It started with a car. A beautiful black 1961 Ferrari California Spyder sitting in Tony's parking place when he got home from work one day. He couldn't help but run his hand over the bonnet, following the sleek lines before he stepped away with regret, wondering who it belonged to.

He opened his mailbox, finding nothing but junk mail and a single, heavy envelope with only his name printed across the back. Curiosity got the better of him and he ripped it open and tipped it, dropping a set of keys into his hands. Keys for the classic outside.

It had to be a mistake, he was sure of that. There was no way that car belonged to him, not when he'd seen them go for more than $10 000 000. Although it was terribly tempting to just accept it. He'd never be able to afford a car like that on his own, not on his salary. He was about to call Abby to ask her to track down the purchase and find out where it came from when his phone rang.

"Agent DiNozzo," he answered.

"Tony, I can call you Tony, can't I? It's Robert Covington," the man on the other end said.

"Mr Covington," Tony greeted warily.

"I hope you enjoyed your gift."

"My gift?" Tony asked even as he looked to the keys in his hand and his excitement turned to dread.

"Your father mentioned your love of classic cars," Covington told him. "We really would appreciate you consulting for us, when you have the time, of course. Consider the car just an indication of what we offer."

A bribe, Tony thought. They were trying to bribe him into working for them. It was even more worrying that Covington had called him just when he'd opened the envelope. Did they have people watching him? It wouldn't be the first time someone had tracked him, but it never got any less creepy or invasive.

"I appreciate the thought, Mr Covington," Tony said, forcing as much empty politeness into his voice as possible. "But it's really not a suitable car for my line of work, I've lost two already, and I simply don't have the time to consult."

"It's a pity, but I understand," Covington agreed easily, which did nothing to put Tony at ease. "Do enjoy the car, Tony."

Tony spent the rest of the evening scanning for bugs. He left the few that he found where they were, not wanting to let the Templars know that he'd found them. It was a small advantage, but he needed every one that he could get.

Finally, when he was satisfied he'd found them all, he grabbed the earbud Eliot had given him and went into the bathroom. The door closed behind him with a loud click and he took a few deep breaths before deciding his course of action. He turned the water on in the shower to cover any talking the bugs might pick up then slid the earbud into his ear.

"Eliot?" he asked softly.

There was a long pause and then "Who the hell is this?"

"Eliot said I could contact him if I had to," Tony said, not willing to reveal any details to someone he didn't know. The man muttered about stupid Assassins and their reckless habits, but a moment later Eliot's voice appeared.

"Tony?"

"Glad to know I'm the only boy you gave your bud to," Tony said with a grin. Eliot's chuckle was a soft rasp that brought a flush to Tony's cheeks that he was glad Eliot couldn't see.

"Guess I thought you were something special," Eliot replied.

"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, at your service."

"What did you need?" Eliot asked. "Have they come after you?"

"Covington, Robert that is, just contacted me," Tony told him, then gave a little, disbelieving laugh. "They gave me a car."

"A good one?"

"A Spyder."

"They really do want you, don't they."

"I can't have it here," Tony said, feeling like it made him dirty just by association. The money that had bought it was blood money. How many had suffered and died for Covington to afford to just give him a gift like that. "I need it gone."

"I'll sort it out," Eliot assured him. Tony breathed out, relieved. "Hang in there."

The concern, even as detached as it was, made him feel a little more encouraged than he had before. He might not get out of this situation whole, but maybe he could do some damage first. It was more concern than he'd felt from his team in a while.

"That's what I do best," Tony said, smiling a little as he leaned back against the tile.

"See that you keep doing it."

...

So, when Tony went downstairs the next morning and saw that the car was missing, he silently praised Eliot's quick work and went to report it to the police even though he was sure nothing would come of it.

And if, later, he learned about a series of anonymous donations to children's charities, well, that wasn't anything he was going to find trouble with.

...

Tony was at once surprised and not to walk into work a few days after the car incident to a large bouquet of flowers on his desk. It was grossly excessive, covering half his desk, but what annoyed him more were the smirks McGee and Ziva were giving him.

"Something you want to tell us?" McGee asked, standing up from his seat and coming around to the front of his desk.

