Baltimore, 11:54 A.M.

The Baltimore PD station house had uneven wood floors and very little lighting. Dull black and white portraits lined the walls. The bustle and congestion of local departments had never appealed to Jethro Gibbs, and as he glanced the countless heads filling the room, who all seemed to have somewhere to be, he was glad for the calm, carpeted headquarters at NCIS.

An officer had offered to show Gibbs the way to the precinct captain's office, and he followed behind the man until they came to a stop outside the captain's door.

The door was left open, and Gibbs respected that - a man who made himself available to his subordinates without barriers. Gibbs took note of his discombobulated desk, the majority of which was cluttered with piles of case folders and papers.

The uniform officer introduced Gibbs and left. Captain Lou Isaacs was a short, chubby man with thinning brown hair and confident shoulders.

"Agent Gibbs," nodded the captain, standing to shake hands. Gibbs offered a hand of his own in response, and when the captain gestured for Gibbs to take a seat in the chair on the other side of his desk, Gibbs complied.

Isaacs sat in his own chair, and busied himself by sorting the pile of papers in front of him into a new piles. "Detective DiNozzo should be here soon. How's your investigation coming along?"

The man spoke formally but with genuine ease. He seemed a friendly presence, and Gibbs thought maybe his first impressions of this man had not been correct - a rare albeit possible occurrence.

"We're working on a preliminary background. My ME finished his initial autopsy. Today we'll start sifting through statements from the scene for notable leads."

"Good, good," he said, still fiddling with the piles of paper in front of him.

"You wanted to see me, captain?" A voice broke in from the doorway.

"Ah, yes," Isaacs said, looking up at the detective who stood stiffly in his doorway.

DiNozzo gave a quick glimpse towards Gibbs. "I didn't realize I was interrupting your meeting. I can come back when you're through here," he said and made to leave.

"No, no. You'll be working with Agent Gibbs here on the dock case you ran last night."

Tony froze for a moment, and turned around slowly. "Come again?"

"Yes, his agency has requested a shared investigation, and you're familiar with the case." The captain said, returning to his pile-sorting dismissively. A tension fell over the room as Gibbs watched the interaction between the two Baltimore men.

"I have three open cases and two set for court in the next few weeks. What are the expectations for a joint investigation here?"

Gibbs caught the sarcasm as the detective said - joint investigation - and wondered at it.

The captain stilled, dropping his current pile of desk folders to address DiNozzo. "The expectation is that you focus your energy on the harbor case, as requested by your superior. Levine can handle your cases, just give him what you have so far."

Quite a severe tone for a question that seemed reasonable enough, Gibbs thought, and waited to see how the detective would react.

But very little reaction came, save for a slightly tenser jaw as Detective DiNozzo answered, "I see," and turned to leave.

"Well Agent Gibbs, if there's nothing else you wish to discuss, I have quite a bit to sift through here," Isaacs spoke, gesturing to his desk. The conversation with DiNozzo seemed to have put the man in a mood, so Gibbs gave him a curt nod and left quickly, much like the detective had.

Something about Isaacs was off, but so far, only when Detective DiNozzo was in the mix. There had to be some unpleasant history there, Gibbs reasoned, but filed it away as a mere observation. He rarely had the patience to investigate his own strained relationships, so he had long elected to extend the same ignorance to the relationships of those around him. As long as it didn't affect his case, he saw no reason to care.

He located Detective DiNozzo's desk easily enough. Propped against the back wall of the precinct, it was flooding with piles of papers and files. Gibbs had thought the captain's desk to be crowded, but not compared to this monstrosity.

Amidst the piles sat a computer and a wide variety of trinkets that looked more fitting for a first grader's desk than a detective's. A Snoopy figurine sat atop one pile, as though guarding it. A mighty mouse stapler marked another. A can of Popeye's spinach held pens, pencils, and three Pez dispensers.

He watched as DiNozzo approached one of the piles and cautiously slumped over it to slowly nudge a middle folder out.

Gibbs slowly approached. "Looking for something?" he asked.

DiNozzo had carefully retrieved half of the folder without any piles tumbling to chaos, but upon hearing Agent Gibbs' voice, he felt a jolt of adrenalin at the unexpected placement of the man, who stood only a few steps behind him. The pile he had been carefully maneuvering tumbled to the ground and spilled over onto other piles on the desk, creating a domino effect of sorts.

