A/N: This is hopefully the first installment in a series of fics that imagines a universe where Paula Cassidy was the one to join Team Gibbs after Kate was killed. So this story will be Ziva-free. Much of the dialog from the episode 'Silver War' has been directly lifted, with some very notable exceptions. Please enjoy. (Edited to address a 'hinky' problem with how one of Gibbs' rules was numbered... Sometimes, writing after midnight should not be done. Gremlins pop up.)

The Re-education of Special Agent Paula Cassidy

Silver War

Special Agent Paula Cassidy came to the inescapable conclusion that two things would have happened if she had not killed Adam O'Neill, the deranged protégé of notorious serial killer, Kyle Boone.

One: she would not have finally earned Special Agent Jethro Gibbs' trust in her skills as an NCIS agent, and two… well, she would not actually still be alive to have earned Gibbs' trust, because if she hadn't killed O'Neill, he would have killed her instead.

Two times, she'd run afoul of Gibbs, and Paula knew she was far from being on his list of favorites, if such a list even existed. The first time had been because she'd been too trusting of a colleague. Gibbs thought she was involved with an emerald-smuggling scheme out of GITMO; she had been too easily duped by the translator and the prisoner she'd been interrogating. She'd seen to it that she fixed that mistake, though, playing the prisoner and shooting him to prevent an assassination.

The second time had been because she was too compassionate towards a baby of an ensign who mouthed off to a Commander. Gibbs thought she'd looked the other way; Paula thought she had done the kid a favor by not writing up a formal report. The commander had been universally hated; the ensign had been especially singled out by the commander for abuse. Unfortunately, the kid became a suspect when the commander turned up dead under unusual circumstances. In the end, there would be no 'fixing' that one, and Kate Todd would eventually be forced to kill the kid when he threatened to shoot Gibbs.

Even in a federal law enforcement agency as relatively small as NCIS, Paula didn't really expect to run into Gibbs again after that debacle. She went back to resume her duties on the USS Kennedy; Gibbs' team had their jobs to do from D.C.

Director Morrow's order to report to the Navy Yard for duty had come through just as Paula was finishing up her Agent Afloat assignment, and she was looking forward to being back on terra firma for the foreseeable future. The day of her return was marred by the murder of Kate Todd at the hands of Ari Haswari. Plans for a date that very evening with DiNozzo were scuttled. A brief email from Tony expressing his regrets about cancelling the date (for obvious reasons) sat read, but undeleted in Paula's inbox for a long time.

Despite the cold shoulder she'd given Tony earlier when Gibbs had berated her in front of everyone for her lack of action with the commander and the ensign fiasco, Paula had to admit she'd been looking forward to the date. Tony could be goofy, but he was fun. They had fun together, both aware that the attraction was mutual, but neither expecting anything of the other in the early stages of the game.

She had not been thrilled at the prospect of a week-long T.A.D. by any means. But after what happened to Kate, Paula knew it wasn't the time to quit being a team player on the grounds that she didn't particularly like the coach. Seeing Tony, again, though… Paula figured she could at least expect lots of harmless flirting and good-natured teasing, and she was happily prepared to give as good as she got.

It was contending with Gibbs that would be the challenge, because he was a notoriously hard task-master. Not that Paula minded hard work, but Gibbs expected his subordinates to do all the schlepping, had an abrupt, abrasive manner, and an enigmatic way of issuing instructions that she didn't think she would ever get used to (though McGee seemed to think otherwise, but what did the 'Probie' know?) Paula had never seen Gibbs crack a smile except in derision over something he found ludicrous, and she doubted he possessed a sense of humor. From Tony, she'd heard of the head-slaps, put-downs, an infallible 'gut', some nebulous list of 'rules', grouchy moods, and a black coffee addiction.

The Kyle Boone situation didn't improve the grouchy disposition. Just her luck she'd be with Gibbs' team the very week he was forced to face the same monster he's put away ten years earlier; just her luck, too, that Boone's lawyer turned out to be a twisted sicko who plotted to keep Boone's kill streak alive.

Getting herself kidnapped by Adam O'Neill had definitely not been Paula's plan when she assented to Director Shepard's request to spend the week with Gibbs and company. Surviving Adam O'Neill, though, quickly did become her plan when it was clear he intended to make her his fifth victim. Applying pressure to the bastard's windpipe with the tread of her boot until he was dead – that had been one of the highlights of her week, eclipsed only by the look on Kyle Boone's face and his yell of rage when he found out she was still alive. Yes, she was alive, and Boone would soon be dead, fried to a crisp in the electric chair.

There had also been a look on Gibbs' face when they found her alive, bruised and bleeding, wrists still bound behind her back, but with the corpse of O'Neill at her feet. It was a look that was relief and admiration rolled into one, and Paula managed to catch it just before it vanished altogether under a cool, remote business-like veneer of calm and control.

After surviving her abduction and brush with death, Paula was granted some medical leave. It made her stir-crazy to be inactive, but she knew she wouldn't be much use in the field with her arm in a sling, and she wasn't keen on being relegated to desk duty.

A genuinely concerned Tony called her a few times to check up on her, and she gently rebuffed him when he offered to come over and keep her company some evenings. Paula sensed he had no ulterior motives, but she didn't want to be an emotional burden to him, especially when she knew full well he wasn't over losing Kate. She assured him she was fine, and that her wounds were healing as expected. She did not mention that some nights were plagued by nightmares of her encounter with O'Neill, hoping instead that they would pass with time.

It was nearly impossible to avoid all the news coverage of the event, and it was a surreal experience reading her own name in print, and seeing her NCIS headshot on TV, along with all the lurid details of Boone and O'Neill's plot. Paula absolutely balked at being labeled a hero, thinking the term had been thrown around far too easily in this instance. But if killing a copy-cat murderer before he had a chance to kill more innocent women qualified her as such, Paula didn't see much point in disputing it. People liked stories with happy endings. She just hoped the story blew over quickly so her life could return to normal. The NCIS public-relations department was doing a wonderful job shielding her from prying members of the press corps, and Paula was grateful that none had managed to sniff out her address and phone number to pester her for the 'personal' side of her story of survival.

Paula's slashed shoulder was still tender when Director Shepard summoned her for a meeting a week later, but at least she no longer required a sling. The facial bruises had faded to the point where makeup could easily cover them, so she didn't feel quite so self-conscious when meeting with her new boss.

At the landing on the top of the stairs, Paula waited for Cynthia Sumner to admit her for the appointment. The door opened, and to her mild surprise, Agent Gibbs emerged. He paused at the doorway, sent a look back Director Shepard's way, then turned and gave Paula a quick once-over.

"You'll do," he said impassively, and moved to quickly descend the staircase into the bullpen.

Once again, Gibbs, you have such a way of making a girl feel wanted, Paula mused, and then became instantly apprehensive over what he meant with those two words.

"Come in, Agent Cassidy," Director Shepard called, beckoning with an inviting smile.

Paula entered and closed the door behind her.

"Have a seat," Jenny said, gesturing to a comfortable chair opposite her while removing her glasses with the other hand.

Paula did so, and waited expectantly for the director to initiate the conversation, taking in the décor of Jenny's office with a discerning eye. She'd never seen the interior before today, and wondered if Jenny had yet put her personal stamp on things, or if she were looking at the remnants of Director Morrow's sense of style.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jenny asked: "How are you doing, Paula?"

"I'm fine, Director Shepard. No permanent damage," Paula answered easily. It wasn't really a lie; her shoulder was mending well, and one could hardly tell that half her face had looked like a black-and-blue mosaic mere days ago.

Jenny smiled softly. "That's good. But physical recovery aside, Paula, how are you feeling? That scumbag could have killed you, and-"

"But he didn't," Paula interjected. If this conversation was going to be about the state of her mental and emotional health, she didn't need or want it to continue. "Like I said, I'm fine. He's dead, Boone is dead, and now the families of all those women can rest knowing justice was served."

"Yes, they can," Jenny agreed, "thanks in no small part to your actions. You had all of us here extremely worried when we found out you'd been abducted, Paula, and we're all extremely grateful you made it out of there alive. You did this agency proud, and an official commendation in recognition of your actions will be forthcoming."

