria suddenly stopped her petting, looking down at him with a hurt expression in her eyes. "Fine then. If you don't want . . . " She began to remove herself from Tony's body.

"No, no, no, no!" DiNozzo said, grabbing her around the hips and pulling her in again. "I didn't mean that. I meant . . . "

"What?" Victoria asked.

"I, uh . . . " Tony furrowed his brow in desperation. "I think I know her . . . ?" His Trying-Lie-To-Gibbs expression made another brief appearance.

"She's served you before. I understand."

"So an Emma does work here?"

"I don't know any of the girls' real first names. We all work under aliases . . . " Victoria leant back down and ran her fingers under his collar, apparently already over DiNozzo's wandering interest. She pushed her hands up and around the back of his head, and then began skimming them down his neck and chest until they found their way to his crotch. His eyes rolled backward as he inhaled deeply.

"I think I'll just . . . forget Emma . . . " Tony said, as Victoria ground her thighs into his sides.

She returned a seductive grin, slowly lifting her legs from the ground and beginning to wrap them around his back. She pulled his shoulders closer into her chest when he suddenly heard something shouting his name.

"DiNozzo!"

Tony ignored the voice and slowly began running his hands from Victoria's waist down her thighs.

"DiNozzo!" the voice came again. This time it was louder. The person was getting closer.

"Your friend can come play with us too." Victoria smiled sweetly.

"Who . . . ?" Tony asked, still preoccupied, running his eyes furiously over her body.

Victoria turned her head so that Tony could see Burley striding toward him.

"What? No . . . !" Tony whined. "You've got to be kidding me Burley. Just as I was beginning to forget I was . . . "

"I found Emma," Burley said, striding up to him. He looked awkwardly at the stripper sitting in Tony's lap.

The world suddenly shifted back into focus. "Here?" he said, shooting his attention up to the other agent.

"No, DiNozzo. At the burger joint across the street. Of course she's here."

Victoria stepped up from Tony's lap. "What? Who are you? Why are you looking for Emma?"

Tony looked up into her eyes again and he suddenly felt himself melt, enveloped once more in the cool blue of a Caribbean ocean. His idiotic grin once more placed itself across his face and the words he'd planned to say seemed to still be stuck in his voice-box.

Burley rolled his eyes at Tony and turned to the dancer. "We're no one. We just came here to find a friend."

"No you didn't," she said. "Why do you want to find Emma?"

"So you do know her?" Tony asked.

"Of course I know her." Victoria scowled. Tony recoiled at the dancer's sudden change of character. "Now why the hell do you want to talk to Em?"

"No reason," Burley said. "Tom, I think we ought to leave now."

Tony raised an eyebrow at Burley's name for him, before remembering his undercover identification. "Fine then, Sam."

"No!" Victoria shouted. A few people around the bar were now beginning to look in their direction. "Tell me why you're looking for Emma!"

Tony slowly lifted himself from the chair he'd been seated on and walked over toward Burley. "I think a calm, casual exit from this area would not go amiss right now," he said quietly.

"Hey," Victoria shouted. "How the hell did you know her name was Emma?"

"Told you," Burley answered. "Friend."

"Then why did you come here to see her?"

"Well, we didn't know . . . " DiNozzo began. Burley elbowed him hard in the stomach to shut him up. Tony winced and glared at Burley.

"Oh my God," Victoria said, with a look of horror forming in her eyes. "You're cops."

Tony and Burley looked to one another, each trying to figure out how the other was going to play this one.

"No," Tony finally said. "We . . . "

"Oh, please. I felt your weapon," Victoria said, putting a hand on her hip.

Tony's eyebrows could've hit the ceiling if his forehead hadn't been there to block them. "You felt my . . . Well it's certainly an interesting talent you have when you can recognise a cop just from feeling his . . . "

"DiNozzo!" Burley shouted. "She felt your Sig, you idiot!"

"Oh," Tony mouthed in embarrassed realisation.

"Mickey!" Victoria suddenly yelled.

"What?" Tony shouted. "Wait! No, Victoria!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Burley saw a very large man's form, akin to Arnold Schwarznegger's body type, begin to emerge from the shadows behind them. "DiNozzo, would you just shut up and let's get out of here! Now!"

But it was already too late. Burley felt a large hand grip his two together behind his back. From DiNozzo's wince, he assumed the man's right hand was grasping his in the same way.

"Is there a problem here, Victoria?" the man asked.

"They're cops, Mickey," Victoria replied.

Tony's expression sunk. "Okay, firstly, we really aren't cops, we're special agents working for . . . "

"Even better!" Mickey said. "The boss will have a field day with you two."

Burley sent an icy glare toward Tony, attempting to elbow him in the gut with his mind. "Look, Mickey," he said turning his head back.

"We're not here to bust you or your girls or your boss with anything illegal. We just want to talk to someone who works here."

"Oh, well you're in luck tonight," Mickey said with a broad smile. "Johnny's invited you two for a chat."

