This is an originally short piece inspired by the episode 'Sandblast', in which Gibbs refers to Tony as his son. This fic grew out of that one line.

Set between SWAK and Twilight, but with unexplicit spoilers for later episodes, and a bit of creative licence taken. And please excuse the unusual perspective and style it is written in.

Family Dynamics

"Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys;
look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death."

Sun Tzu

If you could ever chance to see them together, off duty and without the badges, guns, lab coats or scrubs that are their uniforms, they would look like a bizarre family. Not the co-workers that their jobs profess them to be, but a clan of mismatched people brought and held together by circumstance.

You might stop, and watch if you do see them, and notice the behaviour of people who have grown up separately but know everything about one another – or at least, everything that matters – and think no less of each other, for the things that they know. You might shake your head and move on, or if you tarried, fascinated, you might notice their dynamic, where each fits into the hierarchy of the group.

There was the blue-eyed marine, first. The father, you might think, watching over the group with an expression of fond exasperation that might be familiar to any parent. Rough warmth and rarely given, but deeply felt praise coloured his relationship with his younger team. Annoyed growls and barked commands (A sharp 'DiNozzo!' might rent the air every few minutes, if you were there to hear them) were really only half-felt, if you were able to see through the veil of gruffness that the man wears like a battered cloak. Sharp eyes paid attention to his team, the surrounding people and the even wider environment – hawk like eyes might well pass over you, if you did stay – assessing you for the threat you might be to himself and the people under his protection. Some seem unaware of the extent of care that their boss has for them, but the oldest man seems to know too well, and three in his team seem to be aware on some level – but the cocky senior agent is too damaged, too proud, too hurt to see it. But his care is reciprocated, you might feel, in the almost fanatical loyalty that they have for him. It maybe feels to you that if he requested it of them they would cheerfully throw themselves in front of a gun aimed for him – though he would never even consider asking this (he'll take, and has taken, his own bullets) and they would never wait for a request (they would do it without even thinking twice). He was definitely the father of this entire group, whether he knew it or not.

The oldest man might cross your vision, now. All gentility and kind mannerisms towards everyone, laced with a scolding towards them, whenever the boss was forced to shout. An uncle, or a grandfather, maybe. Fond of telling the long, meandering stories of days gone by you might overhear as you watch them. The same annoyed affection as the other older man, but without the impatient, gruff edge to his personality. A kindly 'grandpa' you might think him, fond of everybody and constantly playing the role of a peacekeeper – attempting to stop the team's boss from murdering the psychopathic ('Sociopath is the word used now, Jethro. There's an interesting story behind that…') perpetrator in their latest case.

The rich laugh of the senior agent might be carried back to you from where he is dancing on his toes between his boss and the brown-haired women, teasing mercilessly and grinning when he receives a sharp smack on the head – as if he expected it, you might note. He's almost glowing, a vibrant personality that appears to coax unwilling smiles from the people around him – just before he returns to his gently bullying mannerisms. The oldest son, possibly. The presence in everybody's lives that was cherished and despised in equal measures. The annoying, mocking older brother, that could become just as fiercely protective of the younger agents as the 'father', but would revert to his normal personality as soon as the danger was past. Making you wonder which one was the 'true' personality. Was he really the cocky, smug prankster, or a perceptive, insecure agent with smiling childlike eyes? You could possibly add 'jeopardy friendly' into the mix, when you see scars from injuries and hear the deep, agonized coughing jag his bright laughter had caused – and the shadow of worry that passes over his co-worker's faces as he struggles to control his breathing. They hover without knowing they do, not truly relaxing even when he straightens and flashes a million-dollar smile that doesn't quite hide the lines of pain still there. But he ignores it, and so do they – they might well know that if they worry he will only try harder. Immature then wise beyond his years in phases – a juxtaposition that possibly only these people knew and understood.

A daughter, next. The older woman with the sharp temper and the even sharper tongue – her bickering with the senior agent ('Tony, I told you to stop following me on dates! Gibbs!) might well override any other kind of conversation you hear from the group. You might see that her sweet smiles disguise a spitfire - delicate features hide intelligence and a will of steel, it seems, from the way she argues with her co-worker and goes toe-to-toe with their boss in a way the others don't even dream of. The big sister, having to mediate between the two youngest agents whilst inserting her own cutting remarks into the fray – earning her smirks of approval from the marine and cheers ('Go Kate, Go!') by the eccentric looking girl with the group. Even with the edge of cool calculation you can see in her sometimes, there is warmth there, though it is similar to her boss' in that she sometimes borders on shouting in frustration at the childish agent, despite the affection they have for each other. If you are a brother or sister yourself you might understand – it is simply sibling rivalry at its finest.

If you see the youngest woman with them, you might well see how she has the entire group wrapped around her little finger. The youngest daughter of the boss, the little sister of the brown-haired senior agent and the woman he argues with – the favoured daughter of the clan. There seems to be an unspoken consensus that she was to be protected with a single-minded intensity. You might well pity someone who doesn't take note of this behaviour before threatening the deceptively innocent-looking Goth. Even though her sharp intelligence had won her respect with these people, she would appear to you to have boundless optimism and cheer, bright smiles can often be just as much a façade as the Italian man with his painted-on arrogance. She is still the youngest, the 'lab rat' – she is the one who will have to stay behind, who will have to worry herself into a frenzy over whether the people she cares for will come back in one piece. You could see this in how she speaks to them ('Tony, if you do something so stupid ever again I'll...'), how she will hug them and smile even when you, so far away, can see how a fear of their deaths – that, considering their line of work, never quite goes away – lingers in intelligent, kind eyes. She will most likely be the only one to survive – the only one left to have a true memory of them after their passing.

She might turn now, to give her wide, heartfelt smile to the man standing next to her, and then your gaze might very well pass on to him, the last of group.

He will smile back hesitatingly – but with no less feeling. He is timid, this one, starting at the smallest things and then concentrating so hard on bigger things that everything else gets tuned out – which, you observe, will lead to another well-placed head smack. Not a son, this one. The youngest girl's beau – as proved by his proximity, and the fact that everyone is keeping at least one eye on him and his behaviour towards the 'baby' of their group. He is most likely very aware of this, from his nervous movements and the way that he can't completely concentrate on the conversations taking place around him. You can see it again, in the faces of their boss, and the Italian man – their smiles offer congratulations to the couple, whilst their eyes promise death, should anything befall her. Even you, so far away, should well be able to see it. Shared joy and united protection. They were more than co-workers.

They were family.

You might move on now, fascination gone in the light of your over-analysing of the group. But you might keep the memory of the group, their unique dynamic with you – unconsciously comparing it to every other family you meet. You would likely find that nothing is quite as bizarre, quite as right as the relationships within that clan of people.

If you saw them later, you would know that something was wrong. The ladylike, fierce woman was gone from their midst. To a terrible end, you might fear – you see the brittleness of their smiles, the Italian's little-boy eyes now full of pain. A new woman instead, but one that you know, upon first glance, is too cold, too angry to fill the space left by a friend so loved.

You would look upon the group and know that the family had been terribly, inexorably, broken.