Paula was embarrassed to feel a warm flush creeping up her neck and coloring her cheeks. "I – I don't know what to say," she stammered uncomfortably. "I was just doing my job… I actually feel a little foolish for what happened. I mean, I let my guard down. I should never have given O'Neill the chance to get the better of me out there in the field. It was a rookie mistake."

"He hit you with a shovel, Agent Cassidy. He completely blind-sided you," Jenny emphasized, showing her revulsion for the cowardly blitz attack, and her own reluctance to place any blame whatsoever on Paula. "From everything we pieced together from when Boone was gloating to Agent Gibbs, O'Neill was watching and waiting the whole time. It could have happened to anyone."

Not anyone, Paula thought glumly, it wouldn't have happened to Gibbs. "I guess you're right," she finally said, "but that's the last time I allow a perp to sneak up on me like that."

"Fair enough," Jenny commented, deciding it was time to move on to a different topic. "I've brought you up here for another reason, Agent Cassidy. As you're fully aware, with the recent loss of Special Agent Caitlyn Todd, one of my teams is short a member. I've met with Special Agent Gibbs. I've told him that based on your performance last week and your positive rapport with agents DiNozzo and McGee that you are my first choice to fill that empty spot on the team."

"Me?" Paula asked, nonplussed.

Jenny nodded. "Yes. Gibbs is on board with the re-assignment. You officially ended your Agent Afloat duties, and before he transferred out of this position, the previous director indicated that you would be an asset to Gibbs, given your criminal profiling background and your expertise on Middle Eastern terrorism. As you know full well, this agency's focus goes beyond merely investigating crimes involving Navy personnel: we're also in the business of combatting terrorism. To that end, your experience as an interrogator at GITMO is invaluable. You know how those monsters think. You know what they're capable of."

Paula could see the expectant look on Jenny's face, willing her to accept the new placement. Gibbs' "You'll do" comment echoed in her mind.

So that's what he was referring to, she thought, wondering at the same time if Jenny hadn't twisted his arm to accept her on his team. Gibbs was nowhere close to being the demonstrative type, so his 'you'll do' was probably the closest she was going to get to a 'welcome'. Paula also became uncomfortably aware of the lingering sting inflicted by Gibbs' comment to her back at GITMO about being part of the same agency – but not the same team. Even after nearly two years, it had left an indelible mark.

"How soon would this assignment begin?" Paula ventured to ask.

"Effective immediately," Jenny responded, interlocking her fingers on her desk in a business-like manner.

"I see," Paula murmured, considering what it would mean now to be on the same team as Anthony DiNozzo. They'd have to make a serious decision to put a lid on anything that could be construed as fraternizing in the office; that was for sure. Plus, there was that rule Tony had once mentioned when she had dared to ask why Gibbs had initially seemed so downright hostile towards her that first night in Guantanamo Bay.

"Rule 12," Tony had quoted. "Never date a co-worker, because romance between agents never works."

"There is, however, the minor matter of your weapons requalification," Jenny mentioned, after Paula signed her re-assignment orders.

"What about it?"

"You missed your scheduled requalification last week," Jenny explained. "Until you pass, I can't put you out in the field."

"Nobody told me about anything that," Paula said, slightly irritated at the oversight.

"It's nothing to be upset about," Jenny said in a placating tone. "You did nothing wrong. NCIS may be small, but there's still the usual red tape and bureaucratic crap like anywhere else. I'm sorry it wasn't communicated to you earlier. With everything that happened this past month along with your emergency medical leave the past few days, it slipped through the cracks. You get it done, and you're back in the field; simple as that. I can arrange for you to do it as early as tomorrow, in fact."

"What do I do today?"

"You grab a desk; you get caught up on any current files on the team's docket, and you get familiar with the way Gibbs likes to get things done," Jenny said. "A word of advice: Gibbs has his own… unique way of doing things."

"So I've heard," Paula said wryly. And experienced, however briefly, she added to herself, recalling when Gibbs called the team out to the Boone family farm and how he'd quickly measured her before uttering "you'll do" during her recent T.A.D. – no explanation given for why they were there in the first place, or what they would be doing.

Jenny looked at the younger woman warily, afraid her words had the unintended effect of giving a negative impression of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. "His brand of leadership takes getting used to, but he's the best damn agent I ever met. He taught me everything I know. There's a lot you can learn from him, too, if you allow yourself to be taught."

Paula gave a curt nod; tacitly and respectfully acknowledging that the woman before her had managed to reach her high position because she'd had Gibbs as a mentor.

"So… I'm essentially on desk duty, then, until I'm officially permitted to carry my service weapon in the field?"

"That's right," Jenny confirmed, as she slipped her eyeglasses back on her face.

"Then tomorrow can't come fast enough."

ooo

Paula stepped off the last stair into the bullpen. By this time, Tony was at his desk, attending to some routine task, and Timothy McGee was having what seemed to be a very involved phone conversation. Gibbs watched her approach them from his own desk and stood up as she came towards him.

"I have an announcement," the senior agent spoke up. Tony and McGee were instantly attentive. Paula caught Tony sending her a small smile, and she gave a covert wave in his direction.

"Agent Cassidy has been assigned to the team," Gibbs continued, "effective immediately."

Tony's smile expanded to that of a full grin.

To Paula, Gibbs said: "You can grab the desk you had last week." With that he sat again and began flipping through a file he'd been studying before her arrival.

Paula pointed to Agent Todd's unoccupied desk. "Then I guess that's still -"

"Kate's desk," Tim and Tony said in unison.

"Right," Paula sighed, and ambled towards the area she'd been relegated to the week of the Kyle Boone case.

"Nice to have you back with us, Agent Cassidy," Tim quickly piped up, cradling his telephone receiver to his shoulder.

"Thank you, McGee," Paula replied as she slid into 'her' chair.

Tony took it upon himself to make his welcome a little more personal. With another dazzling smile, he jauntily approached and stood in front of her. "I agree with the Probie: it is very nice to have you back with us, Paula. How are you doing?"

"Fine," she replied. "Just… feeling a little miffed, at the moment."

Tony's face fell. He was instantly troubled, and worried that Paula's problem had something to do with him. "Oh? Why is that?"

"It's nothing, really," Paula revealed, looking up at him seriously. "I've been sort of temporarily benched by the director because I missed my routine weapons requalification. I'm not allowed out in the field until I get it done... And I guess I'm also… never mind."

"Also – what?" Tony pressed her to continue. "You can tell me."

Paula waved him off. "It's okay," she reassured him, but nevertheless felt slight indignation over again being denied a desk closer to the rest of the team. How long would Kate's desk be off-limits? Was it going to forever remain some sort of shrine to the fallen agent? Paula understood clearly that it was only just over a month since Kate's tragic death, but surely the desk couldn't sit unused forever…

She hadn't much time to ponder further, as Tim noisily hung up his phone and approached Gibbs with urgency.

"Uh, boss, we have a situation at the Smithsonian Museum," he said, relating the information from notes he must have scribbled during the phone conversation he'd been having.

"What?" snapped Gibbs in an impatient tone, appearing to be busy with something far more pressing than what a museum could possibly offer in terms of a viable investigation.

Tim stumbled over his words, trying to regain some of his lost confidence over Gibbs' perceived lack of interest. "Uh, well – it's uh, kind of complicated, but there may have been a murder."

"'May have been', McGee?" Gibbs asked dubiously, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah," Tim replied. "They have a Union soldier who was dug up from a battlefield in Manassas, and now they think that he may have been a marine."

"It was the Civil War, McGee. Marines fought on both sides," Gibbs remarked.

"I know, I know," McGee added hastily, "but this marine had dog tags. Didn't exist back then."

Paula saw Gibbs send McGee a look that telegraphed 'tell me something I don't know'.

"I know that you know that, being a marine," McGee commented lamely.

Gibbs was running out of patience. "Get to the point, McGee!"

"Well, they think that this marine was killed recently," the Probie stated nervously, "and, um, somehow buried in a way – they can't quite explain it – but in a hundred-and-forty-year-old cast iron casket."

"Dressed as a Union soldier?" Gibbs was incredulous.

