Probably not much plot in this but I got to wondering what else might have been in the box!

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo came out of a meeting in MTAC to find a message on his cell. Seeing it was from his father he braced himself to listen to what Senior had to say,

"Junior," came a cheerful voice, "Just to let you know that I've sent a package to your apartment. I got the bill for my storage unit a couple of days ago. I don't know where they get their prices from! Anyway, I cleared some of the boxes out and there was a box of yours there. From the old house in the Hamptons, I think. Thought you might want it. Gotta go. See you soon. Ciao."

Tony put the phone down and considered: for once he couldn't see a downside to a message from Senior. DiNozzo Senior had finally given up the family home just before Tony went to Ohio State. Characteristically he hadn't given his son any notice so that he could go and collect anything. Instead, Tony had got back from spending the summer with Great Uncle Clive in England to find that the house had been shut up.

By that time, Tony was well used to his father's sudden decisions and didn't really expect to be consulted. In reality it had been a long time since he had lived much at the old house; most of his vacations were spent with friends or at camp so his childhood room didn't contain many possessions from his teenage years. A teenaged boy was unlikely, in public at least, to regret losing Mr Fuggles the bunny. Nearly three decades on, however, Tony was intrigued to discover what his father had thought worth rescuing for him.

"Boss," he called across to Special Agent Gibbs, "I'm going to head off now. Senior left a message. He's sent me some sort of package: it should be at the apartment now."

Gibbs' instinctive reaction was to deny permission. It was after all only halfway through the afternoon but just as his mouth opened to say no, he saw the eagerness in Tony's eyes and changed his mind. It was very rare for Tony to look excited at a message from Senior and Gibbs, thinking that perhaps his second B no longer stood for bastard, relented and waved his hand in dismissal.

Tony practically bounced to the elevator and Gibbs watched him go with a fond smile on his face. Then he remembered he had an image to maintain and scowled at Ziva and McGee who were sitting at their desks with shocked expressions.

When Tony reached his apartment block he found that he'd been unduly optimistic; he should have known that anything from his father came with strings attached – strings probably tangled into an unbreakable knot. At first when he entered the elevator area he thought someone new had moved in and left one of their crates behind but he soon realised he was wrong. Joe the super had obviously been waiting for him and burst out of his office,

"Tony! Why didn't you tell me you were having that crate delivered? It's too big for the elevator. It's been stuck here all day. Mrs Gordon nearly fell over it; Mr Dunlop threatened to set fire to it, the kids from number six have been using it as a fort! Why didn't you tell me, man?"

Tony went into automatic 'cleaning up after Dad mode' and started apologising. He edged up to the box which was about six foot tall and six foot broad. He tapped on one side and the noise which came back indicated that it was full. He tried to picture his old room but he couldn't remember it having enough stuff to fill this box. A sudden awful thought struck him, surely it didn't contain all the furniture? He was just about over his canopy bed nightmares and had no wish to relive them.

"You've got to move it, Tony," said an irritable Joe.

"How?" asked a bewildered Tony.

Joe produced a crowbar from behind his back with a flourish.

"Here!" he said, and marched back to his office and slammed the door behind him.

Tony froze for a few moments but, at that moment, Gloria Gordon came home from walking her pug Khartoum and gave him a dirty look.

"Mrs Gordon!" said Tony gamely, reaching out to pat Khartoum on the head. It was not unreasonable, Tony thought afterwards, that Gloria should have taken fright: he had forgotten that he was holding the crowbar. Gloria squawked indignantly, scooped the pug up and went off muttering threats. Unexpectedly, this turned out to be a good thing. Joe had obviously been watching from his hidey hole and came out with a smile on his face: he had a running battle with Gloria and Khartoum and was always pleased to see them at a loss. He took the crowbar out of Tony's lax hands and started hacking away at the box.