"Not really," Tony told him blandly. He thought about the team getting involved with Templars and Assassins and knew, as much as they'd protest otherwise, that they'd just be completely out of their depths.

Ziva leaned a hip against her desk and raised an eyebrow. Slowly, she unfolded her arms and revealed a small card that had obviously accompanied the flowers. Keeping her eyes on him, she flipped it open.

"Next time I'll make sure your gift isn't so mobile, Julianna Covington," she quoted. "Is that your new girlfriend?"

"Wait," McGee said slowly. "Isn't Julianna Covington the wife of Robert Covington?"

"A married woman?" Ziva said, managing to look both smug and salacious, but clearly not grasping the full implications of McGee's revelation.

"And on the board of directors for Abstergo," McGee added. "They're a huge tech company."

"Boy-toy to a rich, married woman?" Ziva asked, smirking at Tony. "I thought you preferred them younger."

"Well, you know, married women have their benefits. No commitments," Tony said absently as he looked around before finally spotting one of the janitors. "Hey Ed, how's your wife doing?"

The janitor, Ed, smiled brightly at him.

"Turns out it was morning sickness."

Tony smiled widely, genuinely, in return and clapped him on his shoulder.

"She's pregnant? Congratulations."

"Yeah, three months along now."

"Hey, I was going to just chuck these," Tony said, gesturing to the flowers on his desk. "But maybe she'd like them instead?"

"I could score some major points," Ed told him with an air of confidence. "Thanks, Tony."

"No problem," Tony said, just glad the flowers would be gone.

"Hiding your affair?" Ziva persisted.

"Yeah," Tony muttered, not feeling up to justifying himself at that particular moment, not when they wouldn't believe him, "that's what I'm doing."

"DiNozzo!" Vance called from the balcony before turning and going back into his office. Tony sighed heavily, wondering if the day could get any worse.

"What have you done now?" McGee asked and Tony shook his head. He really had no idea what might be the cause of Vance's latest tantrum. He climbed the stairs slowly, tired already before they'd even begun the day properly.

"Something I can help you with, Director," Tony asked when he'd closed the office door behind him.

"There's an opening to head up the office in Silverdale," Vance told him, staring hard at him through narrowed eyes, the toothpick being worked furiously.

"Okay," Tony said a little hesitantly, not sure where Vance was going with it.

"It's yours," Vance told him, tension in his voice like this was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

"What?" Tony asked before he could help himself.

"You're first in line to head up the office in Silverdale," Vance repeated.

Silverdale was an interesting offer, but it wasn't all that tempting. Sure, there was working with the Mounties, a fair amount of drug cases and border crossings, but it wasn't Gibbs and it wasn't DC. He'd probably spend more time at his desk than in the field and his hours wouldn't be nearly as insane. Most people would see it as a promotion, he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to feel that way. Not when he knew where the offer probably came from.

"Not interested," Tony told him.

Vance clenched his jaw, teeth grinding around the toothpick.

"Maybe you should think about it," Vance said in a tone that suggested it was an order. Tony wondered what pressures were being put on Vance to make sure Tony took this job.

"Not interested," Tony repeated. "If that's all, Director?"

"Sure," Vance said, eyeing Tony closely like he was a bug under a microscope. Tony nodded at him and left.

...

"I want to speak to Eliot," Tony said, sitting wedged between the sink and the bath, the water running again and the earbud in place. There was silence on the other end for a long moment before Eliot's voice came through.

"Tony."

Tony breathed out and leaned his head back against the tile.

"What happened?" Eliot asked.

"I got offered a promotion," Tony told him, anything but happy.

"The Templars?"

"Yeah." They're silent for a long time, but Tony can hear Eliot breathing and it's enough to keep him calm, keep him thinking about how to work the situation, how to get out of it, if that was even possible. "I could use this."

"The Templars don't get used," Eliot told him, weary. "They use you first."

"I don't know how to get out from under this," Tony said, dropping his head and closing his eyes. He'd gotten out at twelve when his father disowned him, but even then he'd known it would only be a matter of time. He'd had far longer than he ever thought he would.

"You're not in this alone."

"Makes a change," Tony said, a hint of a smile making its way to his lips.

"All you've got to do is call."

"I know," Tony told him, smiling a little wider.