Tony let him do it, even stood still without turning his face away. The guy's hand would have skidded then and turned from him, but that wasn't what was needed, so he only closed his eyes in the moment the bodyguard hit him. Solid contact. The two other ‘bouncers' in the back corner didn't even flinch. They were probably used to this. If they could have, they probably had the ability tear Tony to pieces with his bare hands. Tony was waiting, face burning and aching, for it to happen again when he realized that the guy had already receded into the shadows. He felt his head fall heavily downward, dragging the rest of his body with it. He fell in a slump on the ground, all ropy muscle and rage, not fighting but not surrendering, either.

"Christ, that hurt," he mumbled through a mouthful of blood. He couldn't swallow the words, had to spit them out, throw them against the clean and sensible iron-gray walls of the room, had to use them to break the glass wall that stood between him and Johnny Keller. The edges of his world were black. He felt Burley's hands on him, on his wrist and on his shoulder, steering him up and to his feet. The solid surface of the floor finally began to reform under his shoes and Burley tugged and twisted him into the light again, into the sweetly sensible connections between cause and effect, into a world with a possibility – however scarce – for good. He could see Burley somewhere out there, then too close to him, white-faced and concerned.

"Clean ‘em," Tony heard a voice say.

The three indistinct bodyguards moved to form a wall around the two of them, pulling earwigs from ears and wallets from pockets. They threw their equipment to the ground and a large, polished shoe crushed them into a thousand microscopic electronic pieces of metal. The only satisfaction Tony got at that moment was from the knowledge that at least Probie's ear would be in a hundredth of that pain that his face was.

"You know, you're pretty stupid." Johnny Keller stepped out from behind the glass strip of wall. His voice was directed at Burley. "If you'd just had your little chat with Em instead of going to find your partner, you might've got what you'd wanted."

Burley glared back at him. Keller stepped forward toward the two of them and twisted his head down and to the side, not in an un-Criminal Intent-like manner, Tony noted. Only Vincent Dinofrio seemed to be much more intimidating when he did it. Still, you had to give Keller credit. At least he was trying.

"Special Agent Burley," he said, flipping open their two I.D. wallets, "and Special Agent DiNozzo. NCIS." He over pronounced the last four letters in a condescending way. "Naval, Criminal Investigative Service, correct?"

Burley and Tony clamped their jaws shut. Burley could still hear Tony's breath hitching every so often in pain.

"I recognise your names. You've both been on the television," Keller continued, smiling and throwing their wallets onto the table behind him. He leaned back against it, relaxed.

"What can I say," Tony said, blood beginning to dry on his chin, "they like to use the prettiest faces in the room." He smiled – not his best smile or his real smile, but one designed to catch attention as quickly and effectively as a bite. "If you watch so much television, you must have heard about Harry Burke."

"It keeps me awake at night," Keller said blankly. He picked up a letter opener and began picking away at his nails with it.

Tony clicked his teeth together. He thought about what he might do if that opener was in his own hands. "He was a client of yours."

"Thousands of men visit my place every week, agents. Half the town is a client."

"There are details never released on television. No such thing as full disclosure in a homicide investigation," Burley said. "Details that people don't want to hear. Like crack dealers. Like crack dealers dealing to navy lieutenants."

A smile cracked its way across Keller's lips. "I didn't deal to Burke. And I sure as hell didn't kill him."

"If we thought you had, I'd be asking your girls out there for an alibi, which I'm sure you have at least three of," Tony said. "You're not the kind to get your own hands dirty." Tony's eyes drifted up toward the three shadows of men standing behind them.

This earned him a blow to the gut.

Tony spluttered and heaved as he fell once more to the ground, his stomach recoiling in pain.

"We just want to talk to Emma," Burley said. "Backstage."

"My property. No warrant."

"No need for one," Burley said. "We're not here to arrest you."

"Does anyone ever believe you when you say that?" Keller asked.

"Of course they do," Burley replied. "They've seen me on television."

Keller's smile made a reappearance. "Look, agents, I'll save you some time and some pain." He looked to Tony, who was now picking himself off the floor once more. "I was with Emma and Dean that night. Dean was a month overdue on his payment. Good customer, I give him a bit of leeway. Harry showed up and paid me. Said Dean would never be dealing with me again." He paused to raise himself from the desk. "I got my money, and I lost a customer that would potentially have ended up screwing me over a few times anyway. Now tell me, agents, what the hell kind of motive would I have to kill someone who was paying me my money?"

Tony finally stepped to his feet and wiped some blood from his lip. "That was a very nice story, Keller, but honestly, we don't care. We really just want to talk to Emma."

"Your talking is getting perilously close to looking. We agreed that this was only a conversation. No need for a warrant. You should never break your own rules."

Keller raised a hand and twitched two of his fingers as if he were tapping out a rhythm; Tony had known that it would happen sooner or later. He did not move. Movement was a threat. When he felt the bodyguard's hand on the back of his neck, he let himself be forced down. Someone began using a Sig to part his hair. He did not look up. The bastard was using Tony's own gun to do it.

Keller continued to talk as if nothing had changed. He took out a handkerchief and began to polish a highball glass. "You don't have a head for business, Agent DiNozzo. You haven't offered me any incentives. We both know that any information I give to you compromises my business – even if you never use the information against me, the release of it injures my reputation. I have an extensive clientele. No one wants their name to ever be said in connection with mine. You see, they don't want to be compromised either. All deals done in the dark."

