Gibbs heard the front door close quietly, the way only one of his regular visitors ever closed it, and waited patiently for the soft footsteps to cross the floorspace above him. His hand was wrapped comfortably around a mug of bourbon, and a jar half-full of the amber liquid sat on the cabin of the Kelly too. After this case, he'd been expecting his guest.

The basement door fell open, painting a square of unnatural light on the steps as the expensive shoes began their steady descent.

"Hey, boss."

"Don't sit, DiNozzo. Poured ya some."

Gibbs was normally more than happy for his senior field agent to sit on the basement steps in silence, thinking through whatever he needed to think through, before leaving just as quietly. But this time, his gut told him – man of few words though he may be (or they both, in their own ways, be) – he needed to talk.

"Boss?"

"Ya did good, Tony. Figured you'd be round. C'mon." Gibbs pulled out a workbench and hastily blew the sawdust away. Slightly shaken by the use of his first name, Tony wandered over and perched on the edge, reaching for and worrying the jarful of liquor that had been waiting for him.

"Thanks." He mumbled, a little delayed.

The silence stretched on between them – comfortable, yet full of the unsaid. Gibbs drained his mug and stood, reaching for the varnish again to continue his ministrations on the cabin, and only once he'd put some distance between himself and the other man (which he knew his senior field agent would appreciate) did he break it.

"So. Ten k, huh?"

He had a feeling that this was what was bothering Tony. The case had been unusual, but there'd been no hints of anything wrong with his protégé until that phone call came through. Tony tensed and glanced away from the amber liquid. Gibbs wasn't looking at him, but was concentrating on the brush in his hand, and for that, the younger man was thankful.

"Yeah, plus interest. No biggie, but he could've forgotten it when he just inherited twenty-four mil." Tony smirked, and Gibbs smirked back.

"You'd think." He grimaced. "And he broke rule 13." He shuddered and put down his brush, reaching for another shot of bourbon. Tony stared at him for a second, and then laughed, placing his own drink delicately on the woodwork so he didn't slosh it. Gibbs gazed at him, slightly bemused, and decided to wait the fit out.

After Tony had quieted and they were once again shrouded in a comfortable atmosphere, Gibbs dared speak up again. "Ten k plus interest... You got it covered?"

Tony bristled. "I'm fine, boss. If all you wanted was to poke into my finances, I'll be off." He said coldly, setting down his drink a little harder than necessary and standing – a little stiffly, Gibbs noted with an inward smirk.

"Siddown, DiNozzo. I didn't mean anythin' by it. Anyway, pretty sure you brought yourself. I dint ask you over."

"Right, boss." Tony sat slowly, and then picked up his drink and inspected Kelly for injuries, thankful that he found none. He was aware, and slightly embarrassed, that his little fit of anger was really quite childish.

"Wanna tell me what that was about?" Gibbs asked.

"What are you now, my therapist?" Tony snarked back.

"No. I'm lookin' out for ya."

"Well cheers, boss, but I've been looking after myself for long enough. I can manage."

"Yeah, but ya can't print money. Ya need help, ask."

"And what, you'll bail me out like my uncle did?"

"Why not?"

Tony stuck his head in his hands. "I don't need your money, Gibbs." He told him through his palms. "M'fine."

"Then why's my gut screamin'?"

"Dinner time?" Tony snapped back sarcastically. Gibbs grinned.

The smell of steak permeated the house as Tony laid down his plate with a contented sigh, and then squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"Still sore from the horses?" Gibbs shot at him with a smirk.

"Ya think?" Tony turned one of his boss's favourite sarcastic responses back on him, groaning slightly as he stretched.

Gibbs stood and collected the paper plates, folding them and chucking them unceremoniously in the trash. "So." He said as he pulled another couple of beers out of the fridge, twisting the tops off viciously. "Hunger dealt with. Still got somethin' naggin."

DiNozzo rolled his eyes. "'M fine, boss."

"S'what ya always tell me. Sorry if I'm not really believin' ya. We got different interpretations of 'fine'."

"Drop it, Gibbs." Tony's voice was uncharacteristically sharp as he lost his patience. "My finances are none of your business."

"Got that, DiNozzo. Don't want a full run-down of earnings and outgoin's. Just wanna know what's up with my gut." He paused. "And with my friend."

Tony ran a hand down the side of his face and sighed, more touched than he'd let on by the added part of his usually-mute boss's last statement. He knew he was being snappy, and he knew Gibbs wasn't being unreasonable – nor was he going to drop it until he knew what was going on. One last try, he thought to himself.

"Look, boss, nice of you to offer to loan me the money and that, but that's kinda what got me into this mess, isn't it? I'll pay dear old Crispin, and I'll be fine. I got the money." There was a pause. "Plus if I needed a loan I don't think my boss who's also on a government salary is a fair place to start." Too late, Tony remembered that Gibbs had his military pension and very little in outgoings. He swallowed, hoping he hadn't seemed insensitive.