"Basically – yeah," McGee confirmed, knowing full well how ludicrous the whole thing sounded.

After a few beats, Gibbs reached into his drawer, pulled out a set of keys, and tossed them to the young agent. "Gas the truck, McGee," he instructed, and then barked: "DiNozzo!"

"Yeah, boss?" replied Tony, snapping to attention at the sound of his name.

"We've got a murder in your area of expertise: the Civil War."

Paula saw her new team mate visibly deflate. "I can hardly wait," Tony commented with a complete lack of enthusiasm, "it's my favorite subject." He turned to gather his gear to prepare for the investigation.

"What about me?" Paula asked. "Director Shepard doesn't want me out in the field until-"

"I know," Gibbs cut in. "Until you pass your weapons requalification."

"Right," Paula said with a sullen sigh.

"You're coming along, too."

"But, I thought I wasn't permitted to be out there without my service piece," Paula lightly protested, though she was pleased that she seemingly wasn't going to be stuck at her desk after all.

"Your service piece, yeah," Gibbs said. "No one said anything about you not being able to carry one of these in the field." He pulled open a drawer and withdrew a Ka-Bar, still in its leather sheath. "Rule number nine: always carry a knife. You do know how to use a knife, Agent Cassidy?"

"Yes, of course," she stated with confidence, taking the weapon and immediately concealing it at her waist.

"Good," Gibbs said, eyeing her carefully. "I want you out there with the team, and I can't have you weaponless. The knife is the next best thing after your firearm."

ooo

While Gibbs and Ducky met with the forensic anthropologist responsible for the tip, Paula accompanied Tony and Tim to question the workers who had first unearthed the cast iron casket bearing the remains of the as-yet unidentified marine.

The questions were all routine ones, as were the answers. A housing project was going up around the Bull Run Battlefield in Manassas, and when they found the casket, one Dr. Elaine Burns had been called in due to her expertise in the field. It was only when Dr. Burns began filming the opening of the artifact for The Recovery Channel that it became clear there was some chicanery involved: a cell phone didn't belong inside a one hundred-and-forty-year-old casket.

Tony diligently got the name of the construction company involved, and scheduled an interview and soil tests for the next day. Tim found that the cell phone – the only thing removed from the casket – was non-operational. He bagged-and-tagged it and Paula helped him take fingerprints of the lab workers so Abby could later run them against any found in the casket or on the body. They took note that Dr. Burns had been wearing surgical gloves when she picked up the cell phone.

The trio were cooling their heels, waiting for Gibbs and Ducky to return from their preliminary examination of the body, when Tony decided to poke around a storage area that housed some of the museum exhibits not currently on display. Paula quickly realized that once the 'work' was done, her new team member was quite content to goof off.

When the cat's away, the mice will play, Paula thought in amusement, as McGee was Tony's willing accomplice. She stood aside as Tony became enthralled by a stuffed polar bear, egging Tim on to snap pictures of him in all sorts of 'frightened' poses.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that they'd better smarten up before Gibbs returned, or he was liable to maul them to death, never mind a dead bear. She refrained, though, realizing this sort of behavior was probably a regular occurrence.

"So, why don't you like the Civil War, Tony?" Paula asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to distract him, recalling his earlier lack of enthusiasm. This brought the other agent's antics to an immediate halt.

"I don't want to talk about it," he responded sourly, shoving his cap onto his head.

"Is this something else that requires an unhealthy amount of junk food in order to deal with it instead of talking about it?"

Paula hadn't meant it to be an unkind comment, but Tony scowled slightly and clammed up. Sensing the sudden shift in mood, Tim lowered his camera and looked uneasily between the pair.

Biting her lip, Paula said contritely: "Aw, Tony. That came out wrong. It's just that I noticed you weren't thrilled about this one."

"It's because of his father," Tim supplied, trying to be helpful.

"Was she talking to you, Probie?" Tony huffed, sending a deeper scowl in the junior agent's direction.

"It's fine, guys. I get it," Paula broke in, wanting to avoid an escalation. "It's a verboten subject. Tony, forget I mentioned it. Sorry I brought it up."

Gibbs chose that moment to stride into the room. "Never apologize, Agent Cassidy," he intoned without even glancing her way. "It's a sign of weakness. Rule six."

"Hmm. Rule six: never apologize, and rule nine: always carry and knife. Did we skip the rest of the rules up to nine for a reason, or is there a make-up class I can take to get the full list?" Paula asked, slightly perturbed by his sudden intrusion.

This time, Gibbs did look her way. "Oh, by the time I'm done with you, Agent Cassidy, you'll know all of them, top to bottom. And I can assure you there's way more than nine; I'm just getting started."

He finally turned away from her to address the other two agents. "Report?" he asked.

Tony gave Gibbs a run-down of his findings, and Tim added what he knew about the cell phone; Paula commented that they had the necessary fingerprints in their care, ready for comparison and elimination purposes.

"Good," Gibbs commented. "I'll escort the casket back with Ducky. We'll meet in the squad room."

ooo

The drive back to NCIS HQ was uneventful, and Paula found herself reviewing her exchange with Gibbs about his 'rules'. I guess this is what Director Shepard meant when she said his brand of leadership takes some getting used to. He had an autocratic way of doing things, and he rarely seemed to give praise of any sort. She had no problem with the knife-carrying rule; that one made sense on many levels. But since when was apologizing a sign of weakness? Apologizing was a sign of humility, perhaps… and maybe Gibbs equated being humble with being weak, because if anything, Gibbs was far from the humble type.

After running the corpse's fingerprints through AFIS, Tim was able to identify them as belonging to one Staff Sergeant Warren Sorrow, an MSG instructor stationed at Quantico. The dead man's image flashed up on the plasma screen for them to see.

"What do we have on the Staff Sergeant, McGee?" Gibbs asked, having just arrived himself after escorting the body with Ducky to Autopsy.

The junior agent reported that Sorrow had been reported UA about a year earlier. "I'm currently building a profile on what his life was like before his disappearance."

"Not anymore," Gibbs countered. "I want you with Abby. Find out what was on the cell phone we found in the casket."

Tim complied with the order without a word, bustling off to Abby's lab with the evidence bag containing the phone.

"Tony; Paula: I want you two on the paper trail. I want to know everything about him by the time I get back," Gibbs said, divvying up the file on Staff Sergeant Sorrow between them.

"On it, Boss," Tony said, taking his share of the files.

Feeling like she should also issue some sort of reply, Paula echoed Tony's response: "On it." She palmed her workload and retreated to her desk to begin digging into what Sorrow's life was like before he met his mysterious end.

They'd been into the 'paper trail' chase nearly three hours before Paula started wondering where, exactly, Gibbs had disappeared to. Night had fallen, and the overhead fluorescent lights that were kept on during the day had been turned off. She was working mainly by the light of her desk lamp now, and her eyes were growing tired. Realizing Gibbs had not returned once since he'd set them about their tasks made her sit up and look over in Tony's direction. She was heartened to see he was quite focused on his work; it was further confirmation for her that he was capable of buckling down even when the boss' prying eyes were absent.

Paula rolled her chair over to his desk, thinking it was okay to take a mini-break. Besides, she was pretty sure she had uncovered all she was likely to uncover, unless Gibbs expected them to find out the most trivial aspects of Sorrow's life. She smiled to herself just imagining Gibbs needing to know when Sorrow lost his first baby tooth, or some other unimportant matter.

"Hey, Tony," she whispered, idly admiring his profile and the way the light from his desk lamp gently illuminated the soft tufts of hair on his head, "does Gibbs pull this sort of disappearing act often?"

"What do you mean?" Tony asked, looking up from his monitor. A tiny smile crept up on his face at her presence. It seemed he didn't mind taking a mini-break, either.

"I mean," Paula stated, "he's left us with the lion's share of the legwork. Where is he? We're supposed to 'know everything' about Staff Sergeant Sorrow by the time he gets back, but… when is he supposed to get back?"

"Well," Tony said reflectively, "let's see… did you get all you could get about the stiff's life story?"

"Pretty much," Paula replied with a wry twist of her mouth. "Anything else would just be totally superfluous."

"Ditto for me," Tony said, giving his arms a long stretch, "which means that Gibbs is likely to show up right about… now."