The detective stood up and slumped his shoulders, then turned around to face the agent.

"Agent Gibbs," he said with a strained, pitying smile, "Haven't you ever played a game of Operation?"

The comical tumble of files and Tony's unexpected question instead of rage, had caught Gibbs off guard. He cleared his throat to hide what may have been an amused smile and couldn't help but think of a night by the fire with this game and his daughter.

Then dropped his right hand - fast - upon realizing he had it mid air, motioning tweezers with raised eyebrows, the custom when asking yes and no questions in sign language.

Tony's smile morphed into a more genuine one. "Yes, that Operation," he said, his voice gleeful at the image of the gruff agent in front of him bent over the children's game to extract brain freeze ice cream or stomach butterflies.

Gibbs felt a rush of hot blood in his veins, but didn't blush in embarrassment, not even when accidentally admitting to near strangers that he played kooky kids games.

But he certainly did not like the dancing eyes of the detective in front of him at the news.

Little bits of information like this made people human, gave glimpses of a life lived beyond case files and assertive demands, and in his line of work, Gibbs had fast learned that such dynamic knowledge evened the playing ground. Long accustomed to holding the cards and the power, evened playing ground was one in the same with a grave disadvantage in his book.

And now this kid detective had achieved such a thing within two days of meeting him - two conversations, really. Impressive.

But far more infuriating.

Determined not to let the detective catch him off guard again, Gibbs reaffirmed his footing and posture as though a strong presence could be a deterrent. Realizing DiNozzo was still talking, Gibbs tuned in, hoping he hadn't missed anything salient. The last thing he needed was to appear foolishly unable to follow a conversation.

"-it's just bad sportsmanship. I mean, I was in the zone, Gibbs. You shattered the slam dunk of folder extraction, just now. I know I make it look easy, but this is a skill of great mental and physical fitness. Like luge or parkour. And you just come right along and sneak up on a guy when he's mid-folder tug." Tony shook his head in mock disappointment.

He continued, "But I'm a reasonable guy, Agent Gibbs, so even though my entire filing system is shot to hell, we can put this behind us. I won't even break out the superglue.

"All I ask, is that next time, you consider the golden rule of Operation and give a guy some space. Maybe even some silence. What do you say?" Tony finished his monologue with open arms and the tone of a patronising peacemaker, like he was asking little Jonny to stop pushing people on the playground. An infectious humor sailed the undercurrents of his words.

Overwhelmed by the words thrown into the mix (what did parkour and superglue have to do with filing systems?) and annoyed that the detective felt comfortable enough to tease him (because surely he wasn't serious...right?), Gibbs did what he always did when he had no clue how to respond to someone.

He kept narrowed eyes trained on the detective but offered no response.

Most felt awkward or embarrassed when confronted with a silent, staring Jethro Gibbs. Anthony DiNozzo did not; rather, he tilted his head and stared back.

Eventually, he nodded amicably. "Good talk." He gave Gibbs a pat on his upper arm, "I'll take your silence as a peace offering."

He turned away and began gathering files from the floor. Gibbs watched him, still trying to comprehend the absurdity of their interaction.

"I need to get a few things handed off to my partner before we discuss your case." Tony broke the silence first, his humorous tone suddenly gone. Gibbs got the impression the detective wasn't exactly happy about the joint investigation.

"How long should that take?"

"Give me thirty minutes."

Gibbs gave a curt nod. "Going for coffee then."

He was gone before Tony could even respond, stepping briskly through the crowded room of desks and officers.

Tony watched him leave for a moment, then continued sifting through his scattered files until he found what he needed. He wished he had time to sort everything properly, but knew a half hour wouldn't be enough time to get his desk back in order.

The desk situation was a nuisance, but he could deal with it, especially since he'd quite enjoyed going off on the agent just now. And that the agent had let him.

Of course, he usually hoped for a smile or a laugh after such a performance, but in his experience, feds were always a bit slower on the comedic uptake. He welcomed the challenge.

Even if he didn't welcome the situation. It was really grating on his nerves, had been ever since he left the captain's doorway.