"You keep your names," Tony said. The steel of the muzzle was cold; the gun had not been fired recently. He couldn't decide if that were better or worse than the alternative. "You have security measures for situations like this. No point in saving the information if you never intend to use it. So how much does it cost?"

He was not confident; he was just cold. He knew that he was not too young to die, if only because he had seen men and women much, much younger than him die for actions much, much less foolish than this. But Keller was right, he did not have a head for business. He had a better understanding for the concept of the gamble – time and training had taught him how to put it all on the line and let it ride. Tony had the best poker face of anyone he'd ever known. The house hadn't won yet.

Keller's fingers squeaked on the glass. "How did you get your information?"

Tony shrugged. The gun barrel smashed into his cheekbone.

"It's not a hard question," Keller said. "And we were getting along so well."

"Absolutely," Tony said. "We should go to a game."

He expected to be hit again, but the Sig had already repositioned itself at the base of his skull and Keller offered no signal to the gunman. He looked thoughtful. He had stopped polishing the glass and instead just stood there with it balanced in the palm of his hand. Tony could not stop his head from swaying back and to the side—the gun traced his movements but did not hinder them. He watched the lamplight glint off the heavy crystal of the highball glass and began to count his breaths. Focused through the haze of pain. He wondered what Keller was thinking.

"Whatever you have - - "

"Was obtained illegally," Tony said. His words sounded mushy. "I've got nothing on you."

"And you want something from Emma. There was someone else there that night that you want her to talk about." He smacked his lips slightly on the last syllable, as if he could taste it.

"Just an answer." He licked his lips and tasted blood. "Possibly some antiseptic. But you want an incentive. I don't suppose I can appeal to your conscience."

Keller scoffed. "What's it to me? I don't have a brother."

Tony leaned back until he was sitting on his heels. His face winced in pain at Keller's words. Burley looked across at him in confusion. Tony could catch a glint of silver at the back of his head. Apparently Burley was getting the same treatment he was.

Tony looked back at Keller and spat out the words even though it hurt like hell:

"Neither do I."

Tony was all wrong for his job, Gibbs had told him so every so often – Tony was wrong for this job because he still thought that if he tried hard enough, if he meant well enough, if he talked fast enough, he could convince people to be human.

"You're beginning to bore me, agents." Keller did not care. Keller did not have a son or a brother and he could not see how anyone else ever could. "Why do you need confirmation? You already know the answer. You already have your lead. What else do you need from me?"

They never trusted him to know what he was doing. "Legitimacy. Proof."

"Proof that you'll make disappear later. Proof that will never see court."

"Proof from an anonymous informant," he said. He was reaching now. "A protected, anonymous informant. Like a tip hotline. Enough to get inside a door that's already cracked open. And then it goes away. Hard evidence overrules testimony. You'll never see the inside of a courtroom on this one. I'll never need to talk to you again. If you help me."

"If," Keller said.

When he smiled, it felt like the entire right side of his face was on fire. He smiled anyway. He saw his reflection in the highball glass and knew how he looked – bruised and bloody, face ashen from exhaustion, and a perfect smile. "If you don't help me, it'll happen again. Someone else's brother. And the first thing I'll have them do is a blood test. Whatever he has in his system, I'll connect it to you. I don't care if the drugs in his blood are Vitamin C and baby aspirin, I'll find a way to drag your business out into the open. And I won't care about legitimacy then. Those records I have, all those names? You'll see me on television again. I'll tell the whole city just how many people in the mayor's office come to you right before their parties. I'll get the green cards pulled for your entire staff. And by the time I'm done, by the time the drug dogs have prowled through your house sticking their noses in every single corner, a dozen college kids will be running your business and it'll be my pleasure."

He was outnumbered. He was bleeding. There was a gun at the back of his head. And Keller's hands had started to shake.

Why use props when he was this good without them?

"Two guys were there. Suits."

"Even Dean told us more," Tony spat.

"Someone's brawn. Said they were private. I asked them about hiring contracts. I've been shopping for a few more personal guards of late and they seemed good enough."

"Military?" Burley asked.

"Possibly ex-. More likely ex-fed. FBI or CIA."

"What did they want with Harry Burke?" Tony asked.

"Couldn't tell you. Hardly spoke a word all night while I was around them. Although they gave me their card." Keller leaned back over his desk and picked up a small white card and handed it over to the agents. "I trust you already have my fingerprints on file."

Burley took the card and pocketed it, without even looking at the name. He kept his eyes on Keller.

"Did you spend long with them?" Tony asked.

"A few minutes, maybe. I told you. They were there with Harry. They were professionals. They're not going to be discussing other business while they're on the job. That's why I wanted them."

"Was Emma there with them?" Burley asked.

"Most of the night, I think. I mean, she's Emma, so she probably hooked a guy and left after a few hours. But I know she was having a good time seeing her brother. He'd just gotten back from Iraq, I believe."

"A few months ago, yeah. It was the first time he'd seen either of them for over a year," Tony said.

"Too bad it was going to be the last," Keller spat.

- - - -

"I don't know how comfortable I am using something you dug out of the evidence fridge as an icepack, Abby." It was token resistance, however, and Tony didn't fight the hand that closed around his wrist and pushed the so-not-an-icepack up to his eye. "Anyway, it's not like the eye's swollen shut or anything."