Tony spun his head towards one of the small conference rooms just off the bullpen. Paula followed his gaze, and was surprised when the door opened. She was even more surprised when Gibbs exited with a pretty, middle-aged red-head she'd never seen before. The woman was laughing softly, and Gibbs was actually smiling broadly as he escorted her towards the elevators.

"Who's the woman with Gibbs?" Paula inquired, staring after them in amazement. It was really the last thing she expected to see at NCIS HQ.

"Once you're here long enough, you'll figure it out," Tony quipped.

"Is it his girlfriend?" Paula asked, and then regretted it, realizing it was perhaps too intimate a question to be asking of her new boss.

"I have no idea," Tony commented.

"Hmm," Paula mused. "I guess you just haven't been here 'long enough' to have figured it out either, right?"

"Pretty much," Tony sighed, "just promise me you'll tell me if you figure it out first, okay?"

The sound of footfalls on the stairs attracted their attention. Looking up, the pair of agents saw Director Shepard pause for a moment as she peered down at Gibbs and his lady friend. Paula turned slightly and saw Gibbs plant a kiss on the woman's cheek just before she stepped into the waiting elevator. Quickly, she glanced back up at the director and thought she caught a tiny, wistful expression cross her face before she continued up the stairs to her office.

I wonder what that's all about, Paula thought, but shelved it when Ducky appeared, asking for Gibbs' whereabouts.

"Your two o'clock, Ducky," Tony answered briskly.

"What's wrong, Duck?" Gibbs asked, hearing his name spoken in a certain tone that indicated his colleague did not bring glad tidings.

"I know how our staff sergeant died," the medical examiner said regretfully.

"From your look," Gibbs commented insightfully, "I'm guessing it wasn't a musket ball..."

Gibbs' guess was correct, and Tony and Paula immediately got up from their seats to follow the other two down to Autopsy to see for themselves what Ducky was talking about.

Dr. Mallard started in on his narration the moment the elevator doors slid open on the basement level. "At first one could assume that a projectile of such size and mass would produce almost instant death," he stated as he grabbed a pair of surgical gloves from a shelf.

The desiccated corpse of Sergeant Sorrow was in plain view in the lab, and though Paula had seen her share of dead bodies in her time as an NCIS agent, there was still something disquieting about this particular corpse. The chest cavity was exposed as the flaps of skin delineated by the Y-incision lay draped over the head and sides of the body. Paula averted her gaze.

Ducky was explaining the unreliability of pre-Civil War muskets because they lost most of their velocity over the first hundred meters. He led them to the post-mortem X-rays, and pointed to a white blob situated at the base of the dead man's skull.

"Our sergeant was grievously wounded by a musket ball, but his injury was not fatal," Ducky said, raising his index finger as if to make certain that point.

"Then, how did he die, Dr. Mallard?" Paula asked, puzzled, and still not quite comfortable using the 'Ducky' moniker she'd heard the others using; she didn't want to seem presumptuous.

"His lung tissue was coated with an extremely fine film of rust particles," he replied, and brought their attention to a sample of lung tissue in a petri dish. "… And one can only imagine how long he clawed at the iron sides of his casket, trying to escape before he suffocated."

Moving over to the body on the examination table, Ducky held up the right hand, letting them all see for themselves the appalling state of the tips of the fingers. Aghast, Paula looked over at Tony, and saw reflected in his face the same level of revulsion she was experiencing at the sight of the mutilated digits. Based on what she was seeing, Paula reckoned that Sergeant Sorrow had scraped off more than a layer of rust; he'd also scraped off every one of his fingernails in his dying struggle to get out of his tomb, shredding his fingers to the bone.

"So, let me get this straight," Paula said to Tony and Tim the next morning, "you're saying that a marine dressed as a Union soldier, shot by a musket ball, and then buried in an antique casket isn't the weirdest case you've ever had?"

"Nope," Tony answered, as he stared at the dead staff sergeant's image on the plasma screen.

Paula was unconvinced. "I mean, I've seen some weird things, too, but this – this has to beat all."

"I dunno, Paula," Tony said as he turned to look at her with a smirk, "but I seem to recall a case with a Navy translator trying to smuggle emeralds in his bowels. The 'ick' factor aside, you've gotta admit that one rates pretty high on the 'weird' list."

"Mm, yeah," Paula said ruefully. "I must have blocked that one out. Not exactly my brightest hour, that case."

"And to think we would have never met if those gems hadn't perforated poor what's-'is-name's intestines and killed him," Tony added with a teasing smile. "No ride to GITMO on a Navy Gulf Stream, no fancy foot-work on a dance floor at El Floridita, no ride back to D.C. with you on the jet…"

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Tony," Paula responded, slipping into a playful, verbal parrying mode, "here's to perforated bowels and gem-smuggling terrorists."

"Are you two serious?" Tim asked, turning a slight shade of green at the mention of such an unpleasantly gross manner of death. He'd just finished eating a breakfast burrito, and was looking like he was on the verge up bringing it all back up.

"Dead serious, Probie," Tony stated, shooting him a look that brought a halt to any further questioning.

"I think I'm gonna go help Abby," Tim muttered, swallowing heavily.

Paula watched him go, and saw Gibbs making his way down the stairs. Hoping to forestall any questions from their boss, Tony launched into a dialog about their findings from the evening before.

"We've got a lead on how our staff sergeant ended up in a Union soldier's uniform," he stated, approaching the printer and pulling out a sheet from the tray. "He was a member of the local C.W.R. out of Fairfax. These are all guys who get together, dress up in period costumes, re-enacting famous battles…"

"I know what C.W.R. means, Tony," Paula said, realizing he'd been elaborating for her benefit.

"Get to the point, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbled, showing annoyance at the unnecessary details.

"Right, boss," Tony uttered. He referred to the print-out in his hand and said, "According to this schedule, they're preparing for one of those re-enactments this week in Manassas… You know, Manassas? The same Manassas where they dug up Sergeant Sorrow…"

"Yeah, we get it, DiNozzo," Gibbs commented dryly. "It's not a coincidence."

Paula watched as Tony valiantly ignored the put-down, but Gibbs didn't notice and was already on the move. "Let's go," he called to them to follow, "Abby's found something."

They trailed after him to the forensics lab, and were greeted by some rather depressing, mournful Dixieland Jazz playing in the background. Abby was nowhere to be seen.

"Abs?" called Gibbs.

Meekly, the young woman stepped out of hiding. Instead of her usual lab coat, garish Goth make-up and accoutrements, they saw her attired in a pale lilac skirt-and-blazer ensemble complete with dressy high heels. Her hair was down and left to hang in gentle tendrils, completely unlike her usual no-nonsense pigtails.

"I look like a freak," she lamented, a solid pout spoiling her features.

"Whoa," Tony breathed, staring at her.

"See, I don't think she really looks that bad," Tim commented, causing Paula to wonder a little about the junior agent and the status of his relationship with Abby.

"Why?" Gibbs asked, showing clear indignation for Abby's garment predicament.

Still frowning, Abby unsteadily wobbled over to Gibbs with a piece of paper. "One of the director's new admin weenies brought me this last night," she said, as she handed him the new missive. "It's the NCIS dress code. He said I was in violation."

"He did, did he?" Gibbs asked softly and sympathetically, scanning the page.

"It's bad enough that I have to wear a monkey suit for court appearances, but every day?" Abby said sorrowfully, as if the thought of having to conform would be the death of her.

"I think you look nice, Abby," Paula said kindly, trying in vain to lift the other woman's spirits. "Really."

"'Nice'?" Abby repeated. "You think I look 'nice'?! I look like – like -"

"Career-Girl Barbie," Tony suggested; a dreamy expression on his face.

"Oh, my God…"Abby whispered, slowly bringing her hands close to her chest in a moment of pathetic realization that Tony's comparison was spot on, "I do…" She pivoted on her heel and extended an arm to help stabilize her body in motion. "Urgh… I can't work like this, Gibbs."

"I'll take care of it, Abs," Gibbs said.

