Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was definitely in a good mood as he entered the squad room that Monday morning. There was joy in his heart and a song on his lips as he considered the delights of living in Washington in the Spring. He had spent a very pleasant Sunday strolling in the Washington Arboretum admiring the cherry blossom with his new neighbour Sally. Traffic signals had been green all the way to work that morning, his car still had that freshly valeted aroma and there had been no queue at the coffee shop. Yes, life was good.

He sighed happily as he put his weapon in his desk drawer, threw his backpack into a corner and sat on his perfectly adjusted chair. He gazed contentedly around the office and felt an extra surge of pleasure when he realised that his trouble free journey to work meant he was the first to arrive so he had bragging rights for the rest of the day. He smiled as he took a sip of his coffee which was still at the perfect temperature.

The phone rang.

"Good morning. This is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. How may I be of assistance on this beautiful day? ... Oh! ... I see. ... Yes, I have told him. ... Today? ... Yes, I'll see to it. ... Yes, I know I've said it before. ... Yes. ... Bye."

Tony sighed and put his head in his hands for a moment. He looked out of the window and spotted the sun disappearing behind a cloud. He took another sip of his coffee; it had cooled down. He looked towards Gibbs' desk and his eyes narrowed in concentration. He came to a decision. He looked round briefly and walked over to the Boss's desk. He glanced at the top of the desk but didn't find what he was looking for so he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out his lock-pick. After a few moments of fiddling he was able to open the top drawer. He removed an object, put it in his pocket, re-locked the drawer and managed to be back at his desk just as the elevator dinged to announce someone else arriving for work.

It was Gibbs, who apparently had not enjoyed a pleasant weekend ambling beneath the cherry blossom and seemed to have a journey to work impeded by motorists keeping to speed limits and obeying the rules of the road. Tony noticed that he seemed to be squinting slightly and his resolve hardened.

"Hey, Boss. Good weekend?" he asked.

"Got that report, DiNozzo?" was the only reply he got. Safe to assume that the weekend had not gone well.

"Just about to print it off, Boss," lied Tony. He had actually printed it off last thing on Friday but he decided to make an adjustment. He brought the file up on screen, reduced the font by a couple of sizes and printed that version off. He handed it to Gibbs and walked back to his desk.

Gibbs scowled in displeasure at the report and was about to say something when McGee arrived bearing coffee for everyone. The beast was soothed for a moment or two but he soon had to go back to the report. Gibbs sighed when he realised his arms weren't quite long enough for reading it so he rummaged in his drawer looking for his glasses.

"Looking for something, Boss?" asked McGee.

Gibbs stared at him,

"Well, no, McGee. I was just giving my fingers some exercise."

Tim looked across at Tony and they exchanged sympathetic glances as they both felt the beneficial effects of a happy weekend dissipate under the withering Gibbs glare.

"I was sure I put a spare pair in there," muttered Gibbs.

Tony brightened at the prospect of the stage of his plan working but then he frowned when Gibbs reached into his coat pocket and drew out a spectacle case.

"Uh, I thought you'd lost those, Gibbs," he said.

Gibbs looked surprised at the close interest Tony seemed to be taking in his possessions.

"No, found them yesterday in the darndest place. Don't know how they got in my wood box."

Tony, who knew exactly how they had got there, smiled weakly as he tried to think of a way round this unexpected development. He was helped from an unexpected source.

"Probably just a senior moment, Boss," said Tim helpfully, "nothing to worry about. My mom gets them all the time".

Gibbs removed his glasses; experience had taught him that a stare over the top of them lacked the impact of an unimpeded look. Tim's brain caught up with his mouth and he realised the enormity of his error,

"I'm not saying you're old, Boss. Not that there's anything wrong with being your age. Lots of older people are. Not old, just older. And it's good to be old ... I mean older. More experience. And I was reading this article that said grey is the new black. Which is interesting because most people would have thought grey was the old black – you know, black goes grey when it gets old. Older. I mean ..."

Oddly enough, McGee's panicked ramblings seemed to cheer Gibbs up and his lips quirked in a half smile. He reached for his glasses but at the moment DiNozzo managed to sweep them off the desk with another version of the report.

"Sorry, Boss," he said, "realised I'd printed it off with a tiny font. Thought this one might be better."

"Thanks, appreciate it," said Gibbs, restored to almost good humour by Tony's thoughtfulness and Tim's stuttering. It didn't last long. Gibbs' eyesight might be patchy but his hearing was excellent so he had no trouble picking up the sound of his glasses being crushed by Tony's feet.

A neutral observer might have found it amusing to see the rage which swept across Gibbs' face, the way the colour drained from Tim's face and the way in which Tony dropped to the floor and began frantically picking up the twisted, shattered remains of Gibbs's glasses. There weren't any neutral observers in the squad room so nobody laughed and most people tried either to dive under their desks or leave the floor.

Gibbs rounded his desk and loomed over the crouching Tony. Tony looked up and tried to smile,

"Sorry, Boss. Slight accident. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"You think?" growled Gibbs.

"Well, perhaps Abby could do something?" said Tony hopefully.

