Tony DiNozzo took a quick look around his apartment and then picked up his keys in preparation for leaving. He groaned when there was a knock at the door and he swung it open with a scowl,

"Look," he began, "I don't have … Jack?" He stared in puzzlement at his friend Jackson Gibbs who was standing there. Tony looked at his watch, "Um … am I late? I thought your flight was getting in at 2200?"

"It is," said Jackson, "Change of plan. Leroy here insisted on bringing his fishing gear." Jackson nodded towards the sulky pre-teen standing beside him. "I hired a car and we drove."

Tony found himself staring in fascination at the fishing pole and scruffy canvas bag. "I see," he managed eventually, "Hey, come in."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs took up the invitation but at his own pace: a pace which trod the fine line between politeness and disdain. Tony smothered a smile, "Nice to see you, Leroy," he said.

Leroy nodded in a way that only an optimist could interpret as expressing pleasure.

"Your room's through there," said Tony pointing to the spare room. "Why don't you put your gear in there?"

There was another nod and this time the boy moved a little quicker as if the prospect of getting away from the adults was appealing. The door closed behind him, not gently but not quite a slam. Jackson sighed,

"I'm sorry, Tony. You sure you're up for this?" he asked.

Tony nodded bravely although he was beginning to have doubts. His thoughts travelled back to the phone call a week before.

FLASHBACK

"DiNozzo."

"Tony? Jack, Jackson Gibbs."

"Jack! Hey, great to hear from you ..." Tony stuttered to a halt as he remembered how Jackson Gibbs' wife had died a couple of months before. "Say, Jack – I'm sorry …"

"I know," said Jackson. "Thanks. And thank you for the floral tribute … Ann would have liked it."

"Yeah, well … it was the least I could do. I'm just sorry that I couldn't be there for the funeral but …"

"I understand," said Jack. "And we gave her a good send-off … at least, I could do that for her."

"How are things?" asked Tony. "How's Leroy?"

The sigh was so loud that Tony imagined he could have heard it all the way from Pennsylvania without the phone.

"That bad, huh?" asked Tony.

"Yeah," said Jackson. "You know how he loved his Mom. And he's so angry. Angry at me for not stopping it. Angry at his Mom for getting sick … for dying. Angry at himself. He's never been one for talking … guess he could never get a word in edgewise with me … but now he barely speaks at all."

"It's tough," said Tony sympathetically, "I remember what it was like when my Mom died. Leroy's a little older than I was but I don't know if that makes it easier or harder."

"I reckon my boy will always make things hard for himself," said Jackson with a touch of mordant humour.

"And for everyone around him," said Tony. There was a silence at the other end of the phone and Tony wondered what else to say. "You'll get there …"

"I need a favour," said Jackson.

"Name it," said Tony promptly.

"Don't be so quick," said Jackson. "You haven't heard what it is yet."

"You've been there for me, Jack," said Tony. "So, name it."

"I have to go to Canada. For a week, maybe ten days. Ann's cousin Lyddie is in trouble – at least, she says she is. Ann would have wanted me to go; she always looked out for her."

"I see," said Tony although he didn't.

"I can't take Leroy with me. Not the way he is. And I can't leave him home alone and none of the neighbours will want to watch him for me. Let's just say he's developed a reputation."

"You want me to take him?" asked Tony.

"I wouldn't ask if there was any other way," said Jackson. "I know it's a lot to ask …"

"Hey," said Tony, conscious of a sinking feeling, "I said I'd do it. I've got the time … does he like movies?" Jackson's bark of laughter was answer enough. "No worries, we'll think of something."

"You sure about this?" asked Jackson.

"I said so, didn't I?"

END FLASHBACK

Now, Tony smiled back at Jackson as he apologised about his son's behaviour. Tony might have wished that Jackson had asked for some other type of favour but he would not refuse the request. The friendship between Jackson and Tony was an unlikely one and had started one summer when Tony's father had rented a large house near Stillwater as a place of retreat and rest. With the benefit of twenty-five years of hindsight, Tony could see that it was also a cheap place to lay low from insistent business partners. Tony had been an unhappy child still mourning the loss of his mother and still hoping that his father might one day notice the sad shadow trailing after him.

There hadn't been much for Tony to do in the holiday home: it had been fitted out for adults but no provision made for occupying a child. Tony had taken to visiting the general store each day and had found in Jackson Gibbs something of a kindred spirit. Jackson loved to talk but he also listened and could see what was going on beneath a person's skin. He allowed Tony to chatter away and soon the youngster was talking about his sorrow and loneliness as he found a father figure at last.

The friendship had continued. Tony was usually able to finish camp early each year and go to Stillwater for two or three weeks. His father didn't care, it was a cheap and easy solution to finding somewhere for his son and he never thought to ask what Tony found so appealing about a sleepy mining town in Pennsylvania. The friendship was deep, real and gratifying to both parties but Tony always had a sense of abiding gratitude to the kind man who had taken the time to get to know a sad, lonely child and for that Tony was willing to put up with another sad child.

"What time's your flight?" Tony asked.

Jackson looked at his watch. "Gotta go now," he said. "Leroy!" he called.

Somehow Tony wasn't surprised that the boy didn't make an appearance. He took a step towards the room but Jackson shook his head and went and knocked on the door.

"Leroy. I have to go now. Come out, why don't you and say goodbye."

A few seconds passed before the door opened slowly and Leroy appeared.

"I gotta go now, son," said Jackson. "You be good for Tony; you hear?" There was a barely perceptible nod. "I'll phone when I get there," continued Jackson. He put his hands on his son's shoulders, "You know I love you, don't you, boy?" There was no answer and Jackson simply enfolded him in his arms and dropped a kiss on his hair. He sighed softly as Leroy endured the hug. With one final pat on the head, he turned away and shook hands with Tony. "I'll be in touch," he promised.

