A/N This is the fourth story in my In Loco Parentis series. Please be aware that this is a Tony kidfic and, consequently, it is very AU. Some familiar characters appear in unfamiliar roles – such is the power of an AU fic. If this is not your "cup of tea" please go no further and let's part as friends. It makes no sense to ignore this warning and criticize me later.

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

Patrem et Filium – Father and Son

Chapter One

"Dad…Dad…he's fine," Gibbs repeated. "Just a bump on his head and-"

Jack's raised voice travelled down the phone line, bringing his son's explanation to an abrupt halt. Beside him, securely fastened into his standing frame, Tony was almost vibrating with excitement.

"Can I tell him, Gibbs? Can I tell Grandpa Jack?" Tony asked for the third time in as many minutes as he reached for the phone in his foster father's hand.

Gibbs held up a finger to quiet him so he could continue to calm his father's concerns.

"He had new scans today and…well of course at the hospital, Dad" he huffed in frustration. "Dad, relax. We were gonna call you tonight."

Gibbs pulled the handset from his ear and rolled his eyes dramatically at Tony. The boy bit back a cheeky grin as Jack's rapid-fire questions continued without pause.

"Didn't tell ya 'cause I wanted to wait for the results," Gibbs defended. "Nope…not even a mild concussion. The kid's got a hard head…left a sizeable dent in my floor though," the former Marine quipped with a wink at Tony.

"You don't need to come, Dad, he's fine," Gibbs said. "Well, of course you're welcome but-"

Unable to finish a sentence without being interrupted, the former Gunny knew there was only one way to ease his father's concerns and he handed the phone to Tony. The boy chewed his lower lip at the sound of the older man's gruff voice but Gibbs placed his hand on Tony's shoulder and nodded encouragingly.

"Grandpa Jack?" Tony started tentatively. "It's me, Tony…"

Jack's sharp tone immediately shifted to one of gentle concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," Tony replied.

"I'm really fine," he smiled.

"Really, really fine," the boy giggled.

"Uh-huh…uh-huh…my school work? It's okay," the kid said with a casual one-shouldered shrug. "But guess what, Grandpa Jack? Gibbs is getting me a dog! A real dog of my very own! Isn't that great? I can't wait to see him…or her…I don't mind if he's a girl dog. I guess that'd be okay, too."

Gibbs couldn't decide what he liked most - his kid's over the top excitement or the fact that, now it was Jackson who was battling to get a word in.

"And he's the smartest dog in the world, Grandpa Jack," Tony bragged shamelessly. "He's an assistance dog. Do you know what that is? I'll tell you. An assistance dog is trained to aid or assist an individual with special needs. Like me, Grandpa Jack, I have special needs now."

Gibbs grinned as Tony went on to recite the brochure he'd memorised from cover to cover. As the kid settled in for his customary long phone conversation with Jack, Gibbs ruffled the blonde head and walked to the kitchen. With a sigh that came all the way from his boots, he scrubbed his face with one hand, feeling the roughness of his unshaven jaw as he leaned wearily against the counter. He closed his eyes and immediately regretted doing so as memories of finding Tony seizing on his bedroom floor assailed him.

Doctor McNally had assured Gibbs that the boy was fine other than a sizeable lump on the back of his head but, at the Gunny's insistence, they had spent the better part of the morning at the hospital undergoing precautionary scans that had proved the doctor's original diagnosis. Tony was fine but Gibbs had added another scenario to an ever growing list of nightmares that plagued his sleep with annoying frequency.

With their routine trashed for the day, Gibbs had agreed to take advantage of the unusually warm weather and take the boy to the park. A grin teased his lips as he realised that spending time with Tony at the park and watching him enjoy being a kid was now one of his favourite things to do.

He flicked his watchful eyes to the living room where Tony was still speaking on the phone to Jack. He took a moment to marvel at the closeness of the bond between his father and the boy – the relationship was good for them both. Since learning that he may soon acquire an assistance dog, the kid's spirits had soared and his green eyes shone with excitement. Gibbs had left the details to Ducky and to the DiNozzo family attorney, Alistair Chambers, and, although it had only been one day, Tony was more excited and animated than Gibbs had ever seen him.