"Oh," Abby said, "well, if the eye's not swollen shut, then you must be perfectly fine. And anyway, that's not even evidence. It's something Palmer put in the evidence fridge for God only knows what reason."

"I feel so much better."

Abby extended her hand. "Card. Fingerprints. Bad guys. Now."

Tony pulled the card from his pocket and handed it over. "I was under the impression that since you work trace I'd be the one feeding names into a computer. Or is this another one of those things where you don't want me to interfere because you'll think I'll break your fancy-pancy computer?"

Abby crossed her arms. "No, Tony, this is actually one of those things where I'm very busy but still making time for you to be annoying."

"I don't have any cash on me, Abs. Just so we're clear. I mean, there's no way for me to call you in a pizza or magical Caff-Pow delivery service at this point."

"Every once in a while," Abby said, already settling down at the computer, "I throw you one for nothing. Now stop bleeding and let me work." Abby picked up the piece of card and placed inside the glue chamber.

"I feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Tony said, and spun his stool around. The still-not-an-icepack smelled like his high school locker room. "This is TLC right here."

- - - -

"Our best choice are those two suits that were at the club," Kate said, pulling up a photograph of the card on the screen. "Johnny Keller thinks they were ex-feds, so we're thinking that they had something to do with Harry Burke's informant status with the FBI."

"McGee!" Gibbs shouted.

"Uh, yes, boss?" McGee's head flicked up from behind his monitor.

"Do we know what information he was giving the FBI yet?"

"Uh . . . " McGee stumbled. "Well, kind of."

"Define ‘kind of'."

"Well, yes and no. Just . . . without the ‘yes' part."

"Find it! Now!"

"Boss, Abby's working on the card down in the lab and these algorithms are just getting . . . "

"I don't care, McGee," Gibbs said softly. "I don't want you eating, drinking or sleeping until you de-codify those file things."

"Okay, boss," McGee mumbled nervously.

"Where the hell is DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"He's uh, down with Ducky, Gibbs," Kate said. "Getting stitches."

"How many?"

"Seven," Burley said as he stood. "Look, Gibbs, they did him in well. I was there. You know that I'm the last person to want to give Tony any slack, but . . . he did a damn good job in that room. Let him break for a while."

Gibbs stared at him blankly for a moment. He walked over to Burley until he was mere inches away from his face. "Have you completely forgotten what it's like to work as an agent underneath me, Stan?"

Burley stared back at him, dumbfounded. "I, uh . . . I guess I had until now, boss."

"That card," Gibbs pointed to the image on the plasma, "has a number on it. Track down who it belongs to and find them. Kate, you're interrogating Emma with me, now!"

Kate heard the gash before she saw it. She stood in front of the double-mirror in the viewing room attached to interrogation, her arms folded into her chest, and the door behind her clicked open and shut. Then Tony – and she had known that it would have to be Tony, because anyone else that would have had the guts to come in would have had the good sense to come in quietly – asked, "Got anything new yet?" and it was in his voice. His enunciation had changed. Slightly slurred on the sibilant and all the letters too precise in pathetic overcompensation. Kate knew the sound and knew what it implied. She dropped her shoulders and her hands fell down to her sides, a quick and crucial gesture, like an embrace or an attack – she wasn't sure which – and hated Johnny Keller. She turned around.

She had expected a badly-busted lip. This was different – this was almost spectacular. The bruise started at the back of DiNozzo's jaw and stretched down to his mouth; there was a fresh scab in the very corner – as she watched, Tony touched it with the tip of his tongue. Keller hadn't used his fists. No one's hand left that kind of mark.

"One of them pistol-whipped you." The viewing room was too small for this kind of realization: she could hear her anger reverberating in the walls.

Tony shook his head and the bruise slid back and forth from the shadows. "It isn't what you think." The syllables were still a little mushy, but he only sounded tired, not defensive, and, because of that, Kate was willing to listen – so far DiNozzo hadn't been anything she'd thought, after all. Maybe this was just more of the same. "I was being a smart-arse. Pissed off Keller's bodyguards."

"So it's exactly what I thought." Kate smiled.

"But I got us what we needed."

"Yes," Kate said softly. "You did."

Tony looked to her. Kate's face seemed to go blurry and young, the anger and harshness from just moments ago disappearing quickly beneath watery clouds. "Is everything okay, Kate?" he asked.

Kate was silent for a moment, dropping her head into shadows and looking away. "We were really worried for you, Tony, that's all. I'm just glad you're okay."

Tony noticed the shift there, but he wasn't sure if Kate did – from we to I. He tilted his head back and smiled, the gun-barrel bruise harshly hit by a beam of blue fluorescent light. "Aw, Katie. And here I was thinking the only impression I'd made on you in the last few years was an annoying one."

"It's the only one that's stuck," Kate snapped back.

"Clearly not." Tony smiled, even though his face caught fire once more.

Kate moved the rest of the way forward and put a soft hand on his shoulder. "Half the time a dead earwig means a dead agent, Tony. I didn't know what had happened to you. That doesn't mean I want to sleep with you."

"What if I almost get myself killed? Will your true emotions surface in a moment of profound realisation?"