Joe had soon torn enough of one side of the crate away that Tony could see that it was filled with a number of smaller boxes, packed in with miraculous skill. Tony peered at one and saw that it was labelled 'Junior's toy closet'. It wasn't Senior's handwriting and Tony realised that he must have brought in a professional removals company who had just packed everything up and then sent it to the storage unit.

Joe's good humour had been restored, "Where d'you want all this?"

Tony tried to call on his Federal Agent skills but still found his mind reeling.

"Why not put some of it in your store room downstairs? The rest'll have to go upstairs."

Tony pulled himself together and made a random selection of the boxes to go to his apartment. The boxes labelled clothes and books were consigned to the store and the remaining four or five went upstairs.

A sweaty hour later, Tony stood gazing at the boxes littering his apartment,

"Thanks, Joe, I owe you," he said, barely suppressing an urge to hug him.

"You sure do," said Joe firmly, "but it was almost worth it to see the look on that pug's face." His pleasure didn't stop him holding out his hand for a more tangible reward and Tony sighed inwardly at the thought that his father had cost him money again.

Left alone, Tony decided he needed a reward after all the hard work of manhandling the boxes so ordered a pizza. While he waited for it to arrive, he considered which box to open first. He was about to go for the box of toys when he saw one labelled 'Junior's desk'. He had never been a studious child so figured there wouldn't be much in that one so that by the time he had gone through it, the pizza would have arrived.

He opened the box and found that everything inside it was carefully wrapped up. The novelty of unpacking wore off when he discovered that each crayon and pencil had been individually parcelled. He found a couple of exercise books and chuckled over his childish attempts at drawing but was beginning to flag. Just as he decided to give up he spotted a small square packet which didn't look like stationery. He picked it up and saw that it was a parcel with his name on which had come through the mail. Someone had written on it – 'Tony to pick up when he comes back from England'.

Tony remembered that he'd never gone back to the house after coming back from England and realised that this parcel had been waiting for him for nearly thirty years. He picked it up and sniffed it, hoping it didn't contain food! The stamp was English and the address seemed to have been written in Great Uncle Clive's handwriting. Tony opened it carefully; a couple of sheets of paper fell out on to the floor but Tony let them go as he suddenly had an idea what Clive had sent him.

A few minutes later the door bell sounded to announce the arrival of the pizza. Tony rushed to the door, pushed a bundle of notes at the surprised delivery boy and grabbed the pizza. Then he dashed back inside, grabbed his parcel and the sheets of paper and ran downstairs. He banged on Joe's door and thrust the pizza at him when he answered and then he was gone.

NCISNCIS

Ducky was looking forward to a quiet evening at home with music and a new biography of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle when he heard banging on his door. Tutting not unhappily, he went to answer it. He was surprised to find Tony standing on his door step; he took a moment or two to wonder if Anthony had ever visited him on his own and then extended his usual courteous welcome,

"Anthony, how nice to see you. I do trust there is nothing amiss?"

Tony jiggled a bit in excitement but tried to remember his manners,

"I'm not disturbing you, Ducky, am I?"

"Not at all, not at all. I rather like to be disturbed. Keeps the heart pumping, you know. Come in, come in. Now what can I do for you? Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee or something stronger? I have a rather fine whisky which I think you might appreciate."

"Tea will be fine, Ducky," came the rather unexpected answer.

"Come into the kitchen then," said Ducky, "you can watch me make it. And what do you have in your hands there, Anthony?" he continued, pointing to the parcel which Tony had clutched to his chest.

"Senior sent me a package," said Tony.

"And that's it?"

"Part of it," answered Tony, "a very small part."

Ducky finished making the tea, fished out some cookies and sat down at the kitchen table. He looked expectantly at Tony.

"Read this," said Tony, handing him one of the pieces of paper which had fallen out of the package. "It was in among the other stuff and I'd never seen it before."

"My dear Tony," read Ducky, "I very much enjoyed your visit these last months. I hope it will be the first of many such visits. You remind me very much of your dear mother. Not just in looks but in your attitude to life. I wanted to give you something as a keepsake of your visit. I think you will like it as you enjoyed looking at them in the library. No need to thank me.