Gibbs stalked back to his desk, grabbed his gun and walked back. McGee wondered if Abby would hide Tony's body if Gibbs killed him for breaking his glasses. He wondered how he would testify at Gibbs' trial. Would smashing of spectacles be accepted as proof of justifiable homicide? McGee held his breath as these thoughts raced through his mind. Fortunately he was never to get an answer to his questions. Gibbs slammed his weapon into the holster, leaned down towards Tony and hissed,

"Make me an appointment at Winkies ... Now!"

"Yes, Boss," said Tony in a quavering voice as he stayed on his knees. Tim thought that was the most sensible he had ever seen Tony behave. He was surprised, therefore when, as soon as Gibbs had entered the elevator, Tony jumped up jauntily, wiped the knees of his pants and strolled across to his desk. He picked up his phone and made a call.

"Hi, Winkies Optometrist? Special Agent DiNozzo here. He's on his way."

He turned and saw McGee gaping at him,

"Gibbs' eye exam is overdue. Desperate measures, Probie, desperate measures."

NCISNCIS

Meanwhile, at Winkies Optometrist (otherwise known as 'Seeing is Believing'), preparations were under way. Members of staff of a nervous disposition were advised to take an impromptu coffee break while Nancy, the optometrist, and her assistant braced themselves. Naturally, they didn't have long to wait and Gibbs soon swept in.

"Ah, Special Agent Gibbs," said Nancy, "Special Agent DiNozzo just called to make an appointment. You were lucky, we'd had a cancellation so we can fit you in." She turned a warning look to her assistant who looked as if she was about to say that the appointment had been booked days ago.

"Just need a new pair of glasses," said Gibbs, "don't need an eye exam."

"Special Agent Gibbs," said Nancy firmly, "your last exam was more than a year ago. It would be professionally irresponsible of me to get you a new pair of spectacles without an examination."

"Later," growled Gibbs.

Nancy reached for another weapon but her assistant piped up,

"Dr Lester, didn't you say that Federal agents have to reach certain sight standards to retain their field status?"

Nancy looked at her approvingly,

"That's right. Of course, those standards can be reached using properly prescribed spectacles." She smiled sweetly at Gibbs who, remembering that he had a boring meeting scheduled with the Director, decided he might as well take the exam.

Dr Lester began to lead her unwilling patient to her room but her assistant intervened again,

"Oh, Dr Lester, we moved the glaucoma testing equipment into the other room. Don't you want me to test Special Agent Gibbs for glaucoma? After all we do it as routine for older patients."

Gibbs turned to glare at this foolhardy person but found himself disarmed by her innocent look. If it wasn't that her eyes were brown rather than greenish it would have been just like looking at DiNozzo. Nancy smiled to herself, she had been building up to the additional tests that she knew Gibbs hated but she decided to leave them in the capable hands of her assistant.

"Come this way, Special Agent Gibbs. I'll be gentle with you."

Nancy reached her room just before she gave into loud laughter. She wasn't smiling a bit later as she finished Gibbs' exam. She sighed as she steeled herself to give the news,

"Well, Special Agent Gibbs, your eyes are in excellent health, all the tests came back clear."

Gibbs smiled and made to leave the chair.

"However," said the doctor.

"However?" asked Gibbs poised halfway out of the seat.

"However, your eyes have deteriorated a little. You will need a stronger prescription."

Gibbs sank back in the chair despondently.

"Now, Jethro," said Nancy reasonably, "it's just a small adjustment."

"Small to you," grumped Gibbs.

"Jethro, we go through this every time. We're all getting older and it just happens".

"Don't have to like it, though," pointed out Gibbs.

"Jethro, may I tell you something?" said Nancy. Gibbs nodded, "I'm just grateful that you keep turning up for these appointments. In your line of business I think you should be happy that you keep on getting older even if it means your eyes get old too."

Gibbs laughed,

"OK, Nance. I'll try to look on the bright side."

"Good. Now, why don't we get these new glasses sorted out. I'll get Marylou-Belle to help you."

"Who?"

"Marylou-Belle, my new assistant. She did the first part of your exam."

"Marylou-Belle? Good Lord," sighed Gibbs.

"I know," said Nancy, "she's actually shortened it from Marylulu-Belladonna."

"Hello, Special Agent Gibbs," chirped Marylou-Belle, "I've got some lovely frames to show you. Did you know that you can get wooden frames now? Or if you don't like those, how about some horn frames – we can get them individually carved for you."

Gibbs sighed but couldn't bring himself to vent his irritation. Marylou-Belle looked, to his failing eyes, as if she had only left school the week before.

"Or," she continued brightly, "we have these wonderful tungsten frames which are practically invisible. And very strong."

Gibbs' mood lightened; he began to think that Marylou-Belle was a rather sweet name. His mood lifted ever more when Nancy said,

"Agent DiNozzo is due his eye exam next week. I'm a bit worried I'll have to suggest reading glasses for him. It was touch and go last time."

Gibbs smiled a rather evil smile; he sensed retribution on the horizon.

I have a theory that Gibbs changes his glasses quite often but can you imagine being the person having to do the eye test?