"We'll be fine," said Tony with more hope than confidence.

"No, don't come down with me," said Jackson, "I've got the rental downstairs." He took one more look at his son who gazed back stonily and then he was gone.

Tony stared at the closed door for a moment and then steeled himself. "You hungry?" he asked. He guessed that Leroy was going to shake his head but his stomach rumbled loudly. "Guess that's a yes," he said. "Come into the kitchen. We'll see what I've got." Leroy followed with his customary reluctance.

Tony pointed to a stool and, after a couple of seconds, Leroy climbed on to it.

"What do you want?" asked Tony.

Leroy shrugged.

"I could make you a sandwich," suggested Tony. "There's some corned beef or some pastrami. What do you want?"

Leroy shrugged again.

Tony held on to his patience. "I'm not a mind reader, Leroy. You need to tell me what you want."

"I don't like Leroy."

"Oh," this was unexpected. "Your Dad calls you Leroy."

Leroy stared back and Tony felt as if a hole had opened up before him.

"OK, then what do you like to be called. LJ?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Gibbs."

Tony laughed. "I'm not calling you Gibbs."

"Why not? It's my name."

"You're just a boy."

"That's what they'll call me in the Marines."

"Oh. So you want to be a Marine?"

Leroy nodded.

"Well, you're not a Marine yet. And I'm not calling you Gibbs. Think again. What about Jethro?"

The boy gave a gesture somewhere between a shrug and a nod.

"Jethro it is," said Tony. "So, Jethro, what you want to eat?"

"Don't care," said Jethro.

"Fine," said Tony, "I'll make one corned beef, one pastrami and we'll have half each of both. OK?" He got another shrug. "Your Dad said you don't talk much," said Tony.

"Nothing to talk about," said Jethro.

Tony opened the fridge door and thought about asking the boy what drink he wanted but decided simply to pour some milk.

"Don't like milk," said Jethro.

"Builds your bones," said Tony. "Marines need strong bones," he added a little meanly.

"So do steaks," said Jethro firmly.

"Fair enough," said Tony. "Want a soda?" He found he was beginning to interpret the kid's gestures: obviously sodas didn't make the grade. "Juice?" he asked and, receiving a more positive nod, pushed the bottle and a glass towards him.

Jethro managed to make the eating and drinking look like a chore although he was careful not actually to be rude. Part of Tony wanted to admire the nuanced behaviour while the other part wanted to roll the clock back to before the phone call from Jackson.

"Time to hit the rack," announced Tony when sandwiches had been dispatched and there was no suggestion that the boy was going to say anything.

Jethro looked at his host as if trying to gauge if this was a battle worth fighting but a huge yawn gave him away and he rolled off his stool readily enough. As he walked towards his bedroom he stopped at the sight of something in the corner of the living area,

"You play?" he asked.

It was the first time that Jethro had initiated a conversation and Tony felt it was a small breakthrough even if he did suspect that it was a delaying tactic. He followed Jethro's eyes and saw that he was looking, not at the baby grand piano, but at the battered guitar.

"Sure," Tony replied, "Not much now, not recently."

Jethro nodded.

"Do you play?" asked Tony, hoping to find some common ground.

"Not really," said Jethro and he shrugged.

This shrug had something a little wistful about it so Tony was encouraged, "Do you want to learn to play?" he asked.

"I was in a class," said Jethro.

"Good," said Tony.

"But not anymore."

"Why not?"

"I got kicked out."

"Oh." Tony wondered if it was because of the behavioural problems hinted at by Jackson. He began to consider if it would be possible to persuade the school to let him back in if they knew about his bereavement. "When did you kicked out?" he asked gently.

"Dunno. Six, seven months ago."

This was before Ann Gibbs had died but Tony was sure the Gibbs household had been tense for some time before.

"Did anyone tell you why you got kicked out?" asked Tony.

The shrug this time was a blend of embarrassment and anger. "I got into a fight over Melinda-Mae."

"Melinda-Mae?"

"She's a girl."

"I thought she might be. What happened?"

"Jason Maloney started talking to her."

"And?"

"And she didn't like it?"

"She didn't like it?" asked Tony.

"That's what I said."

"You didn't mind this Jason talking to her?"

The shrug seemed to be genuinely indifferent this time. "Didn't matter to me. But it mattered to her."

"So you got into a fight?"

"Yes."

"And kicked out of the class?"

"Yes."

"Did you explain why the fight started?"

"Yes. But nobody listens to me."

"Doesn't seem fair," commented Tony.

"Nothing's fair," said Jethro.

Tony thought about suggesting he talk to Jackson about appealing to the school but somehow he thought that might open a whole can of worms about not being listened to.

"I could teach you to play," he offered, wondering if he would be able to.

"Nah," said Jethro.

"But if you want to learn to play … after all you joined a class," pressed Tony.

A gleam of humour shone in the boy's face for the first time, "Nah, it's OK. I only joined because Josephine was in the class."

"I see," said Tony faintly.

"And it's OK. Because she's joined the modelling class," said Jethro.

"Modelling?" asked Tony thinking that the Stillwater schools might be more broadminded than he would have expected.

"Gateway to Technology design and modelling," said Jethro with exaggerated patience.

"You know, that makes a whole lot more sense," said Tony. "OK, see you in the morning. My room's across from yours. Call if you need anything."

Jethro shrugged in a way that suggested he would never need anything from Tony and slouched towards his room. Tony resisted the temptation to tell him that Marines walked tall and proud and settled for saying good night. Unexpectedly, he found himself smiling although, after only a couple of hours with Jethro, he was exhausted. Somehow he felt that the next few days might be trying as well as tiring.