"Please tell me that that wound hurts, DiNozzo. A lot," Kate snarled.

"Admit it. You kind of like having me around, don't you?"

Kate smirked but didn't answer.

Tony eyes suddenly fixed on something behind her and he gleamed once more, walking over to the double glass and putting his hands on the window. "Oh my God, is that Emma Burke?" Tony's smile had suddenly doubled in size, despite the pain.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Yes, Tony. And that's exactly why Gibbs is having me question her and not you."

"Why is it that no one wants to make my life just that little bit more pleasant?" Tony asked, eyes still fixated upon the gorgeous blonde sitting on the other side of the double glass.

"Because you're a smart arse," Kate said, opening and closing the door behind her.

- - - -

Twenty minutes of silence in interrogation and Kate had watched Emma Burke go from distraught to wordless to guilty to concerned to infuriated. Five stages of grieving in less than a half hour. Tony and Burley hadn't been lying when they said bringing her in had been a "bi-polar experience".

Kate finally entered the room and sat opposite her, taking her seat quietly. Emma sat back down in her seat, leaving no room for the dignified peace that Kate had managed.

"Can you please tell me why I've been sitting in an interrogation room for almost half an hour without an explanation?" Emma's plush lips moved with grace though. She spoke as if she'd been educated well.

Kate voice was calm, almost a sigh. "I'm sorry about your brother, Emma."

Emma's eyes welled to what seemed double their size. Back to distraught again. "Please, miss, just tell me why I'm here. And tell me what I have to tell you so I can leave."

"We want to know who else was with you and your brothers on the night he was killed," Kate said.

Emma's mouth hung open slightly and her eyes dropped into the shadows of her cheekbones. "Why?"

"We believe that your brother was providing the FBI with information on Osiris. We've been told that there were two men at the club with you that night. Was that them?"

"I don't know," Emma's eyes were starting to fill. "I don't know anything about Harry or Osiris or who the men were or what they wanted with Harry."

"Did Harry know them?"

"Yes, he'd apparently invited them."

"Why to a club?"

"I don't know. To avoid being seen, I guess."

"Did they leave with Harry?"

"I didn't see any of them leave. Dean and I went to the dance floor for a few hours and when we got back, all three were gone. We didn't think anything of it at the time." A small tear finally slipped down one of Emma's porcelain cheeks.

"Did you ever hear what they were talking about?"

"Um . . . " Emma wiped at her cheek. "I remember they mentioned New York. Something to with do with New York."

"New York City?"

"Something about the ‘safety' of it, I think. It didn't really make much sense, and I wasn't really that interested, so I didn't pay much attention. Harry just said that they were co-workers and they were discussing some kind of business transaction that was about to take place. I don't want anything to do my father or Osiris, so I kept my nose out of it."

"Anything else?"

"I heard them mention the name, Roy, a few times as well. I think he has something to do with my father's work."

- - - -

"Roy Stein, CEO of the Saturn Network," Tony said, pulling up some files on his computer. "Apparently the arch rival of Osiris, been fighting with them for over a decade for the top spot in publishing and advertising."

"Senator Burke mentioned him in the interview," Gibbs said. "He said that Osiris's merger with Taylor Square was going to put Saturn out of the running."

"Gives him motive," Kate said. "But we know that Harrison was providing information to the FBI on Osiris. Why would that have anything to do with Saturn?"

"The information he was providing might've put Osiris out of the running," Tony said. "Give Saturn their shoe back in. Could've been anything really. They're rivals. Anything that Osiris loses, Saturn has to gain."

"Still," Burley said, "the FBI shouldn't be concerned with commercial ramifications of their investigations."

"Emphasis on shouldn't, Stan," Gibbs said. "Never stopped them before."

"We need to know what the FBI's getting from him," Kate said. "Those two mean were the last to see Harry Burke alive."

The four agents slowly looked to each other for ideas. They then slowly turned to the one still sitting behind his computer.

"I'm not even going to ask what you're thinking because I know it's what you're thinking," McGee said, looking up to them.

"Can you do it?" Gibbs asked.

"Hack the FBI?" McGee asked.

"You've done the CIA."

"Am I going to be facing the legal consequences if I'm caught?"

"Do you want to be facing mine if you don't?"

"O-kay," McGee said, already beginning to hack away it his keys.

"No need for that, Gibbs," a voice came from behind them. The agents turned toward the elevator to see whom it belonged to.

"And why would that be?" Gibbs answered.

"Because I'm running the case," Fornell said, taking a step toward their desks.

Gibbs slammed his fist down hard on the elevator emergency button. "Now, Tobias," he said. "You want to tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Before you begin your tirade, Gibbs," Fornell said, holding up his hands, "at least let me tell you that we've avoided getting involved as long as possible."

"Oh, well that's helped a lot," Gibbs said sarcastically. "Would've been nice to know that Burke was an FBI informant two days ago."

"We couldn't tell you. It'd compromise the integrity of the operation."

"I don't give a stuff about the integrity of your operation. I have a dead lieutenant who was ratting out his own company to you and your little black and white suits. Two of your men were there with him that night and they were probably the last ones to see him alive. I want to talk to them!"

"Can't do that, Jethro."

Gibbs smiled. "I can't promise that I won't charge any of your agents with murder."