Opening the pantry, the former Marine grabbed the small cooler and quickly packed some Keto snacks and a drink for Tony, a small thermos of very strong coffee for himself and, of course, a bag of various kinds of bread to feed the ducks at the park.

"Wrap it up, Sport," he said as he walked back into the living room. "We've gotta go."

"Oh…Grandpa Jack, I have to go," Tony said into the phone. "Gibbs is taking me to the park. Abby needs me to continue my vital research on the preferred eating habits of the anas platyrhynchos. Do you know what that is, Grandpa Jack? It's the scientific name for ducks. Abby says my experiments are crucial to…they're crucial to…I can't really remember what they're crucial to but it's very important work. I'll call you soon, okay? Here's Gibbs again…bye Grandpa Jack."

Tony handed the phone back to Gibbs and quickly wheeled his standing frame up the hall toward his bedroom.

"Hey, Fangio! Slow it down," Gibbs called after him. "Park's not going anywhere. We got plenty of time."

Gibbs held the phone to his ear and listened to his father's low, raspy chuckle.

"Something funny, Dad?"

"Well that depends, Son," Jack replied. "Is that the same boy you were so concerned about just two days ago? The one you said seemed too quiet?"

Gibbs grinned and shrugged one shoulder.

"Yep."

"You ever find out what was troubling the boy?"

"Kid got it into his head that if he caused me any trouble, I'd send him away," Gibbs replied ruefully.

"What in tarnation gave him that idea?" Jack exclaimed.

"Was a misunderstanding. It's sorted now."

"I guess with everything the boy's been through these past few months, we should expect him to feel a little insecure from time to time."

"Now you're starting to sound like Ducky," Gibbs teased.

"Tell you one thing, Son," Jack chortled. "The prospect of a service dog's got the boy happy as a lark."

"It's all he talks about," Gibbs told him. "That and the damn ducks."

Right on cue, Tony manoeuvred his standing frame back into the hallway.

"Gibbs, don't forget to pack some bread," he called. "I promised Abby I'd continue my research."

"Roger that," the former Gunny replied.

"Both kinds, Gibbs, white and brown."

"Got both kinds," Gibbs confirmed, watching as Tony nodded his approval and disappeared back into his room.

"I see what you mean," Jack chuckled again and then sobered. "Is he really helping Abby with a project?"

"According to Abby, she's helping to stimulate his inquisitive mind."

"Maybe...but it sure is good to hear him so happy. You're doing great with him, Son."

"Thanks, Dad. Will we see you at Ducky's for Thanksgiving?"

"You can count on it. You think I'd miss our first Thanksgiving with Tony?" Jackson replied.

Before Gibbs could respond, Tony appeared in the hallway again, this time with a frustrated look on his face.

"Gibbs?" he said indicating the safety straps on the standing frame. "I can't get these buckles undone."

"Be right there, Sport. Dad, I gotta go. We'll call you tomorrow."

Gibbs moved swiftly up the hallway and guided the boy back into his room where he helped Tony transfer from the frame to his wheelchair. Grabbing Tony's ball cap, he placed it on the blonde head, purposely dragging the visor to cover the boy's eyes and eliciting a giggle. Despite the warm day, Gibbs rifled Tony's dresser for a light sweater and held up a light blue Burberry cardigan for approval. The boy wrinkle his nose and shook his head, smiling sadly at his foster father's lack of fashion sense and prompting Gibbs to swap it for a navy Hugo Boss button down that received the nod of assent.

"Bike or chair?" Gibbs asked, guiding the wheelchair down the hall.

"Bike please!" Tony answered enthusiastically.

Gibbs' eyes grew dim with recall. On previous bike rides to the park, the Gunny would carefully watch Tony's image reflected in the bike's rear view mirror and note how the boy would turn his face toward the sun and grin from ear to ear. The former Marine had no doubt Tony was remembering a time when he could ride his own bike and the memory tugged at his heart.

"Bike it is," Gibbs said, nodding his head toward the small cooler. "DiNozzo, grab your gear."