"I'm allergic to polyester," the scientist grumbled as if she didn't hear Gibbs. She reached for her Bart the Farting Hippo toy for comfort. "It makes me itch. It's a medical condition. I could get a note from the doctor-"

Gibbs interrupted the flow of words that were cascading out of her mouth at an almost indecipherable rate. "Abby," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder to calm her, "I said, I'll take care of it."

This seemed to placate her. She gave a small smile, and then hugged Bart, causing the toy to emit the customary 'rude' noise.

"Can we get back to work, now?" asked Gibbs in a sterner manner.

"Do I have to wear the shoes?" Abby inquired.

Gibbs simply crumpled up the paper and tossed it in an answer to her question.

Barefooted, Abby proceeded. "The circuit board on the cell phone was damaged," she explained in a much livelier manner than the dour one of the preceding minutes, "but we managed to get it working again. The battery shut down on October 3rd, 2004."

The phone's dial history scrolled on a monitor for the rest of them to see, and Tim picked up where she left off. "The last twenty-two calls were made to 9-1-1."

"None of them went through," added Abby.

"He was calling from inside the casket," Tony stated.

"Yup," confirmed McGee. "Cast iron and buried underground."

"I don't think anyone's calling plan extends that far, Tony," said Abby.

Gibbs spotted something. "What are the last entries here?" He was indicating several long strings of numbers, many of them repeated, and no immediate discernible pattern.

"Well, he was running low on oxygen, Boss," Tim reasoned. "I assume he was trying to dial another number and hit random keys."

"Find out," Gibbs said. He'd seen enough. He moved over to the casket, asking Abby now what she had discovered about it. She informed him that she had found traces of the staff sergeant's blood inside the cover.

"I also found two very distinct types of dirt on the outside," Abby mentioned. One, she explained, was common Virginia red clay, but the other had a high concentration of fertilizer.

To Tony, Gibbs immediately asked: "What time are you meeting with the construction company that found this?"

"0900,"Tony replied.

"You go," instructed Gibbs. "See if there's anything left at that crime scene."

"On it," Tony said, and took off.

Gibbs turned to Paula. "You," he said, "Director Shepard's got you slated for your weapons requalification today."

"That's right," Paula answered. "At 0900 hours."

"Make damn sure you pass, Cassidy," Gibbs uttered as he made for the elevator.

"I always do," she said under her breath to his retreating figure.

ooo

A few hours later, Tony and Paula were sharing a ride in the elevator back to the squad room, both returning at the same time from their respective tasks.

"What do you think Gibbs would do if I told him I failed to re-qualify on my course of fire?" she asked absently.

Tony looked at her with a small measure of concern. "Did you fail?"

"Of course I didn't fail, Tony," Paula replied, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to know if anyone around here has ever tried to pull his leg… I mean, does the man even have a sense of humor?"

"After three ex-wives, I think the answer is probably a big, fat 'no'," Tony stated with confidence.

"I heard that about him," Paula said, cocking her head and looking at Tony. "Guess it goes a long way in explaining why he's such an insufferable bastard."

Tony leaned in slightly. "Maybe," he said, adopting a more intimate tone, "but I'd wager he was born that way."

The elevator doors opened, and they both straightened up in order to appear as normal as possible on the squad room floor.

From his desk, Gibbs asked: "How'd it go?"

"Nothing, Boss," Tony reported, sloughing off his backpack. "The building site was clean, figuratively speaking. I taped off the area, but we're not going to find anything."

"Paula?" Gibbs threw his gaze in her direction.

"Passed with flying colors, Boss," she announced. "Thanks for the letting me carry your knife yesterday." She started to remove Gibbs' Ka-Bar from where she'd concealed it, but he waved her off.

"Keep it," he said, "until you get one of your own."

"Er, right," Paula murmured, slipping the weapon back into place. "Rule nine."

"Gibbs!" Abby's voice was excited as she hurried into the bullpen with Tim in tow. "We did it."

"Did what, Abs?"

She turned to Tim to let him do the explaining, which he did. "Those random numbers weren't random after all, Boss," he announced.

Abby's exuberance was irrepressible. "Staff Sergeant Sorrow was leaving us a text message from the grave!"

Moments later, they were all looking at the deciphered message, which had been run through the phone's text converter. "'Only got half. Oxbow not on his side'," McGee quoted, "'Kearns, don't let him get safety-deposit box.'"

Tony seemed disappointed. "That it?"

"We ran his social through the banking system," Abby said. "Staff Sergeant Sorrow has a safety-deposit box paid for five years at the Virginia Savings and Trust."

Upon hearing this, Gibbs said: "McGee, get me a-"

"Warrant," Tim immediately stated, having anticipated the request, "I already called it in, Boss."

"DiNozzo: Oxbow and Kearns?"

"On it," he said.

"Get me into the safety-deposit box, McGee," Gibbs said to the junior agent. "Cassidy, go with him."

Silently, Tim and Paula geared up and departed to see to their assignment. As they rode in the elevator, Tim smiled shyly at her. "I think I'll take a bank over a filthy chimney any day," he said.

Paula knew he was trying to be light-hearted about the last time they'd been paired up for something, and she had to admit she didn't relish having to poke around the sooty, bird-carcass filled chimney, either. She feigned aloofness, however, unable to resist teasing the Probie on this point.

"Better hope the safety-deposit box isn't up high," she stated airily, "otherwise I'll be using you as a step-ladder again. What was that about me weighing more than 120 pounds, McGee?"

Tim swallowed uncomfortably, but was saved from having to answer when the elevator doors opened. "After you," he stammered, and she slipped through the opening ahead of him. She let him drive, not because she didn't want to, but because she thought it would be a nice gesture that would indicate she wasn't going to be treating him unkindly at every turn. Paula sensed he was often the butt of Tony's joking personality, and figured that a person really could only tolerate so much ridicule, even if it was all in fun.

Along the way, Tim seemed on the verge of wanting to ask a question, but refrained several times. Paula wasn't going to press him, so she instead began the conversation.

"So…" she started, "Abby as Career-Girl Barbie…"

This brought an unconscious smile to McGee's face as a mental image of the Goth-scientist developed in his head. "Yeah…" he replied softly.

A knowing smile crossed Paula's own face, thinking there was definitely some latent attraction.

"Seems like Gibbs is willing to bend over backwards to appease her," Paula observed. "How'd she manage to get into his good books?"

"Uh, I don't know," Tim replied truthfully. "I guess he just likes her work ethic, which has absolutely nothing to do with how she chooses to dress. I mean, without Abby… we'd be pretty much sunk."

Paula was silent for a few moments, reflecting that if not for Abby and Tim's hard work, they would not have found Kyle Boone's dumping ground.

"Agent Cassidy," Tim haltingly said, "I've been meaning to ask you…"

"Tim," Paula interrupted in an almost chiding manner, "we're on the same team now. Just call me 'Paula', okay?"

He turned a self-conscious glance her way, and then returned his attention to the road. "Okay. Sorry. Paula… I, uh… I guess I just really wanted to know how you're doing. I mean, when we couldn't find you out there after we discovered those bodies… When I saw the Polaroid snapshot of you that O'Neill left behind, I panicked. My only thought was that we'd just lost Kate. We couldn't lose you, too… And Abby… she was blaming herself, because she missed something she thought she should have seen earlier, and… well… when Tony and Gibbs called in to say you were safe, I was so relieved."

When he noticed Paula hadn't said anything throughout his monologue, he stopped. "Sorry," he said. "I'm, uh, not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

"No, Tim," she answered. "Adam O'Neill is dead, and so is Kyle Boone. And I'm doing fine. My shoulder is still a little sore, but otherwise, I'm fine, really. Thanks for your concern."

McGee seemed relieved, and he exhaled quietly. Paula certainly was glad he showed genuine concern, but did not feel it necessary to tell him that the night before she'd had a chilling and vivid dream about being attacked by both Boone and O'Neill. Just as she had done in the actual sequence of events, Paula remembered she had tried to defend herself against her abductors with her only useful limbs: her legs. The struggle had been so real, her kicking motion had jerked her awake; heart pounding in her chest and breath coming in heaving gasps.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence.