"They weren't my agents, Gibbs. That's why. We had no one assigned to or questioning Harrison that night. The people you're trying to find aren't FBI."

"Do you know who they were?"

"No more than you. We didn't even get a business card from Keller."

"How did you know about that?"

"NCIS isn't the only one with computer forensics specialists, Jethro." The two men smiled. "I've talked with Jenny," Fornell continued. "We've agreed to split jurisdiction, FBI slash NCIS."

"Well that's kind of a hindrance slash pain-in-my-ass, Tobias. I have a homicide investigation to run. I don't want politics and commercialism wound up in my case."

"You stay out of ours and we'll stay out of yours. But Harrison Burke's murder is now part of our investigation as well. We won't disturb you, you don't disturb us. We get access to your files, you get access to ours."

"Fine," Gibbs said, straightening and flipping the elevator on again.

"Fine," Fornell said.

"Sounds good to me."

"Sounds good to me too."

"Well, I'd say that went well."

"Me too."

- - - -

"We traced the number on the card back to a private security agency, Gibbs," Tony said as Gibbs exited the elevator, Fornell in tow. The three NCIS agents gave the two of them a pained look. None of them knew what went on in that elevator whenever Fornell came to visit, and none of them really ever wanted to know.

Gibbs took a seat behind his desk and flipped a button on his computer screen. He finally turned to look at Tony. "Well that's good DiNozzo. What the hell are you still doing here?"

"Right," Tony mumbled, ripping his coat from behind his chair and opening his locked drawer.

"Take Kate and Burley with you," Gibbs continued. The two other agents began to follow DiNozzo out toward the elevator. "McGee, you're down with Abby. I want the fingerprints pulled from that card." McGee nodded and moved out from behind his desk, walking out toward the back elevator.

"Now, Fornell, sit," Gibbs said.

"I'm not one of your agents, Gibbs," Fornell said with a smile.

"Want to stand?"

Fornell smiled shortly before taking a seat against McGee's desk.

"What information was he providing you with?" Gibbs asked, flipping the lid off the top of his sixth cup of coffee.

Fornell sighed. "Osiris was being threatened with a trivial lawsuit by some embittered investors. Burke was the one assigned to handle the disagreement. His father saw him as the best man for the job. Calm, collected, fair, personable. He was honest. People trusted him."

"The lawsuit might have something to do with his death, then. An angry shareholder."

"Well, the shareholders might be up in arms, but if they knew what he was really up to, I think they'd be complaining to someone else."

"Why's that?"

"Because Harrison Burke came to us. He suspected that there were SEC violations occurring at Osiris."

"So he was a whistle-blower?"

"We were going to give him full immunity in exchange for his testimony. A new life. Witness Protection in New York."

"The suits that Harry was with on the night he was killed were discussing something to do with New York."

"I'm telling you now, Gibbs, those men weren't my agents. Some one must have found out about it. Harrison was sworn to secrecy about his WPP location."

Gibbs sighed. "Why was he doing this, Tobias? To his own company? His own father?"

"He said it was easier."

"Easier than what?"

"Than waking up every morning knowing your entire day was going to be a lie."

Gibbs sat back in his seat and took a sip from his coffee.

Fornell continued. "Harrison was different, Gibbs. Most of these guys we have to hold a gun to their heads. Threaten fines, prison time. But he volunteered. The truth is that we now don't have a case without him. He was supposed to meet with me, personally, the day after he was killed to give me the rest of the documents."

"I want everything he's given you so far."

"Of course." Fornell stood. "You know, the funny thing is that we'd just discovered that Harrison's father had rigged it so that his son would take the fall if the lawsuit went through."

"So that's why he blew the whistle? Tit for tat?"

"No. Harrison never knew about it. I guess he was just trying to do the right thing."

Gibbs cell phone suddenly rang. He fished it from his pocket and flipped it open as it reached his ear. "Yeah? Okay, Abs. Thanks." He repocketed the device. "Abby just got a hit on a fingerprint from the card. A Joseph Sise. Ex-CIA. Works private security now. Ring any bells?"

"None of mine."

- - - -

The letters of his name were inscribed in rich, charcoal lettering into a gold plate above his door. Tony spelled the letters out in his head as he read: J – O – S – E – P – H . . .

He thought that he would probably like one for himself; a nice, gold-plated name tag on his desk back at the office. Something he could show his girlfriends whenever they came to visit. Then he realised that he rarely ever actually did invite girlfriends to the office.

And then Joseph Sise opened his door. And Tony wanted to make damn sure that he never associated himself with a man like Joseph Sise, ever. Even if it was through having the same gold-plated name tag on his desk.

Sise was huge. A muscle billowing suit and tie. His neck was as thick as his head and a flat, shaved bed of dark hair sat atop an otherwise shiny, balding head. "Can I help you?" he asked. His voices sounded as if it could cut steel.

"Agents Todd, DiNozzo and Burley. NCIS," Kate said, flipping up her I.D.. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"About what?" Sise said, still obstructing the door.

"We have a fingerprint placing you at the Neon Club on Saturday night," Burley said. "You were meeting with a Lieutenant Harrison Burke. He's now dead."

Sise was silent as he finally pushed the door open a little more so that the three agents could step through.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, taking a seat behind his desk.