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

Arthur Fisher could feel the onset of overwhelming grief even before he located his son's final resting place. He stopped for a moment and took several deep breaths trying desperately to hold on to his composure. Forcing himself onward, he checked the cemetery's directory marker with the plot number hastily scribbled on a piece of scrap paper clenched tightly in his hand and he confirmed he was close.

His eyes scanned the names on the simple plaques and markers as he continued to move down the narrow pathway. He stopped suddenly, a half-choked sob escaping before he caught himself. For a long moment he stared at his son's name inscribed upon the small marble marker.

Aaron Arthur Fisher

Feeling his composure slipping, he took several shaky steps before falling to his knees beside the grave.

"No, no, no, no…"

His head dropped into his hands and his shoulders heaved convulsively as he wept inconsolably. For the first time since this nightmare began, he grieved openly, losing all sense of time as he mourned the insurmountable loss of his only child. Aaron was three when his mother was killed in a traffic accident and, for the next twenty-four years, his son had been Fisher's sole reason for living. His trembling hand moved to the pocket of his light windbreaker and he withdrew a small American flag, placing it by the headstone.

"I'm sorry, Son," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

False allegations and manufactured evidence had conspired to end his son's promising Navy career and a blatantly corrupt justice system had sentenced Aaron to ten years in prison. Certain of his son's innocence, Fisher's fight for justice became his compulsion; his obsession. He'd sold his modest apartment to fund the cost of over-priced attorneys and when the final appeal was denied, he was left penniless and broken. Crushed by overwhelming guilt and failure, something shattered deep inside him and, though he remembers little, he woke up in a mental health facility; his stability and grip on reality forever lost. The next two years were a vague memory of psychiatrists and drab grey walls in an overcrowded facility.

Fisher recalled little of the day hospital staff told him that Aaron had been murdered in a prison exercise yard. Powerful medications administered over many months suppressed all emotion and left him so devoid of feeling that his reaction was listless and detached. His psychiatrist deemed it inadvisable for him to attend the funeral and with no other known family members, Aaron received a pauper's burial.

Several years later, Fisher's release to a halfway house had more to do with government cutbacks than an improvement in his condition and an overworked and underpaid staff continued to administer his medication but rarely ensured he took it. He began to flush his meds down the toilet and, as the drugs slowly left his system, his beleaguered mind began to remember the circumstances that led him to this point. Two days ago, he slipped out the door of the halfway house, vowing never to return.

Looking around at the other headstones in the overgrown, unkempt cemetery, Fisher felt the fury and indignation ignite deep in his soul. This wasn't right - Aaron had served his country; he'd been an ensign in the United States Navy and he deserved a funeral with full military honours and a dignified resting place - not an insignificant plaque among other modest graves. But the military to which Aaron had pledged his life and served with distinction, had turned its back on him, casting him aside with a dishonourable discharge and forever tarnishing his name with lies, corruption and deceit. His outrage bubbled and blistered in his gut; his fury transforming into a powerful need for revenge.

"They'll pay for this, Aaron," he vowed. "They'll all pay for this."

His hands fisted in rage as his mind projected the faces of the people responsible for his son's wrongful conviction and subsequent death. Images including the judge, the jury foreman, the JAG prosecutor and the inept defence attorney flashed fleetingly through his mind before stopping on the face of man who had played a major role in his son's demise – the imperturbable face and the silver-hair of NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

NCIS—NCIS—NCIS—NCIS—NCIS-NCIS

After completing three laps of the cycle track at the park, Gibbs slowed the bike to a stop and carried the boy to the face-to-face glider swing where they opened the cooler and had their refreshments.

As was often the case, the conversation was very one-sided and Gibbs let Tony yabba on enthusiastically about a homework project his new tutor, Cassie Yates, had assigned him. In order to get to know her newest pupil a little better, Cassie had asked him to write an essay about himself and something exciting in his life. Of course, Tony chose to write about getting a service dog. Nodding in all the right places, Gibbs revelled in the spark of excitement in the kid's big green eyes as he spoke animatedly of how he imagined his life would be with an assistance dog.