"S'not what I asked, DiNozzo. I'd lend ya it, if ya needed it, but ya don't. So what's…hinky?"

Fine. He won't be distracted. Tony frowned, barely noting Gibbs's use of Abby's term. "Guess I'm telling you then. Just don't do what I did to the probie, boss. McGemcity didn't deserve that."

"Ya wrote a book, DiNozzo?"

Tony snorted despite himself. "I'm not the typewriter sort, boss. Think I'd rather build a boat. Nah, I was just mean to the kid."

"You're always jokin' around Tony, but he knows you're kiddin'."

"I let his successful books and money change how I viewed him." Tony answered, intently studying the couch. He figured he might as well just get it out there.

"You came round." Gibbs answered, confused as to the conversation's direction. "Why'd I do that, anyway? Thought you were losin' money."

"I lied." Tony answered shortly, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Rule four."

"So you're gettin' your uncle's estate?" Gibbs was lost as to why his senior field agent was so tied up in knots.

"Some. Didn't lie about Crispin." Tony answered with a smirk. "He isn't too happy. And I do still owe him the ten k. The i.o.u was in his bit of the estate."

"So you do got the money to pay him, huh?" Gibbs clapped Tony on the shoulder. "Guess you get ya Ferarri after all."

Tony shook his head. "Nah. Too flashy."

"DiNozzo, Ziver and McGee ain't gonna act funny with ya just cause you got money."

"Maybe not." Tony conceded, "But I already lied. And it isn't them I'm worried about."

"Then why're you hidin' it?"

"Senior will want it." Tony answered shortly, and pulled uncomfortably at the tie he still wore. He'd driven aimlessly for a while before heading to his boss's house, and he was still in his work clothes.

"He can't get it. Stick it in the bank or spend it, it's your money." Gibbs scrutinised Tony's face, wondering what was going on in his mind.

"Spend what I earn on this crap so he can't get it." Tony waved vaguely at his expensive suit, silk shirt and thin tie. Gibbs remembered noting a designer label on the shoes which were paired neatly by the sofa, somewhere underneath the sock-clad feet currently resting on his upholstery. "Don't save. Be screwed if I lost my job. Lucky Clive left me money to pay the ten k with. But Senior'd be all over it if he knew."

"Tony." Gibbs shifted, sinking down on the couch next to his – hell, probably his closest friend, finally understanding his extravagant taste, extensive movie collection and regular holidays. "You're a grown man – hell, you never even see your dad. That money is yours. He can't get it."

"He can, he does, and he will. Benefits of having the same name, a lotta charm and some backdoor favours owed to him." Tony shrugged. "Hated that I treated Timmy differently. Just like my dad. Couldn't help it though. Guess you learn by observation."

Gibbs's very small reservoir which he kept his anger in was slowly boiling over. This kid's dad was stealing his money? How was he getting away with that – and why was DiNozzo letting him?

"We can get him put away for this, DiNozzo." He barely concealed his rage.

Tony shook his head, sticking his feet back on the floor. "He's still my dad, boss. Well, no. He's still my father. Think I'm accustomed to the lifestyle now anyway." He tried weakly, lifting his tie and waving it. "Don't want to get him locked up."

Gibbs sighed. He wasn't going to argue, but he was seriously considering paying the man a visit. He was pulled out of his thoughts when Tony carried on talking.

"Fewer people know about it, least likely he is to find it."

"Rule four." Gibbs agreed.

"Guess I'm just a bit stuck with what to do with it. Can't spend it, can't keep it. Charity maybe?"

"Twelve mil, DiNozzo?"

"Six." Tony corrected quickly, looking up at Gibbs and then away, almost ashamedly. The silence stretched until Gibbs quirked an eyebrow and repeated his question.

Tony sighed. "Yeah, boss. What else do I do?"

Gibbs thought for a bit. "Maybe buy a place outright, stop rentin'. New car – not flashy, just new. New TV…" He trailed off, realising that it was a lot harder to just spend six million dollars than he'd expected.

"Why not." DiNozzo nodded. "Give the old ones to people who need 'em. Never know where the money's going." Tony chose not to remind Gibbs that he already paid a mortgage, not rent.

Gibbs smiled at the philanthropist he knew Tony to be, and decided to risk another question. He stood, taking the empty beer bottles to the kitchen and pulling two more out of the fridge. While he was facing away from the Italian sat on his couch, so the kid had time to react unobserved if he wanted, he spoke. "When did this start?"

A fairly long silence followed that question, during which Tony froze and then hurriedly put his mask back in place, and Gibbs carried beers – the tops of which he'd already removed while he gave DiNozzo recovery time – back to the coffee table. Only once they were both seated on the couch again did Tony speak.

"Always happens, always did." He mumbled. "Mom wouldn't have a joint account with him cause she knew he'd spend it all, and that got him angry. He figures that my money's his cause I cost 'em so much growing up, with boarding school and that. Senior thinks everyone should share with him, but he should share with no-one."