"Who else was there with you that night?"

"My partner, Thomas Granger. He's out getting coffee right now. Sorry." Sise smiled condescendinly.

"Why were you there?" Tony asked.

"Assigned to."

"By who?"

"My employer," Sise snarled.

"We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way," Burley remarked. "I'm sure you know the drill. And really, the three of us don't want the paperwork."

Sise smiled and his eyes narrowed patronisingly. "For federal agents, I would've thought you'd done a little research before you came to question me."

"We're sorry the cell phones at NCIS don't process as quickly as those at the CIA," Kate snarled.

Sise inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair. "I'm contracted to the Saturn Network for the time being. Roy Stein."

"And what were you talking to Harry Burke about that night?" Burley asked.

"I was assigned to uncover what was going on over at Osiris. Stein had heard rumours about a lawsuit and with the merger taking place soon, he wanted to try and work it to his advantage. I followed Burke for close to two months, mostly in the Washington area. He had a series of clandestine meetings with an individual."

"And what did you suspect?"

"That he might be selling research from Osiris to the competition. I told Stein and he wanted in. It was then that I found out that he was in negotiations with the FBI. I've got a few friends there that let me in on the case."

"Did you ask him about it that night?"

"He confirmed his FBI status. I told him that I knew about New York, and the lawsuit. I let him know that Stein was willing to pay him big money for information. Stein and I figured seeing as though he was already skipping town, the kid would have nothing to lose anyway."

"So he agreed? He wanted the money?" Kate asked.

"No, that was the funny thing. Guess he didn't want to feel even more guilty than he already was for crossing his father."

"Did Senator Burke ever catch on to his informant status?" Tony asked.

"Not as far as we know. Or the FBI. Harrison did everything he could to hide it. The last thing he wanted was his father knowing was that he was going to lose another child to another name."

"So what happened after you'd finished talking?"

"We walked him out the back and said our goodbyes."

"No argument?"

"No."

"Was there anyone else outside in the alley when you left him?"

"A few clubbers collapsing in the gutters, I think. No one that looked too suspicious. Although I remember a green pick up parked in the corner. Couldn't see anyone inside. It was odd. Looked like a truck that belonged on a farm, not outside a nightclub."

"And that was it?" Kate asked.

"That was the last time I saw him. I wasn't contracted to kill him, agents. So I didn't."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"So, we're back to square one," Kate said, taking a seat behind her desk.

"Not necessarily," Burley said. "We still have the law suit angle. The investors still didn't know what was going down with the FBI. They all have motive."

"Right," Gibbs said, taking a seat behind his desk. "I want all of those investors run down and interviewed. Tonight."

"May not need to do all of them, Gibbs. Check this out," Tony said, ripping a sheet of paper from his printer and handing it to Gibbs. "That class action lawsuit lists thirty-seven plaintiffs in the Washington area. But only one drives a green pick-up."

- - - -

Burley knocked forcefully on the white slate door. "Arlen Smith? This is Special Agent Burley with NCIS. We need to ask you a few questions."

There was no answer. Burley took a step back and looked through the windows. No movement. It didn't look like Smith was home, but his pick up was parked tidily in the driveway. He took a step back toward the door and knocked again. Still no answer. He turned down the front porch steps when he heard a small crack to his right. He looked over and caught sight of a large man, over six foot, with his grey hair cut into a military style, not unlike Gibbs'.

"Arlen Smith?" Burley said, flipping out his ID, "NCIS."

The man stared at him wide eyed for a moment before dropping his bag and turning to run. However, he was abruptly stopped by something blocking the path.

"Whoa, whoa, there buddy," Tony said, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back toward Burley. "You want to tell us why you're trying to run?"

Arlen Smith cocked his head back toward Burley, his eyes petrified. "I, uh . . . "

"How about we take a seat first?" Tony said, pushing Smith down onto his front porch steps.

"Now, can you tell us why your green pick up was at the scene of Harrison Burke's murder on Saturday night?" Burley asked.

Smith looked up at them, almost with tears in his eyes. This guy was an ex-marine, Tony thought. He didn't think he'd ever seen a marine cry. And he was hoping he didn't have to.

"Look, buddy," Tony said. "Tell us what the hell you were doing there or we're going to have to take you in."

"It was an accident!" the man finally spluttered.

"What?" Burley asked.

"I lost everything! Those bastards at Osiris stole my whole life savings! How was I supposed to feed my wife and kid?" The man was almost in tears now.

"Hang on," Tony said. "Slow down. Start at the beginning. How did you know Burke?"

The exhaled slowly, probably in an attempt to calm himself. "I . . . I met Harrison at a shareholder meeting in New York. A bunch of us were trying to get a class action suit together."

"And you wanted to kill him?" Burley asked.

"No!" Smith said. "No, Harrison was different from the rest of the Osiris guys. He listened to us. He said he'd help."

"Why'd you follow him that night?" Tony asked.

"I hadn't heard from him in a few weeks. I was getting frustrated. I just wanted to talk to him."

"And you got into an argument?"

"It got pretty heated. He . . . he'd promised three weeks ago that a paper would've gone through and it hadn't. He'd promised to help and he hadn't done anything! He said that he was late for something and that he had to go . . . "

"And that was it? You watched him go?"