By the former Marine's count, in the short time they'd been sitting in the swing, Tony had experienced two brief absence seizures which weren't as obvious or as severe as grand mal seizures but still worrying. There was no convulsing; no stiffening of the muscles or loss of consciousness, just a brief lapse of awareness that even the boy hadn't noticed. The agent knew it was still early days as far as Tony's Ketogenic Diet was concerned; the grand mal seizure the boy experienced recently was one of the worst he'd had but Gibbs desperately hoped that they were on the right path.

"Gibbs?" Tony asked shyly.

The boy's sudden change of mood was worrying and Gibbs gave the kid his full attention.

"Tony."

"Did you mean it when you said I could talk to you about my Mom and Dad?" the boy asked in a quiet voice.

Gibbs nodded. "Gave you my word."

Squaring his slim shoulders the boy looked his foster father in the eyes.

"Well...do you think we could go to the cemetery next week?" he asked quietly.

"Absolutely," Gibbs replied. "You wanna take 'em some flowers for Thanksgiving?"

"Um…kinda," Tony said, dropping his eyes for a moment. "And…for my Mom's birthday."

Gibbs felt his stomach lurch and he cursed silently. He'd meant to record the birthdates of Tony's parents in his pocket calendar but with everything else going on in his life, he had overlooked it.

Reaching out, he gently squeezed the nape of the boy's neck.

"I'm sorry, Sport. I completely forgot. We can go anytime you want."

"That's okay, Gibbs," Tony smiled bravely. "We haven't missed it yet. We still have a few days."

Another absence seizure stalled the conversation for a moment before Tony continued.

"I think my Mom would be happy that I'm getting a dog," he said. "She loved dogs, too, Gibbs…just like I do. But my Dad wouldn't let us have one until I was old enough to look after it."

Tony's face contorted and his eye shone brightly as a thought occurred.

"Hey, that's kinda funny, Gibbs," he grinned mischievously.

"What's funny?"

"My Dad thought I was too young to look after a dog and now I'm getting a dog to look after me," he laughed.

The Gunny smiled in return. The resilience of this small boy never ceased to amaze him.

After finishing their snack, they stayed in the playground for a short time, making use of the swing and monkey bars. Gibbs noted that Tony's upper body strength had improved since he'd begun his physiotherapy with Ziva and using his wheelchair. Scooping the boy into his arms, he headed for their favourite park bench by the pond and, judging by the enthusiastic greeting, the ducks were very pleased to see that Tony had remembered to bring the bread.

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

As the bicycle turned the corner into their street, the silence from the back seat was deafening and Gibbs hastily checked Tony's reflection in the mirror. The deep frown on the boy's face was a rarity.

"You okay, Sport?"

Tony sighed loudly.

"I just don't understand it, Gibbs," he said shaking his head. "All my research until now showed that white ducks preferred white bread and brown ducks preferred brown bread."

"Ducks can be fickle," Gibbs said dryly.

"Abby's not gonna like this, Gibbs. I think she was using my data for some sort of- Gibbs look!" Tony exclaimed, pointing to the large moving van parked in the driveway of their neighbour's house.

Gibbs' elderly neighbour, Winifred Kennelly and her late husband Sam had been living in their home for thirty years by the time the Gibbs family moved next door. Mrs K, as Gibbs fondly referred to her, had recently suffered a fall and broken her pelvis and the Gunny had been collecting her mail and mowing the lawn in her absence. They watched the removalists wheel a refrigerator into the van when Gibbs turned at the sound of his name.

"Jethro, I was hoping we'd see you," Mrs Kennelly's daughter, Marcie, smiled fondly as she rounded the small fence to place a kiss on his cheek. "It's been a while. Still as handsome as ever, I see."

"You look good, Marcie," Gibbs replied with a grin. He turned to face his young passenger. "This is-"

"You must be Tony!" the woman smiled. "I'm Marcie. I used to live next door many years ago. My Mom was right…you are adorable!"

A blush coloured the boy's cheeks as he replied softly.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Your Mom sold the house?" Gibbs asked.

"She's coming to live with me," Marcie replied. "She's inside. Come on in...she could use the company."

"We'll stow the bike and be right there."

Leaving the bike in the garage, Gibbs transferred Tony to his wheelchair, grabbed Mrs K's mail and headed next door where they found Mrs Kennelly sitting in the near-empty living room and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Jethro!" she exclaimed opening her arms. "I was afraid we'd miss seeing you."