"I'm working on something," Eliot told him. "All you've got to do is hang in there a little longer."

"I can do that," Tony said, feeling stronger than he had in a while.

...

When Eliot emerged later from where he'd gone to speak to the man on the other side of the earbud, Hardison was waiting for him.

"Eliot, man, what are you doing?"

"Cultivating a resource," Eliot told him without pause.

"If that were true, you would have told us what you were doing."

Eliot folded his arms and stared at Hardison mulishly. Hardison knew better than to think he'd get any answers Eliot wasn't willing to give.

"Eliot," Hardison said softly, needing to let him know how serious this was. "This guy is trouble."

Eliot still remained silent, but his eyes slid away from Hardison's, no longer quite so resolute. They had years of building trust between them, of making the team a family, especially after Nate and Sophie left and they had to rely on each other more than ever before.

"I know," Eliot admitted just as softly. Hardison held his tongue; he'd long learned the best strategy with Eliot when you really wanted to get somewhere was to wait him out, not push him. "But we're all he's got."

"The Templars don't just let people go."

"You think I don't know that," Eliot demanded, meeting Hardison's eyes again, his gaze forceful. "I know that better than anyone."

"I know, Eliot," Hardison said, raising his hands in placation. "I know."

"He's a good guy, Hardison," Eliot told him. "Isn't this what we do?"

"Yeah, okay, so where do we start?"

"With an exit strategy."

...

Tony could feel Gibbs's eyes on him, as he had increasingly over the last few days, but Gibbs didn't approach him. Tony wasn't sure if he was relieved at that or not. Gibbs didn't interfere with their personal lives unless they interfered with the job, but Tony couldn't help but want someone to recognise that his life was falling apart, a little at a time, the way Eliot seemed to. Eliot, who had only met him twice and with whom he'd only had a handful of conversations. Tony stood, determined to get out of the office for a while, even if only as long as a coffee run.

"Going somewhere, Tony?" Ziva asked, tone mockingly coy.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised. Over the last few weeks, their prying had escalated with a similar frequency to the Covington's enticements. He knew, even if he could, he wouldn't tell them about the Assassins and Templars, about being in the middle of their war. As it was, they probably wouldn't believe him and if they did it would just get them killed.

"Coffee run," he said.

"Another coffee run where you come back with nothing?" she asked.

"Well, there's this new barista," Tony told her and waggled his eyebrows for effect. She rolled her eyes and huffed a disgruntled breath.

"Sure it's not another trip to the dentist?" McGee asked, looking up from his computer monitor.

"Not today, but the first trick to impressing that new barista is a good smile," Tony said, flashing them that smile for good measure.

"And that is all it is?" Ziva persisted.

"That's all," he said easily.

She stared at him a beat longer before looking back at her work. Tony couldn't tell if she believed him or not. Even if he wasn't technically on another undercover operation, it certainly felt like he was. It was a strange paradox to want them to see through him when he was working so hard to make sure they didn't, but then his psyche had always been a little warped. He still wanted his father affection, didn't he, even after the man had brought Tony to the Covingtons' attention for his own profit and dragged him into a war he'd never find his way out of again.

"I'll bring you back some tea," he offered, distracting himself from his thoughts. The smile she shot him was pleased. "Coffee, McGee?"

McGee nodded. Tony didn't bother offering Gibbs, already knowing the man would expect his own coffee and there'd be hell to pay if Tony went to a coffee shop without getting him any.

"I'll be going then," Tony said, looking at Gibbs and wanting him specifically to notice something, say anything. Gibbs had managed to pull miracles, he'd got himself and the team out of impossible situations before.

Gibbs said nothing. He didn't even look up, though Tony could feel his attention on them. Tony stared at the top of the man's head, but nothing changed. Nothing ever changed. He sighed and made his way to the elevator.

...

"Hello there," a woman said, leaning on the counter beside him. She was gorgeous, poised and stylish, and there was something familiar about her though he couldn't quite place it.

"Do I know you?" he asked. She gave a small shrug.

"I'm sure I would remember meeting you before," she told him. Something apprehensive shivered through him and he wasn't sure why. He was used to forward women, even found them more appealing, but there was something about her that made him uncomfortable.