The plaza in front of the Northern Virginia Savings and Trust was busy with people meandering about. As it was situated in a popular area where business offices competed with shops and boutiques, many individuals were milling around with shopping bags and briefcases. With the fine weather, some were simply just out for a walk during their lunch break, while others sat reading newspapers on the available benches. Tim and Paula passed by an oblong fountain that burbled in the middle of a small courtyard right in front of the bank. Sunlight danced gaily on the surface of its shallow pool of water. The calm of the fountain helped offset the busy street traffic nearby.

The assistant bank manager, Sally Smith, a pretty, petite young woman with dark, curly hair, was waiting for the agents and the warrant. "I understand Staff Sergeant Sorrow has been missing," she commented, though it was more of a questioning tone. She retrieved the safety-deposit box and brought it to a private room so the agents could examine the contents.

Not betraying anything about the case, Tim asked: "Who told you that?"

Her reply was matter-of-fact. "His brother," she said. "He's inquired several times about the safety-deposit box."

"But… Staff Sergeant Sorrow doesn't have a brother," Paula stated, recalling that nowhere in her investigation into the man's past did any mention of a sibling show up.

Sally looked at Paula, distressed. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Paula said, sending McGee a look of worry that was reflected back to her.

"Well, in any case, without a death certificate and a court order, our policy is to maintain the contents until the lease runs out. The man claiming to be the brother had neither." She looked at them warily. "Is Staff Sergeant Sorrow missing?"

"Not anymore," Tim said, his face matching his regret. Sally's eyes went wide with comprehension.

"When was the last time the man claiming to be the staff sergeant's brother inquired about the box?" Tim queried.

Sally's look became pensive. "Maybe two or three weeks ago?" she guessed. "I'm sorry I can't narrow it down more for you…"

Tim continued his line of questioning: "Can you describe him for us?"

"Uh, about six feet, dark hair, dark eyes… I'm sure I can pull security camera footage of him."

"We'd be grateful if you could, Ms. Smith," Tim said.

"I can't believe it," Sally commented with a shake of her head. "All this time… Sergeant Sorrows wasn't even alive…"

"I think we should probably open the box now," Paula urged, not wanting to dwell on the subject of Sergeant Sorrow's horrific manner of death, the details of which Sally did not need to know.

The banker took the hint and excused herself. "I'll get in touch with our security company for that footage," she said, and briskly exited the room.

"You open it," Paula offered, gesturing towards the box. Tim lifted the lid, revealing a shriveled, severed human hand. A large, ornate ring adorned the fourth finger, and the hand enclosed a yellowed scroll of paper.

"McGee, I think this case just took the title away from my GITMO case as being the weirdest ever," Paula murmured.

Tim pursed his lips and nodded. Paula pulled the camera bag out of the knapsack. After taking a handful of photographs of the newfound evidence, the agents pulled on gloves and gingerly removed the hand and scroll from the box. With slow, painstaking motions, they eventually managed to separate the paper from the hand since they didn't want to risk either tearing the old parchment, or ruining the hand. Tim took a few close-up shots of the impressive gold ring, just for good measure, while Paula carefully unrolled the scroll.

"It's a map," she declared, taking in the markings of what appeared to be distinctive geographical markings of both a natural and man-made nature. "Have a look, McGee."

The younger agent lowered the camera and looked over. "You're right, but a map of what?"

"I don't know," Paula replied, reaching to take the camera from McGee. He passed it to her so she could snap a few pictures of the map. "The burial place of more fine jewelry like this ring, perhaps?"

"Whatever it is, it's probably what got poor Staff Sergeant Sorrow killed," Tim mused.

"Right," Paula agreed. "Let's get this thing packed away."

Tim gently rolled up the scroll and slipped it inside a protective plastic tube. Once the pair had finished securing the rest of the evidence, they waited for Sally Smith's return with the bank's security camera footage, which they hoped would provide a clear image of the man who claimed to be Warren Sorrow's brother. Upon obtaining it, they finally stepped out of the bank to return to the Navy Yard. They had just crossed under the arched entranceway when a casually-dressed man hurried after them, calling, "Excuse me! Excuse me!"

The agents stopped and turned to face him. "Do you know where I can find Kelleher Avenue?" he asked hopefully. They noticed he was carrying a map of the city, which obviously wasn't helping him find his destination. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a ball cap to shield his eyes and face from the bright sunlight.

"Uh, yeah," Tim replied helpfully, squinting in the sunshine, "north of here, about four blocks."

"Four blocks?" the man repeated.

"Yeah," Tim confirmed.

"Yeah," the man echoed. The agents were about to move on when he stopped them again. "Hey, I'm gonna need that map, too."

The agents stopped in their tracks. "Excuse me?" uttered Tim, though both he and Paula were now instantly aware that this man had not really been looking for directions.

"The map," the man said insistently, "why don't you take a look at that van behind me?"

With a sense of unease rapidly descending upon them, Tim and Paula looked where the now-menacing stranger directed. A brown van sat idling right there, and through a narrow opening in the sliding door, they saw a bearded man crouched behind the barrel of an assault rifle, and it was pointed right at them.

The man extended his hand for the ancient map the agents had obtained from the safety-deposit box. Both Tim and Paula knew they could not risk the armed man in the van opening fire; not with so many civilians around who could easily become collateral damage should a shootout ensue. Innocent lives did not need to be endangered for the sake of a map.

Slowly, Tim slipped his pack off his shoulder, reached inside, and handed over the map.

"All right, now slowly un-holster your weapons," he growled, sliding the rolled-up map into a pocket.

Paula and Tim exchanged uneasy glances, but they complied, wondering what he was going to do. In one smooth motion, the man grabbed for their Sigs and tossed them into the water fountain behind them. The firearms tumbled into the pool with twin splashes. "Now back up!" he commanded.

Knowing they were still under the watchful eye of the man with the assault rifle, the two agents did as they were told. Feeling utterly helpless and played for fools, Tim asked: "Now what?"

"Now, you get wet," the man chortled, and with a sudden lunge, shoved them both backwards into the fountain.

Taken completely off guard, Tim and Paula thrashed around for a few moments, slipping and searching for their weapons in the pool. By the time they recovered them, it was much too late to give chase. The van had accelerated with a squeal of tires and sped away.

"Damnit!" Tim cursed loudly, as several shocked on-lookers gasped at the spectacle they had just witnessed. Whipping out his cell phone to report the brazen theft, Tim was further frustrated to see that the quick plunge in the water had rendered the device completely useless. In vain, Paula had tried to see the van's license plate as it burned rubber fleeing the scene.

"Gibbs is gonna kill me," he groaned.

"You mean us," Paula muttered dolefully. "He's gonna kill us."

Sopping wet and disgusted with themselves, they stood there for several beats, wondering just how they were going to explain what happened.

ooo

When they finally returned to NCIS HQ, Paula changed out her wet clothes and into a pair of NCIS sweats. Fortunately, there were laundry appliances at headquarters, so she dumped her damp clothes into the dryer. Her hair had already started to dry, so she just pulled it back into a ponytail. It struck her suddenly that she was once again obliged to change, just as she had done after escaping from the clutches of Adam O'Neill. The killer had ruined a very nice blouse, and her neatly-laundered slacks had been soiled with dirt and blood. Maybe I should just make the sweats my regular work clothes of choice, she thought, and then shook her head at the notion. She imagined that the 'admin weenie' Abby had complained about would most likely take exception to that repeated dress code violation. Sweats were permitted in a pinch, of course, but one could not just simply show up every day for work dressed in gym clothes. Plus, they weren't the most flattering attire she could think of. The sweater would certainly make it extremely difficult for Tony to see her choice of bra, but Paula hadn't yet decided whether that was necessarily a bad thing.

"Time to face the music," she grumbled to herself, knowing she could only forestall telling Gibbs what had happened outside the bank for so long. She had just stepped into the squad room when she saw Tim standing in front of Gibbs, apologizing on behalf of both of them for their failure to stop the heist. Paula felt a touch of shame. Tim should not have had to face the dragon alone. She was at Tim's side in seconds, anyway, just to let the junior agent know they were in solidarity. But to her surprise, Gibbs did not explode.

"It wasn't your fault," Gibbs stated calmly. "They used us." He stood up and paced away from his desk to look at the plasma screen, which was displaying the bank security camera footage. "Used us to get into that safety deposit box for them."