"Not a chance," Gibbs replied, stepping into her embrace.

"I never thought I'd live to see this day," she replied tearfully. "This was Sam and my honeymoon home. Did you know that?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the Gunny replied.

"Of course you did," she smiled sadly. "It's hard to say goodbye but I found a good buyer and I'll have a good life with Marcie and my grandchildren."

Gibbs leaned forward, pulling the fragile lady into another hug and whispering in her ear.

"I know you will."

Dabbing at her eyes again, Mrs Kennelly looked around the room, spying Tony sitting quietly on the other side of the room.

"There he is," she said affectionately. "There's my knight in shining armour. Come over here, child, and let me look at you."

Feeling the heat of another blush, Tony hesitated before wheeling his chair close enough for the elderly lady to reach out and pinch his cheeks.

"I don't think I've had the chance to thank you properly. You know, the doctors told me that I could have died if you hadn't found me. Thank you, Tony, thank you for saving my life."

"I...I didn't really do anything, Ma'am," Tony said quietly as he rubbed his cheeks surreptitiously. "Grandpa Jack got the door open and called 911."

"And none of that would have happened if you hadn't heard me crying and told your Grandpa," Mrs Kennelly told him. "You're a fine young man and I wish I'd had more time to get to know you."

While the adults spent the next twenty minutes fondly reminiscing, Gibbs kept one eye on Tony who had edged his wheelchair toward the old upright piano and was gently grazing his fingertips over the keys. He knew the boy's mother had been teaching him to play before she died and he could tell by the faraway look in his eyes that Tony was thinking of it, too.

The removalist knocked at the door shortly after, advising them that they were ready to load the last of the living room furniture.

Taking one elbow each, Gibbs and Marcie carefully helped the elderly lady to her feet and to her Zimmer frame. They moved to the far side of the room and watched as the couch and the easy chairs were removed leaving only the piano.

"I guess this is it?" Mrs Kennelly said with a watery smile.

"Leaving the piano, Mrs K?" Gibbs asked.

"Sam and I bought that old piano our first Christmas in our home," the elderly lady reflected. "Marcie doesn't have the room for it so I sold it with the house. The buyer said he'd love to keep it and it seems fitting that it stays in this old home, don't you think?"

"I do," Gibbs smiled.

After extracting a promise from Gibbs that he would bring Tony to visit her in North Carolina, Mrs Kennelly was settled into the back of Marcie's car and the man and boy watched as the vehicle slowly moved away.

When the car rounded the corner out of sight the former Marine leaned forward to disengage the brake on the wheelchair, then froze as an all too familiar sense of danger sent a shiver running down his spine. His right hand immediately sought the reassurance of his weapon but was found grasping at air when he realised he was unarmed. Scanning the quiet street with trained eyes he looked for anything out of the ordinary but saw nothing. He stood perfectly still, every heightened sense on alert until Tony's voice brought him back to the present.

"Gibbs? Are you okay?"

"Never better," he replied in a reassuring tone.

Ruffling the boy's hair, Gibbs took one more look around before steering the wheelchair into the house and locking the door behind him.

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

As the sound of the doorbell resonated through the house, Gibbs reduced the heat of the stove and muttered a curse.

"Gibbs, someone's at the door!" Tony called needlessly from the dining room where he was setting the table for dinner.

"Heard it, Sport," the Gunny replied.

"You want me to get it?" the boy asked, manoeuvring his wheelchair away from the table.

"Stand down, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, wiping his hands on a dish cloth as he headed to the front door. "I got this."

He disengaged the locks and opened the door to a cheerful looking medical examiner.

"Good evening, Jethro!" Ducky greeted. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Always welcome, Duck" he said moving to allow the doctor entry.

"Hi, Doctor Ducky!" Tony called as he wheeled his chair into the living room. "Are you here to have dinner with us? I can set another place. It's no trouble, is it, Gibbs?"

"Nope, no trouble."

"That's very kind of you, Anthony...and, of course, you, too, Jethro," the ME smiled fondly. "Regretfully, I've already made dinner plans for this evening but I would be delighted to join you another time."