No warning, no heads up - just a quick hand off to the feds with an order to give Sam all his open cases. Cases that, theoretically, his partner should be all caught up on and working alongside him to close. But their partnership had dissolved quickly this past month.

Detective Sam Levine wasn't a bad cop, but he had a bad case of misplaced blame when it came to Tony, and his pervading animosity simply wasn't conducive to collaboration on cases or safety in the field.

Tony gathered the information Sam would need, then talked to Officer Mason, who had been his backup of late. Mason wanted to make detective, and Tony had enjoyed giving him a chance to work the investigations.

He let Mason know Levine was lead on his cases for now. Tony didn't need to spell it out any further; Mason knew his involvement ended when Tony's did.

By the time he was ready to hand everything off to Sam, Tony's anger levels had risen to a place they hadn't been in quite some time. Investigations with federal law enforcement never ended well, not in his experience, and here he was, being thrown into one without his consent and without a co-worker to share the frustration with. The majority of PD employees lived their whole careers without a single run-in with a federal investigation. He couldn't seem to go two years without an unwelcome fed in his life. A month, if you wanted to be technical about it, since Fornell's stubborn letters liked to appear frequently enough.

He approached Sam's desk with thoughts of federal corruption swirling in his memory. Of unrepentant feds catching lowly local LEOs in their crossfire.

"Isaacs says you should take lead on these three cases," Tony said, gesturing to the pile of folders he presently held.

Sam Levine had scruffy black hair and a surprisingly raspy voice given his young age. He turned his gaze from his computer screen to Tony. "Probably because he wants them to actually be solved. Must be hard for you to do your job without your usual tricks, huh?"

"My usual tricks?" Monotoned voice and tense jaw, Tony took the bait.

"You know, premature raids on trigger-happy thugs. Everyone at your beck and call. Things sure took a turn for you, eh, DieNozzo?" Right down to his subtly offensive pronunciation of Tony's last name, Sam's tone was biting but expected.

That was the thing about Sam. He was predictable. Tony could have recited their entire conversation before even approaching Sam at all, because they'd had this same one countless times already.

"Well, Sammy, I'd love to stay and chat," Tony said, in a voice that clearly indicated he wouldn't. "But why bother? You've got nothing new to say."

Tony paused a moment, his eyes widening at a realization. "How have I not realized before? This is Groundhog Day. I'm Phil Connors," His voice held a lighter tone as he contemplated this for a moment. "Except I'm no ice sculptor and you're definitely no Rita. Hey, maybe you can be Punxsutawney Phil instead."

His mood seemingly rejuvenated, Tony told Sam that Officer Mason was at all three scenes and could help with the cases if needed. Sam scoffed at this.

"And while I'm doing your job for you, what will you be doing?" he asked. "Or have you finally been canned?"

"I've been loaned out to the alphabet soup." He smoothed his tie, and forced a brittle smile. "I'm a man in high demand, you see, so I should really be off to look for the agent I'm supposed to be working with." He glanced at the wall clock, then added, "He doesn't seem the type who likes to be kept waiting."

"You got that right," Gibbs acknowledged as he walked up behind Tony.

Tony jolted, startled once again by the agent. "How do you do that?" he asked, slitting his eyes on the agent, then on the agent's shoes.

"Are those slipper shoes?" he inquired. "How do you get them to look so real?"

Tony looked at his own shoes, then back at the Gibbs' shoes. "Hey, can I have your shoes guy's number? Because my shoe guy is clearly lacking in the creativity department. Nice guy, really, but the things I could do-"

As the detective started bending down, his hand outstretched towards the shoes in question, Gibbs took a step back and cut off Tony's thought.

"You done here?" he asked, an uncalled for intensity in his gaze, then gave a quick look towards Detective Levine, who sat fiddling with his computer, uninterested in Tony's antics.

By the time Gibbs looked back at him, Tony was standing again and gave a brief nod at the question.

"Grab your gear then," Gibbs demanded and turned to walk towards the front doors.

Feeling foolish for his shoe monologue, an effort to distract the agent from any bits of conversation he may have heard before interrupting, Tony watched Gibbs leave the precinct with a mystified expression.

But only for a moment. Then he quickly started moving to his desk to grab his things. He didn't know much about Agent Gibbs yet - the guy didn't seem too keen on using words - but now he knew one thing for sure: the man did not like to be kept waiting.