The two relieved agents followed. "Well, he knew exactly what he wanted," commented Tim. "All he asked for was the map."

Gibbs turned to fix his gaze on Tim. "Map?" he repeated. "What map? Map of what, McGee?"

"We're, uh, not really sure, Boss," McGee stammered, "but I'm sure we could probably figure it out once we look at the photos we took before it was stolen."

Tony overheard the whole exchange, and could not resist butting in. "Maybe it's a treasure map, Probie! You know, like gold, silver, diamonds…"

Gibbs looked over at him, clearly annoyed. "It wasn't from one of your dumb-ass movies, DiNozzo."

"Sorry," Tony quickly quipped.

Paula felt like rolling her eyes, but she stopped herself. Instead, she went directly for the camera case, thankful that their interloper had not also dumped the backpack into the water, and thankful he was too much in a hurry to even consider that they would have taken pictures of the map. She quietly went about uploading the pertinent images to her desktop computer, just waiting to cue them up on the plasma once they were finished reviewing the bank security images.

In the meantime, Tim had clicked on the remote for the plasma. "We need to find this guy," he stated, indicating a still image of a man inside the Northern Virginia Savings and Loan. "Claimed he was Staff Sergeant Sorrow's brother."

"I might have a name for him," Tony commented, jiggling a paper print-out. "Been researching the words from Sorrow's farewell message. 'Oxbow' and 'Kearns'."

"'Oxbow' is the name on the map," Tim said in recognition.

"The other name might be his," Tony supposed, handing the paper over to his boss. "Judd Kearns, a member of the same Civil War club our dead staff sergeant belonged to."

"Get an address?" asked Gibbs, who was scrutinizing the lists on the paper.

"Yeah," Tony replied enigmatically, "but he's not there."

Gibbs looked up into Tony's face, and saw the younger agent was enjoying the fact that he knew something Gibbs didn't. After a few beats, Tony capitulated. "The club is on their way to Manassas Battlefield Park for a re-enactment. Should be there this afternoon."

The senior agent now turned his attention to McGee. "What else do you remember about the map?"

"Here, Gibbs," Paula called out, switching the plasma feed so her computer was connected. "These are the pictures we took of the map when we got it out of the safety-deposit box."

The images flashed up for everyone to see. They could identify a bridge crossing a river or stream, the name 'Oxbow', and a Confederate flag in the bottom right-hand corner, among other things.

"McGee, you and Abby figure out what this is a map of," Gibbs ordered, since the map itself clearly gave no indication of what it was supposed to depict.

"On it, Boss," Tim said, and clicked a few keystrokes on Paula's computer to transfer the files down to Abby's lab.

A short time later, Paula was in her newly-dried clothes, waiting for word on what Abby and Tim might have turned up. Gibbs had just returned from meeting with them along with Ducky and Dr. Elaine Burns, whom Ducky had called in to consult on the ring they had found with the hand. Upon seeing the photos of the map, however, Dr. Burns had volunteered to assist them in tracking down the location. She had surmised that 'Oxbow' most likely referred to a once-prominent Virginia family whose mansion had been in Manassas at one time before its destruction.

"Boss," Tony announced upon seeing Gibbs, "his club checked in with the park rangers. Judd Kearns is there now. Are we rolling?"

"Yup," came Gibbs' affirmative reply. "Gear up."

The four agents readied their weapons, grabbed backpacks, and hustled after their boss. Doctors Mallard and Burns also squeezed into the elevator with them, and there was an air of excitement that filled the cramped space.

Out on the simulated battlefield, men dressed as soldiers in period costumes fired muskets and canons at each other. The cacophony made it difficult to have a conversation at times, and smoke drifted across the fields from the multiple ordnances.

"Bring back memories for you, Tony?" asked Tim, amidst the cries of 'reloading!' and 'fire!' from the re-enactors.

Paula watched to see Tony's reaction to the question, but he was a good sport this time, and shared an anecdote. "You know what little Anthony DiNozzo's job was during these re-enactments? I would carry around a bucket so these guys could take a dump in it. They called me their 'little poo boy'."

Tim scrunched up his nose in distaste, and Paula felt herself sympathizing with the little child forced to participate in such a demeaning exercise.

"Kearns is out here, somewhere, dressed as a Union sergeant," Gibbs cut in, looking at Tony and Tim. "You two: with me. Paula, accompany Ducky and Dr. Burns. See if you can identify any landmarks on the map."

Dr. Burns was holding an enlarged printout of the evidence photo taken of the map, and Paula and Ducky gathered around her to get a better look.

"Where do you want to start looking, Dr. Burns?" asked Paula, trying to shove aside the thought that Gibbs had essentially stuck her on babysitting duty – again. She recalled another time she had been forced to watch over a bunch of partying teenagers until their parents came for them. It hadn't been completely unbearable, but Paula had certainly considered it punishment of sorts for not having done things the way Gibbs would have when it came to filing reports.

The forensic anthropologist was looking at the printout thoughtfully, then stared for a few beats across the large expanse of 'battlefield' that stretched before them. "By the orientation of the map, I suggest we start near some of my old dig sites to the north."

"Unless…" Ducky murmured. He took the paper. "May I? During times of war, mapmakers often add terrain, or change the declination of north and south, in order to confuse the enemy – in case it fell into wrong hands. Now, what troubles me about this map is this Confederate flag in the corner."

Paula saw where he was pointing. She had noticed it earlier, too, and she now knew why it looked slightly odd. "It's unfurled in the opposite direction of how most flags would be," she said.

"Precisely," Ducky said. He rotated the paper 180 degrees. "I think we should start looking to the south."

With that lead, the trio began their hike. After about ten minutes, they had left behind the relatively smooth terrain of the field and into a wooded area with some steep inclines and slopes not exactly suited for a casual stroll.

"Agent Cassidy, perhaps we should wait for Agent Gibbs," huffed Ducky, but Paula would not be dissuaded. Gibbs had ordered them to identify any landmarks on the map, and that was precisely what she intended to do. This was one assignment she was not going to screw up.

"I promise we won't go too far, Dr. Mallard," Paula called back, "but Gibbs wants us to locate some landmarks, so we're going to find some."

The medical examiner was straining to keep up. "All right, not too deep into the woods, if you don't mind," he breathed loudly with exertion. "And please… call me 'Ducky'."

"All right," she said, "'Ducky'."

Paula smiled slightly at this request. It made her feel better to know that he wanted her to abandon the formal, yet distant manner of addressing him. It made her feel as if he was welcoming her into his world.

She'd gone a few more paces up a rise between some trees when she thought she recognized one of those elusive landmarks they'd been tasked to find. "Ducky; Dr. Burns… look: I think this is the trail from the map. See?"

Dr. Burns, however, was quick to nix the idea. "I doubt it," she snapped, "the topography's completely different today. If anything, we might have better luck starting near the site where the Oxbow mansion used to stand."

But Paula was undaunted. Perhaps it was what Gibbs would call her 'gut' kicking in, but she felt, somehow, deep in the pit of her stomach, that she was on to something. "We can always try that spot next, Dr. Burns. For now, I'd like to see where this trail leads."

Dr. Burns made no further protest, and Paula strutted ahead on the dirt trail that eventually leveled off and led out of the wooded area. Presently, they came across a graveyard, bordered by overgrown foliage, trees, and enclosed by slanting, rusted wrought iron gates.

"It wasn't an 'X' on the map," Ducky said, pointing a finger, "it was a cross. This must be the place."

The whine of a power tool broke through the peace of the wilderness. Such an incongruous noise put Paula on instant alert. "Ducky…" she said softly, "I need you to wait here with Dr. Burns. Call Gibbs right now, and tell him he might want to hurry."

She crept towards the area the sound was most likely coming from, drawing her weapon as a precaution. The high-pitched squeal of the power tool punctuated the air again, and Paula approached as stealthily as possible, keeping her head low amongst the brush and vegetation.

Up ahead, she spied a man dressed as a Union soldier mounted on a horse. Her mind flashed back to earlier in the day when she and Tim had been threatened in front of the bank. Paula was certain the man in the saddle was the same man who had held them at gunpoint from inside his van.