"No," Smith put his head in his hands. "I was pissed. I went after him and I . . . I hit him."

"Punched him?" Tony asked.

"A few times," Smith said. "I just kept yelling that he'd promised, and my wife and kid were going to starve because of him . . . And I just . . . I kept kicking and punching and I wanted him to know the pain . . . Sitting up in his big office making decisions to destroy people's lives. And it all just came out there and then and before I knew it he was on the ground. And then, then he turned his head up and . . . and he pulled a gun."

"He pulled his weapon on you?" Burley asked.

"He told me to back off. That he had nothing to lose anymore. But I was drunk, I kept kicking. And he fired."

"At you?"

"It missed me. Went over my shoulder. But I lunged at him again," Smith said, now in tears. "And grabbed his gun."

"And you shot him?"

"It was self-defence! I know a well-trained marine when I see one. He was going to fire again and he wasn't going to miss!"

- - - -

"We found the extra bullet at the crime scene, Stan," Gibbs said. "It was lodged in a wall three storeys up. Burke wasn't firing at him. He fired a warning shot to scare him off. The guy had a Expert Pistol Medal. If he'd fired at Smith at that close of a distance, he wouldn't have missed."

"Can't prove that in court, Gibbs. Harry was intoxicated when he fired. Smith's still going to get off on self-defence. It doesn't make a difference."

"Yeah, I know," Gibbs said softly.

Burley was seated at DiNozzo's desk, swinging himself back and forth on the swivel chair, his eyes staring blankly down at the floor. Gibbs walked over to him and placed a soft hand on his shoulder. Burley's eyes didn't move from the carpet.

"Stan, I know you hate that he died the way he did, but there's nothing more we can do. The least we can say is that we found his killer."

"Who won't be punished for it."

Gibbs sighed and took a step back. There wasn't much more he could do to calm Burley's grief.

"I just still can't believe it," Burley continued. "That his own father . . . that David . . . would rig it so that he took the fall. David would've known he was getting pressure from the investors about the law-suit and he sat and did nothing. He chose his company over his son, Gibbs. He let Smith kill Harry. I just can't believe Harry died for nothing. And he was so close to getting out of all of this."

He heard someone else enter the vicinity of the desks and looked up to see Fornell.

"I just came to let you know, Gibbs," Fornell said, "that I received a package from the SEC this morning containing all the remaining documents needed to proceed with the trial against Osiris. Harry posted them the afternoon before he died." Fornell gave Burley a glance as he turned on his heel and receded back to the elevator.

- - - -

At the funeral, everyone looked resigned. Some of them - - mostly people that she didn't know - - looked sincerely grief-stricken. But where it counted, Kate checked faces and saw a kind of bewildered acceptance. She stayed on the fringes for as long as possible, circulating among friends and acquaintances of Burley's and the service.

No one seemed to try and comfort Burley, because no one was sure whether he deserved to be comforted or not. She didn't know herself. Everyone concentrated on the family; loving and compassionate looks toward the parents. Friends of Dean and Emma wrapped close arms around them, most dressed in attire entirely too casual for a funeral.

She toward him. He was holding a card in his hand and looking very composed in his black suit and tie, but he was staring directly at the silver ceremonial container as if he couldn't make himself see anything else. His hand rubbed absently at his cheek before he dropped it down to his side to clench tightly around the piece of white card. He uncurled his fingers from it with some obvious difficulty - - she could see his chest rising and falling in his effort to calm himself - - and made a fist, each finger drifting down towards his palm and locking there. She took a step towards him, but she didn't know what she was going to say to him, so she edged back again slightly.

However, Burley suddenly turned and caught her eye. He smiled softly and began walking slowly over to her.

"He would've liked your eulogy," Kate said, trying to begin the conversation.

Burley looked at her. "No, he would've hated it, the same way he would have hated having a funeral, and the same way he would have hated being dead. Being dead probably just makes him mad. And I don't blame him."

Kate smiled softly as they watched Harry's family slowly uncap the silver jar of ashes and let them gently float out of the container with the wind and across the sea. She looked to her side and saw the faint glimmer of a tear in the corner of Burley's eye as he watched his friend, flesh and bone now turned to dust, drift freely off across the ocean. He must've noticed her gaze, because he quickly scrubbed frantically away at it, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of her by finally losing control of the situation. Besides, the rubbing created expanding black spots that ate up his vision and vanished the sight of the last bits of Harry being swallowed by the air and sea. Kate put her hand on his elbow, and not saying a word, passed him a tissue. It had been folded into a tiny square so tightly that, as he unfolded it, the softest pieces crumbled under his fingers. He wiped his eyes, and crushed the tissue in his hand.

"Can I ask, why here?" Kate said.

Burley didn't turn to her, just continued to watch as the light grey particles floated down and away from the cliff and came to rest on the soft, blue, lapping water below. He paused for a moment before he spoke. "He wasn't a businessman. He wasn't a lawyer. He didn't belong in an office and he didn't belong in a coffin. Harry Burke was a marine. He belonged on the ocean. He lived it, worked it, and breathed it. He loved it. Death wasn't the kind of thing that would stop Harry from being where he wanted to be."

- THE END -