"Maybe I just wish I had," he told her with a smile, trying to cover his unease.

"Well, we can remedy that right now," she said, matching his smile.

Someone came to take her order and she turned to look at the coffee options. Tony stared at her profile, the familiarity finally clicking into place. He'd seen her at the party his father dragged him to, though she'd been in a slinky dark purple number then and her hair had been up. It was what had drawn his eye; the way the line of her neck led to the smooth curve of her shoulder blade and the gentle arch of her back. She was a Templar or at least a Templar lackey.

There wasn't anything he could trust. Not his apartment or his job or even a simple coffee run. Not anything but Eliot.

Tony smiled at her, trying to hide the tension behind it, and was relieved when the barista called out his order. She smiled back at him and leaned forward, provocatively. He cut her off before she could say anything.

"Looks like that's me and I've got to run," he told her. He kept his expression firmly apologetic. "Work, you know?"

He grabbed the order and left the cafe, walking quickly and not stopping until he was a block away and sure that she hadn't been following him. It was a matter of seconds to pull out the bud he'd taken to carrying everywhere and sticking it in his ear.

"Eliot," Tony said and, almost immediately, the man responded with his name. "They're stepping it up."

"One more week and I'll come for you," Eliot said.

Tony leaned against the wall, relief making him sag, and he wondered why that was all he felt. There was no sense of loss or sadness at the idea of leaving it all behind. Instead, it felt like everything between now and when he was twelve had been a diversion and he was finally on the path he was always meant for.

Maybe that's why it had become progressively more difficult to fit into any team, why it had become difficult at NCIS. He'd never really belonged. Would never really belong anywhere but with those who understood the eons-spanning conflict that was, quite literally, in his blood.

He considered what small mementos he should probably include in his go bag, things he couldn't bear to leave behind. There wasn't much, though he'd regret the piano.

"I'll be ready," Tony told him.

...

Tony was walking to his car when he heard the quiet echo of footsteps behind him. He kept his gait even and tried not to tense. The Templars didn't like to be refused, and Tony had been refusing their temptations for almost a month now. They wouldn't ever stop until he gave in, until he compromised himself, and their resources far outstripped his own.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone and Eliot's ear bud. As he raised the phone to ear, he slid the bud in as well. He didn't want to tip off whoever was following him too early.

"Eliot," he said softly, pitching his voice so that it didn't carry. There was silence for a moment as whoever it was that was always listening contacted Eliot.

"Tony," Eliot said.

"Someone's following me," Tony told him. "And not the usual 'from a distance, taking pictures' following, either."

"We've got a plan."

"It had better be a damned good one," Tony said, running a hand through his hair.

"Hang in there," Eliot told him. "We're on our way."

"Unless you can get here in two minutes..." Tony said, glancing at the reflection in a car window and then the side mirror as he passed.

"Hang in there," Eliot repeated. It wasn't an answer, but Tony exhaled in relief. Eliot hadn't let him down yet and there weren't many people about whom Tony could say that.

"Not too many other options," Tony told him. He fished his keys out of his pockets when he got to his car and glanced casually behind him, but whoever was following him was a professional and he didn't see any sign of them.

Tony opened the trunk and grabbed his go-bag, which was supplemented with those few things he refused to leave behind – photographs, books he'd been gifted, his mother's ring, a carving Gibbs had made for him some years ago. He'd just slung it over his shoulder when he heard footsteps speed up into a run. He held his position until the last moment then spun, knocking the man off-balance when he tried to tackle Tony. He jerked when he felt something pierce his skin and turned to see another man.

"You should have taken the car," the second man told him just before triggering the taser.

Tony's whole body spasmed, pain crashing through him in waves, and he couldn't help the keening noise that escaped him. Suddenly, it stopped and Tony could hear scuffling, though he couldn't work up the energy to so much as look at what was going on.

The sounds of fighting stopped and Tony painstakingly forced his hands under him, trying to push himself up. He heard someone approach him and he managed to rise to a sitting position.

"It's alright," Eliot said, not quite touching him yet.

"That was more than two minutes," Tony told him, attempting a smile.

"Traffic," Eliot said, with a smile of his own. He slid an arm around Tony's waist and helped him to his feet. "Come on, the team's waiting for you."