With my love and good wishes

Uncle Clive."

"Oh my," said Ducky, "and how long ago was this written, Anthony?"

"Years and years," said Tony sadly, "and I never knew."

"And what did your uncle send you?"

Tony handed over a small velvet covered box, Ducky opened it and gasped.

"This is beautiful, who are they?"

Tony took the box back, it contained two miniatures, one of a young woman and another of a young boy.

"The woman is the Honourable Elizabeth Paddington and the boy is her eldest son Edward, he's seven in the picture. They were painted in the late eighteenth century. I think she was Uncle Clive's great great something grandmother. I remember he showed them to me in the library one day. He said he thought they looked like my mom and me."

"May I?" asked Ducky, reaching out a hand to take the pictures back. He looked at them carefully, "he was right. There's something in the eyes. Remarkable, quite remarkable, how family likenesses extend through the years."

They sat in silence looking once more at the paintings.

"This is a wonderful gift, Anthony," said Ducky at last.

"I know," said Tony, "I can't believe he gave them to me. They were one of his most prized possessions. He and Mom were very close, you know."

"Indeed," said Ducky, "and it is very generous. I don't know much about miniatures but I know enough to recognise the signatures. I believe these are by George Romney, one of the finest artists in England. These are worth many thousands of dollars, you know."

Tony looked even more stunned, "and I never knew, I never got to say thank you to him. He must have thought I was so ungrateful."

"From the letter he wrote, I don't think he expected thanks," said Ducky reassuringly.

"Still," said Tony, "I would have liked to say thank you," and he ran his finger gently over Elizabeth's picture.

"And what happened to Elizabeth?"

"She lived to be eighty six and had seven other children," said Tony proudly.

"Wonderful," said Ducky, "a real matriarch. And the boy, Edward?"

"He died the next year. Consumption, I think."

"How sad," said Ducky, "how sad." He gazed at the portraits noticing now how they were placed in the box so that they were facing each other. "Looking at each other but never to touch again," he said mournfully. He raised his cup of tea in a toast, "Elizabeth and Edward," he said.

"Elizabeth and Edward," repeated Tony as he clinked his cup against Ducky's. "Thanks, Ducky."

"What for?" asked Ducky.

"I knew you'd appreciate them," said Tony.

"And what is the other piece of paper?"

"Great uncle Clive was a practical man. This is a fully notarised document gifting the portraits to me, he didn't want there to be any doubt."

"A wise and good man," said Ducky, "like his great nephew."

"Possibly," said Tony, "one day."

"And what will you do with them, Anthony?"

"I can't sell them," said Tony.

"No, of course not, but they might be rather too valuable to keep in your apartment, I fear."

"I hate the idea of shutting them up in a bank vault," objected Tony.

"Indeed, indeed," said Ducky, "they are so fine, they should be on view."

"Perhaps I could lend them to a gallery?" said Tony doubtfully.

"That's a splendid idea," said Ducky enthusiastically, "and I might know the perfect person to ask."

"Of course you do, Ducky," said Tony, "of course you do! Between you and Gibbs I've got all the bases covered!"

"It will be a great pleasure to find a suitable place for your treasures, Anthony. And to think I was just going to spend the evening reading and now I have this exciting new project. Perhaps I should do some research into Romney and the other English painters of the time. And of course, there is a fine tradition of Scottish artists which it would be remiss of me not to explore. Oh, are you going?" Ducky broke off from his monologue when he saw that Tony was edging out.

"Yes, must go. I think I'll go home and enjoy Elizabeth and Edward for tonight at least."

"An excellent idea. And who knows what other treasures your boxes might contain?" said Ducky cheerfully.

"You're right, Ducky," said Tony, "after all I haven't found Mr Fuggles yet."

AN: if you've ever had your house packed up by 'professional movers' you will know that they wrap everything up however small and insignificant. Who knows what else Tony will find as he unpacks his boxes?