"You choose boardin' school, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, plucking his beer from the table. Tony shook his head, and Gibbs inwardly rolled his eyes. "Huh. Screwed-up thinkin'." He raised an eyebrow, and Tony shrugged in response.

"He isn't gonna stop. Money's everything to him, but it also has no value. He isn't gonna get to a point and decide he's taken enough from me. Mom's money gave him a skewed -"

Tony cut himself off suddenly. Gibbs glanced up, seeing a look of slight shock on his agent's face. "Never heard much about your mom." Gibbs prompted, and a glassy-eyed Tony shook his head.

"What the hell. Already spilled my guts. Can't do any harm." He mumbled again, and then spoke a bit louder. "Don't talk about her much, boss. She was amazing. Brilliant mom. Senior adored her, when he was sober. She never let anything get her down. Just wish she didn't die so young." Gibbs thought he detected a hint of bitterness.

"She sounds great." He said carefully. "How did you lose her?"

"She died doing what she loved." Tony answered. "She was an actress. She was rehearsing for an action film, and some crazy fan shot her. Like McGee's guy, who recreated his whole book that time, with the javelin. They never released the film."

Gibbs was coming to a realisation. "Your mom…was Rosa Paddington? The child star?"

"You remembered Uncle Clive's surname, boss. Good memory."

Gibbs sat back against the sofa cushions. "Wow." He mumbled. "I remember watchin' it on the news. Never knew she had…well, you."

"She was private." Tony nodded. "She grew up in front of the cameras, and she learned to keep her life off of them. Cause of senior. His tantrums probably would've cost her her career – and all he wanted was her money. That's why he's living the showbiz life now. He did love her, in his own way. Sorta."

"That's why you love films. And became a cop." Gibbs thought aloud, and Tony nodded. "She left her money to you?" Gibbs asked, realising when senior's stealing started.

"Every penny." Tony answered shortly. "Told senior in her will she loved him, but he had to learn that money wasn't everything. He kinda went off the deep end then. Money went in one of those trust funds for me to access at eighteen. Senior used some of it to pay for my school, and the rest for his 'work'."

"How much?" Gibbs barely breathed. Tony almost missed it, but he answered anyway, figuring it couldn't do much harm.

"Sixty-eight mil. Went to pay for Vegas with the frat guys after college, it was empty. Clive lent me some for the holiday and to get my leg fixed up, and then I just relied on wages." Tony paused. "Tried saving for my own place for a while, but that started going missing too, and the banks all said I'd withdrawn it." He shrugged. "Never used to dress like this. Blew a load on an engagement ring and then started on the designer clothes in Baltimore. Medical insurance helps too."

Gibbs's eyebrows shot up at the mention of an engagement ring, but at the look on Tony's face, conceded that tonight wasn't the time to ask about that – he'd been giving enough personal information out. Gibbs tried to keep a hold of his anger once more, and struggled through his next question.

"When was the last time…?"

Tony smiled ruefully. "Hasn't been much to take recently. No point." He lifted a shoulder. "One day maybe he'll run out for good and get himself into trouble stealing from someone else." He paused for thought. "Or maybe he'll get me into trouble for stealing."

There was a long silence, and it was Tony who filled it. "Hey boss. Did ya call him when I was sick?"

Gibbs smirked. "Which time, DiNozzo?"

"Point, boss." Tony looked slightly abashed, but smiled. "When I got the plague."

Gibbs stilled, trying to swallow in his suddenly dry throat. "Yeah, I called him." He answered cautiously, realising it may not have been his best decision. "Dint know how much ya dint get along. And that kid that broke ya leg, he said – he said -"

Tony's mind ran a sombre and a funny thought alongside each other, causing him to struggle over whether or not to laugh. Only Gibbs could remember that doctor as the one that broke my leg, rather than the one with the same name as a famous actor. Was on one side of his mind, while on the other – I've never seen Gibbs lost for words before, or no more than usual. This is gonna be bad.

Gibbs took a deep breath. "He said you had a few hours. Ducky was mentally preparing to do your autopsy. Kate was in pieces." Tony's mouth hung open at that; he hadn't known how sick he was. "Figured at the time your dad should see ya. Mighta bin his last chance."

Tony snorted. "He'd probably have bin pleased if it was. He'd get my insurance payout. Line of duty and all that."

Gibbs shook his head. "He might be a bastard, DiNozzo, but he'd grieve if ya died. Guess I got the wrong number anyway, he can'ta got the message."

Tony laughed bitterly, then took a few more swigs of his almost-empty beer. "Nah, he got the message alright. All my accounts were empty by the time I got outta the hospital and healthy again. Every last one."

Gibbs sat in uncharacteristic shocked silence for a moment. "He…he never visited? Called?"

"Nah. Just took the money." Tony answered, draining his bottle. He jumped as Gibbs slammed his own empty bottle on the coffee table, and then his fist next to it.

"Bastard." He swore.