"So I finally get to meet them, then?"

"If you're feeling up to it," Eliot said, helping Tony into the passenger seat and dropping his bag in the back.

"No time like the present," Tony said, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

...

"Tony," Eliot said, lightly touching the man's shoulder. His sleep had not been peaceful, but Eliot figured he would need it over the next while, so he'd let him sleep during the ride to headquarters. Tony started awake and then groaned at the stiffness in his muscles. "We're here."

"So, I finally get to see the inside of an Assassins' Lair," Tony said as he climbed out of the car and grabbed his bag. He sounded confident and teasing, but he betrayed his anxiety by straightening his shirt and compulsively smoothing down his hair.

Eliot was tempted to run his own fingers through that hair, dig them in and draw Tony close, because he'd never felt the connection he did with Tony with anyone else. He'd never had anyone know the struggle it had been to join the Assassins and stand against the Templars, his one-time allies. But now wasn't the time.

"It's a lot like a Templar hideout, only a little more haphazardly put together," Eliot told him, eyes crinkling with humour he otherwise refused to show. They usually had to set up quickly and be ready to pack up and go just as quickly. "And usually less well-equipped."

It was only because of Hardison that they had the equipment they did and half of that he'd built himself. The other half he'd modified. It was the only reason they'd been able to keep ahead of the Templars who'd tracked down and taken out far too many Assassin cells.

"So, nothing like a Templar hideout, then," Tony said, glancing at him. Eliot shrugged.

"Suppose not," Eliot conceded. "But that just means there's less torture, too."

"Trust me, I have no problem with that."

They smiled at each other, but the humour faded quickly. Eliot knew exactly what Tony was feeling when he breathed in deeply before stepping into the elevator. It was what Eliot had felt upon leaving the Templars; the disbelief that the Assassin's were really any better, that either side had any moral high ground, that even if they did, they would never accept where he'd come from and what he'd done.

"We're good at what we do," Eliot assured him without making any promises he couldn't keep. The elevator doors opened to the penthouse suite, revealing a large, open-plan apartment.

"That doesn't always mean as much as it should," Tony said absently as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and stared out at the room, not making any attempt to move.

Eliot couldn't dispute that and even appreciated Tony's caution. Tony really knew very little about them and their goals. He stepped out of the elevator to see Hardison on the couch, laptop across his thighs and the feed from the elevator on one of the screens on the wall. The other screens were filled with information on Tony and what Hardison had managed to track down on the Templars' interest in him. It was a similar setup to their previous safe houses, only it wasn't above a bar this time around. Or a brewpub. He was grateful not to have to stomach any of Hardison's concoctions anymore. Parker was around somewhere, he was sure.

Tony followed him into the room, keeping close to his back, and Eliot felt a sense of satisfaction at having him there.

"Hardison, any sign of pursuit?" Eliot asked.

"Nothing yet," Hardison told him.

"That's really kind of creepy," Tony said, stepping away from Eliot and looking up at the screens.

"Most of that's what we got from the Templars," Hardison said, though he minimised the information for the moment for which Eliot was grateful. There would be time to get into it all later, but they needed Tony at ease and thinking clearly when they went through it.

"Tony, Hardison," Eliot said, introducing them. "If a blond shows up suddenly, don't shoot her; that's Parker."

Tony nodded and reached out to shake Hardison's hand.

"She's on the roof," Hardison told Eliot, going back to his screen. Tony didn't seem to take any offense at being dismissed from Hardison's thoughts, but then Eliot figured he was familiar with computer types when they were focused.

"Come on," Eliot told Tony. "Why don't you take a hot shower while I make you something to eat."

"That sounds wonderful," Tony said with a wide smile that wiped the exhaustion and wariness from his face and made him look even more handsome.

...

McGee swallowed nervously and looked at Tony's empty desk again. The desk at which Tony should have been seated over half an hour ago. Picking up his receiver, McGee dialled Tony's phone again and hoped he had a really good excuse for being late. Like dying. And even then, Gibbs probably would have wanted at least a phone call.

Gibbs phone rang and McGee put down his receiver before the call could connect, hoping that it was DiNozzo and that he was alright and on his way in. Ziva slowed slightly in her typing as she, too, eavesdropped on Gibbs's call.