Just a few paces away from the horse, Paula saw a second man, dressed casually, but wearing work gloves. He was the one operating the power tool, and he was using it to break the seal of a cast iron casket. A mound of dirt was piled up next to him; clearly the grave had been freshly-dug.

"We need to hurry this up," the bearded man urged impatiently.

"Yeah, that's it," the second man said, holding up the last of the pins that had secured the casket lid. Instantly, Paula recognized the timbre of his voice. He was beyond a shadow of a doubt the man who had stolen the map from them. She paused by a tree, gun at the ready, willing Gibbs to hurry. She didn't want to do anything without being certain of having backup.

The bearded man dismounted and went over to help his partner remove the heavy lid. They grunted with the effort, but managed to finally shift it away.

"They buried these things so the South could rise again," the bearded man said, "and now they are all mine!"

Paula could not see exactly what he was talking about, as their bodies obstructed her view, but she inferred from the context of his conversation that he had found a cache of Civil War-era weapons.

"There's gotta be fifty of them in here!" the map thief marvelled. "At thirty grand a pop, that's a real nice chunk of change!"

Upon hearing this, Paula stood, irresolute. If she barged in on them now, she might take them by surprise, and bring a halt to what was a clear case of grave robbery. Could she risk letting them slip away, as they surely would if she did not intervene? And where was Gibbs? If he had hurried like Paula had told Ducky to tell him to do, he should have been here by now… She was about to make a move when a voice shouted out: "Drop your gun, Agent Cassidy, or Dr. Mallard dies."

Paula was shocked that the voice issuing the order was that of Dr. Elaine Burns. She chanced a look behind her, and saw the woman was indeed pointing a handgun at Ducky.

"Do it, or I swear I'll kill him," Dr. Burns seethed.

"I knew there was a reason I blocked you out of my mind," Ducky muttered.

The two men who Paula now realized were in cahoots with Dr. Burns stared back, equally shocked at the unexpected turn of events, but satisfied that they were very close to making off with their loot.

Paula stretched out her arm and let her Sig dangle between her fingertips as a show of submission. At thirty thousand dollars per antique weapon, she did some quick mental math. One-point-five million split three ways was a very lucrative payoff… what did it matter if it meant that one Navy Staff Sergeant, one NCIS agent, and one medical examiner were bumped off in the process?

I nearly died last week, Paula thought angrily. Now, this woman looks like she won't hesitate to kill me if I come between her and those weapons... but if I can just stall long enough until Gibbs gets here…

"I said drop your weapon, Agent Cassidy, to the ground!"

Paula made a motion of lowering her gun to the grass at her feet. "And those weapons," she said, "pretty big payoff for you, if I'm not mistaken. Were you going to cut Staff Sergeant out of the jackpot, or did you just kill him before he even knew what was buried here? I mean, you probably knew from the start what the map was for, but Sergeant Sorrow…"

Dr. Burns scoffed. "He found Oxbow's casket and the map," she said. "But the bleeding heart do-gooder actually wanted to turn them over to a museum."

"The only mistake we made was killing him before we got the map," the bearded man chimed in.

Paula felt her stomach drop. If they were being this glib about their crimes, they clearly had zero intention now of letting her and Ducky live, if there had even been a chance of that in the first place.

"You two," Dr. Burns chirped, "are going to be the unfortunate victims of scavengers."

Paula heard this 'plan' for their demise, and was infuriated. She was nearly to the ground now, her gun out of play just so Dr. Burns did not feel threatened.

She saw Dr. Burns shove Ducky towards her, and in that moment of diverted attention, Paula reached for the borrowed Ka-Bar and hurled it towards her would-be killer with deadly precision.

A single shot rang out, shattering the calm of the afternoon, but the discharged bullet was wasted. Gibbs and Tony, alerted by the sound of the errant gunshot from Dr. Burns' pistol, rushed to the scene. When they arrived, they saw Ducky kneeling by the unmoving body of Dr. Burns, Paula holding the two surviving members of the grave robbers under close watch.

"You two seem to be making a habit of missing all the action," Paula quipped, when she saw the other two agents staring at the knife protruding from the chest of the villainous Dr. Burns. "Next time, fellas, I'd prefer it if you showed up before crazy or greedy people try to kill me, okay?"

ooo

Later, after they'd taken one Jared Kearns, Brett Willis, and Milton Grant into custody, processed the evidence, and written up reports, Paula leaned back in her chair, reflecting on the day's events.

Ducky had stopped by earlier to thank her for her actions that afternoon that had resulted in his life being spared, and she had told him she would do again in a heartbeat. It hadn't escaped Director Shepard's attention that it was the second time in as many weeks that Paula had been forced to kill someone in the line of duty, and offered her the opportunity to avail herself of the agency shrinks should the need arise. Paula respectfully declined the offer for the present moment.

Tony had gone home after she turned down his offer to go out for drinks somewhere; after all, he figured, she probably needed to relax after having her life threatened again. She'd replied that it was more Ducky's life that had been in more immediate danger, not her own, so she was fine.

Tim had likewise gone home after helping Abby with some work in the lab.

Now, with the sun long gone beneath the horizon and with the overhead lights switched off, Paula stood and crossed the floor to Caitlin Todd's desk. She figured that someone must have been keeping it free of dust, because in the month and-a-half that it had not been used, it was surprisingly clean. Aside from the usual office accoutrements, she saw an artist's sketchpad amongst some papers. Feeling like an intruder, Paula started to flip through the pages. Even in the low light, she was impressed by the drawings she saw. Kate, she realized, really had a talent for drawing amazing likenesses of her subjects. There was one of a smiling Gibbs (she wondered how often Kate actually got to see the smile in order to record it so accurately), another of a laid-back Tony, one of Abby, a three-quarter view of the bespectacled Ducky, and a really nice one of Tim in profile.

She sat there for a while, thinking about the two occasions she had met Kate professionally. She had liked Kate; felt a certain kinship with her, partly because they were both women in a pre-dominantly man's world, and because they loved their work; were driven to prove themselves worthy of the call to serve the members of the U.S. Navy.

I'm sorry I didn't get to know you better, Kate, Paula thought sadly. I'd like to think we would have been good friends if we had been given the chance. It feels wrong that you're gone. Your team… they try not to show it, but they miss you. Sometimes, the grief bleeds through these tiny cracks in the walls they've put up, but the pain is still there, just the same.

Paula almost didn't notice Gibbs' arrival until he was right in front of her and was reaching to snap on the lamp on Kate's desk. He peered down at her silently, and she held his gaze, almost defiantly, daring him to order her back to that other desk she so desperately wanted to shun. She didn't know what she would do if he did; she just hoped he would finally let it go, and let her in, even if it meant letting go of one of the last physical attachments to Kate.

But no, Paula thought, it's not the last thing…

"Kate was a great agent, Gibbs," Paula said softly. "I liked her, and I respected her. I know you handpicked her… and I know I've been thrust upon you, but… I'm here now, and I hope I am finally part of the team… Gibbs, I don't think Kate would have objected to my being here…"

Again, Gibbs maintained his silence. Paula breathed out slowly, not sure how to gauge this mute man before her. She tried to read his expression, but it was impassive, revealing nothing to her.

"It was probably presumptuous of me, but…" she said haltingly, "but I found this on Kate's desk."

She handed the sketchbook over to Gibbs, and he took it from her. "I think it's something she would have wanted you to have."

Without a word, Gibbs walked over to his desk with the sketchpad. He switched on his own lamp, and began flipping through the pages. She watched as he tried to mask his emotions at the sight of the drawings, knowing he was remembering the moments in time when Kate had probably whipped out a pencil in order to capture a moment she found captivating. He stared at the sketches for a long time.

Paula, suddenly realizing Gibbs had not banished her to that other desk, decided this just very well might mean things were copacetic. Maybe she was learning to read Leroy Jethro Gibbs, after all.

"Good night, Boss," she said, as she rose from her desk, switching off the lamp as she went.

END?

Thanks for reading! I know Paula was a minor character and that a lot of people prefer 'TIVA', but I hope this was entertaining. Con-crit is appreciated; flames are not.