"That would be great, wouldn't it, Gibbs?" Tony asked not waiting for an answer. "We could finish reading the Oliver Twist book you gave me."

"Ah, yes…another Dickens classic. I look forward to it, my boy," Ducky replied, placing his hand on the blonde head. "Anthony, would you mind if I spoke with Jethro alone for a few moments?"

Tony's eyes flicked between the two men, immediately sensing that something was not right and Gibbs stepped in with a distraction.

"Cassie's coming tomorrow, Sport," he told him. "You finished your essay?"

The boy brightened immediately, his eyes shining with excitement.

"I have, Gibbs," he said. "I've finished it. I just need to draw the picture."

"Go draw," Gibbs told him. "I'll call you when chow's on."

"Okay," Tony agreed, quickly swinging the wheelchair around and accidentally catching the corner of the wall. The boy looked sheepishly at his foster father.

"Sorry, Gibbs."

The Gunny sighed as he looked at, yet another, dent in the wall.

"Slow it down, Sport, okay."

"I will," Tony nodded before swinging his chair again and managing to collect the wall a second time. "Oops," he said with a grimace before proceeding up the hall to his bedroom at a much slower pace.

"I see the lad's still refining his wheelchair skills," Ducky chuckled.

"He's a wrecking ball on wheels," Gibbs agreed with a wry smile. "Getcha a drink?"

"Thank you," the older man said, following Gibbs into the kitchen. "I spoke with Doctor McNally. He said young Anthony scans were clear."

"Yep...kid's tough as any Marine I ever met."

"And what about you, old friend?" Ducky ventured. "I imagine finding the lad in a full blown seizure gave you quite a scare."

Gibbs carded his fingers through his short silver hair, once again forcing the vision from his mind. He poured the coffee and lowered his voice.

"I was in the next room, Duck," he replied trying to keep the emotion from his voice. "Had no idea he was in trouble."

"Hence the sudden desire to acquire an assistance dog, hmmm?" Ducky surmised.

"Thought you'd approve. You were the first to tell me I can't watch Tony 24/7."

"Oh, I'm not disagreeing," the older man told him. "On the contrary, I think an assistance dog is a splendid idea, it's just..."

"Duck?"

"As co-executors of Anthony's trust account, Alistair and I have been making enquiries on your behalf. There are only three service dog facilities in the entire tri-state area and the demand for their service is extremely high. In fact, the waiting list for a suitable dog can be years."

"Years?" the former Marine felt his gut twist. Tony had his heart set on getting a dog sooner rather than later and the last thing he needed was another disappointment in his life. "Duck, if it's a matter of money-"

"Whilst the training of an assistance dog is very costly, Jethro, you must understand that it is also extremely time-consuming. The process of matching an assistance dog to a recipient is a very complex one. I have taken the first step and filed an application at each of these facilities. You should be contacted by a staff member within four weeks to arrange a face to face interview before going on our waiting list."

"How long are we looking at?"

Ducky paused before responding.

"We could be looking at two to three years," he said sadly.

Sighing audibly, Gibbs closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Anything else we can do, Duck? Apply interstate or overseas?"

"We are already enquiring elsewhere but as these facilities get very little government funding, their resources are extremely limited and the waiting lists are very long. I'm sorry, Jethro, I know this isn't the news you were hoping for."

"Not your fault, Duck. I should have checked into it before I got his hopes up," the former Marine said as he gazed up the hallway toward the boy's room. "S'gonna break his heart."

"Would you like me to stay while you explain it to him?"

"I'll do it, Duck, you have dinner plans."

Checking his watch, Ducky rose to his feet and returned his coffee cup to the kitchen.

"I know it is little consolation," he said. "But rest assured, we will leave no stone unturned in the quest to get that lad a service dog."

"Appreciate your help," Gibbs told him as he walked the ME to his car.

Unlocking the right-side driver's door of his Morgan, Ducky paused and turned to face his friend of many years.

"Nothing is too much trouble for our Anthony," he said fervently. "Nothing."

Gibbs watched Ducky drive away into the darkness before he returned to the house. Feeling the weight of the Tony's world crashing down on his shoulders, the former Gunny never noticed the man watching from a nondescript car several houses away.

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

A/N - I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More to follow ASAP.