"Tell me everything," Gibbs said, expression darkening as his eyes narrowed. A moment later he hung up on whoever was on the other end of the line.

"McGee, liaise with the locals on an altercation that took place outside Tony's building this morning," Gibbs told him, but McGee froze, thinking of the implications of that. Gibbs opened his drawer and grabbed his gun and badge. "Ziva, you're with me."

Gibbs grabbed his jacket and was on his way out before McGee could even begin to formulate a question. Ziva stood, but made no move to grab her own gear just yet.

"Is Tony..." she began and McGee had the feeling she didn't want to finish that question any more than McGee wanted her to. Whatever their issues, and there were no shortage of them, he didn't want Tony to come to harm. Gibbs paused without turning.

"Tony's missing," Gibbs told them before continuing on to the elevator. Ziva grabbed her gun and badge and hurried after him.

...

Tony had been missing for three days and Gibbs had no clue where to go to find him. He'd kept the search close to home to begin with, not wanting to distract himself with irrelevant details. But when that hadn't worked, he'd been forced to widen the net. That morning they'd released his photo to the press, asking for any details of his whereabouts. They'd been inundated with sightings, but nothing concrete.

Gibbs wondered if he'd ruined Tony ability to do undercover work for nothing.

When his phone rang and he realised it was a blocked number, he signalled to McGee before answering it. McGee nodded and started typing furiously.

"You need to stop looking for me, Gibbs," DiNozzo told him. Gibbs's fingers clenched around the phone and he ignored McGee's wince. He did force himself to loosen his grip, though, because this was his only lifeline to DiNozzo.

"Tell me where you are, DiNozzo."

"I'm fine, Gibbs," DiNozzo said. "But you need to stop looking for me. You're putting me in more danger."

There was tension in DiNozzo's voice, but he didn't sound under stress and he hadn't used any codes they'd prepared for previous missions. Gibbs didn't think he was lying.

"What's going on?"

"Gibbs, I need you to listen to me," DiNozzo said, as serious as he'd ever heard him. "I haven't been kidnapped. But there are people after me. At the moment, I'm safe, but only if you stop looking for me."

"DiNozzo."

"Gibbs."

It rankled that DiNozzo didn't trust him, that he thought Gibbs wasn't prepared to go up against whoever was after him. He'd gone up against assassins, terrorists and directors for him. He'd always had Tony's six. But DiNozzo had been acting oddly the last few weeks. Since those flowers had arrived. Possibly even before that when DiNozzo let Senior persuade him to go to some shindig.

"I need you to trust me," DiNozzo said, somehow managing to sound both pleading and resigned. "Just once."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said again, because his trust in DiNozzo wasn't in question. DiNozzo sighed and Gibbs was faced with silence. It took him a moment to realise he'd been hung up on.

...

"He gonna back off?" Eliot asked from where he leaned in the doorway. Tony smiled wryly and shrugged.

"Somehow, I doubt it." Tony shook his head and made his way to join Hardison, stopping in the doorway when Eliot didn't move.

"If he's gonna be a problem, we need to deal with it."

Tony leaned against the door frame opposite Eliot. This close to him, all Tony could smell was clean musk and cooking spices.

"You got a plan?" he asked with a teasing grin. He might not have known him long, but Eliot seemed like the kind of man who always had a plan. Even if that was to fight his way out of a situation. Eliot smirked and, despite himself, Tony found his eyes lingering on the curl of Eliot's mouth.

"Not yet," Eliot said, smirk widening at Tony's preoccupation. "But between us, we will."

"You haven't led me wrong yet," Tony said, willing to follow his lead. Eliot raised his eyebrows.

"Yet?"

"I've found it pays to be cautiously optimistic."

"Come on," Eliot said, gesturing into the living room. "Hardison wants you to look over Abstergo's files."

"Somehow, when my mother told me stories, I thought being an Assassin would be more interesting than being a public servant."

Eliot chuckled.

"More parkour, less paperwork?"

"Something like that."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Oh," Tony said with a smirk as he slid past Eliot. "Never that."

"Hey Tony," Hardison said, barely looking up before focusing on the files in front of him. "I was hoping you might be able shed some light on the information Abstergo collected. They don't do anything without a reason, but I'm having trouble working out the significance of some of this."

"Sure," Tony said, sitting next to him and determinedly not focusing on Eliot when he crossed the room. "Where do you want to start?"

"With your grandfather."

"What about him?" Tony asked, frowning. As far as he knew, the man had died before Tony had even been born.

"The Templars have been researching the Paddington family for a while now, tracing the movements of your grandfather, mother and yourself," Hardison told him. Tony shivered at the thought and wondered what on Earth the Templars thought they'd gain. His mother had been out of the game since she married his father and Tony himself had never been part of it.

"Why?"

"From what I can find, they think you have something they consider theirs."

"I don't have anything. I never had anything to do with either side," Tony told him, at a loss and frustrated that his life had been turned upside down for something he didn't even have.

"Your grandfather never mentioned anything in passing?"

"I never met him."

"What about your mother? Did she ever tell you anything?"

"Plenty," Tony said, remembering the stories she'd told him about her side of the family. It was only shortly before her death that he realised they were true and had fought to remember every little detail. "But I don't know if any of it was useful."

"Did she ever give you anything?" Hardison persisted. Tony could understand his being so relentless. Assassins were dying and the Templars were winning. They needed every asset they could get. He doubted the sailor suits and canopy bed were precisely what Hardison was looking for.

"A key," he said suddenly, remembering a moment weeks before her death when she'd pressed a small key into his hand and made him promise to keep it secret. He'd never known what it opened and had mostly forgotten it in the wake of the events that followed. But those memories had been at the fore for the last few weeks.

"A key to what?" Hardison asked, sitting forward and staring at him intently.

"I never knew," Tony told him with a frown and a shrug.

"Then we'll need to find out what it means. Where is it?" Hardison asked.

"I have it in a box of things," Tony told him, glad that he'd had the foresight to pack what few mementos he'd wanted to keep. He had one of his mother's rings – not her engagement ring, Senior had taken that, the identifying bracelet Jeanne had given him, some photos of him and his frat brothers.

"I'll start on trying to identify it."

…

Eliot and Tony leapt to their feet when they heard the door crash open. Hardison grabbed his computer – their greatest asset and link to the other Assassins' cells – and ducked out of the way. Parker covered him. Eliot was proud of the way they all moved together. He'd trained Parker and Hardison, but Tony seemed to instinctively slot into their group like he'd always been part of it.

"Gibbs," Tony said, slowly, hesitantly, lowering his gun. His voice was tightly controlled and Eliot could tell that he was angry at his boss's intrusion.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said, not lowering his own weapon as he took in the apartment and the fact that Tony was clearly not there under duress. The two agents at his back didn't lower their guns either. Eliot wasn't about to lower his guard either.

"I told you not to look for me," Tony said.

"Rules 3 and 8," Gibbs told him. "And 15."

"Rules 1, 4 and 40," Tony shot back, glance cutting to Eliot briefly. Eliot had no idea what they were talking about, but the tone was clear.

"Tony," Gibbs said, finally lowering his gun, though he didn't holster it. The other two did the same. "Tell me."

"You need to go, Gibbs," Tony told him. "You want to protect me, you need to leave me be."

"Can't do that."

"Then you're going to get me killed," Tony told him. Eliot could see both men were frustrated and he sympathised with Gibbs, he really did, but he also knew exactly what Tony was facing and there was no way to avoid the reality of the danger he faced.

They all tensed, weapons rasing again, when they were joined by another presence. A tall man in suit, flanked by several nameless, expressionless flunkies, appeared in the doorway behind Gibbs

"Your assistance in this matter is most appreciated, Agent Gibbs," the man said. Eliot assumed he was a Templar agent and he edged closer to Tony. "Agent DiNozzo, you have been most difficult to track down."

"I thought the 'screw you and your offer' was implicit in my disappearance," Tony said.

"I'm afraid your feelings on the matter are no longer important," the man told him with feigned expression of sympathy.

"Who the hell are you?" Gibbs demanded.

"Why don't you ask your liaison?" the man asked with a smug little smirk.

"I don't know what you mean," the Israeli agent said, but Eliot could see the faintest trace of guilt in her expression under the indignation.

"Come now," the man said. "Your father isn't one of the most influential Templars for nothing."

Eliot could see Tony wasn't surprised.

...

"I didn't tell anyone anything," Ziva insisted, looking from Gibbs to Tony and back again. "I swear. I came here to get away from all of that."

"You didn't have to, Miss David," the Templar told her. "Your investigative trail did that well enough."

Gibbs looked sharply between Tony and Ziva, out of the loop on the Templar-Assassins conflict but Tony felt empathy for Ziva he never had before. Putting her actions into that context, they made a lot more sense. Not that she hadn't hurt him by trying to solidify her own position, but he could understand where she was coming from.

"As entertaining as this is," the Templar said, "I'm on a deadline. Mr DiNozzo, your co-operation would make this much easier."

"What part of 'screw you' are you failing to understand?" Tony said. Eliot edged his way in front of Tony. The Templar aimed his gun unerringly at Eliot's head, marking him as one of Tony's weak spots immediately.

Ziva struck out, moving almost too fast to see, knocking the gun from his hand. He spun, striking back at her, and Gibbs and Eliot used the distraction to take on the flunkies. The Templar knocked Ziva's feet from under her and wrapped his hands around her neck. She struggle for a moment, dazed, and Tony aimed his gun and fired. The Templar collapsed and it took Ziva a moment to push him off of her. She gave Tony a grateful nod. A moment later, Gibbs and Eliot had dealt with the flunkies, knocking them out. The two teams faced each other, with Tony in between.

Eliot turned away from them, dismissing Gibbs and his team as unimportant, and looked at his people.

"Scorched earth," he said and Hardison nodded, expression grim and determined. He typed a command into his computer and watched as the information quickly began to disappear, the information being written over again and again, until there was nothing salvageable. Parker went into the bathroom, gathering anything that had their DNA on it, and packing it away neatly to take to their next destination. Eliot grabbed their ready bags.

Tony stood in the living room, staring at Gibbs and his team, who stared back at him just as intently.

"What is going on?" Gibbs demanded. He stepped forward menacingly, trying to intimidate Tony, but Tony stood his ground. He hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't done anything to deserve Gibbs's wrath, and for once he wasn't going to let Gibbs take out his anger on him anyway. "You owe me that."

"No," Tony said. "I don't."

He was loyal to Gibbs. He owed Gibbs a lot. Gibbs had taken him away from Baltimore, had given him somewhere to call home for a while, had taught him more than he could ever express. Gibbs had also taken his loyalty for granted, taken Tony himself for granted, lied to him and demanded absolutely loyalty without trusting him in return.

There was also the matter of keeping Gibbs out of the conflict as much as possible. There was only one way out; death, and Gibbs already had Ziva's participation to contend with. Her father might have given her a long leash, but he hadn't released her, not even a little.

"We have to go," Eliot said, handing Tony his bag. Tony slung it over his shoulder and stepped away from Gibbs, closer to Eliot. He knew Gibbs understood the significance of that. Ziva, too, but her expression was regretful and sympathetic.

"I think I've got a way of tracking down where the key's from," Hardison told Eliot.

"Do we get to steal something?" Parker asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation.

"One of their animus machines," Hardison told her and she grinned.

"Come on Tony," Eliot said, glancing at Gibbs and the team. "We need to go."

"On your six," Tony said. Gibbs's jaw clenched and the line of his mouth hardened. "It was an honour," Tony told him, giving his a casual salute before he turned to follow Eliot.

"Tony," Gibbs said, but didn't say anything further, like the fact that wanted Tony to fall in line would be enough. But it wasn't, not anymore, not even if Tony didn't have the Templars after him. He wanted more than that.

Eliot rested a hand on the small of Tony's back, not pushing him, just there as a solid and supportive presence, and Tony ignored Gibbs's expression of surprise as he walked out of the room, Eliot at his back.

...

Gibbs quotes rules:
3. Never be unreachable.
8. Never take anything for granted.
15. Always work as a team.

Tony quotes rules:
1. Never screw over your partner.
4. The best way to keep a secret? Keep it to yourself. Second best? Tell one other person - if you must. There is no third best.
40. If it seems someone is out to get you, they are.