Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

“DiNozzo?”

Tony might have startled at the smooth tone just behind him but years of undercover, not to mention working with the infamous Leroy Jethro Gibbs, had him simply turning around from stowing his bag in the passenger seat of his car, and smiling widely at the Latino man standing behind him. 

“Agent Edgerton!” Tony shook the proffered hand warmly.  “What brings you to D.C.?”

“An investigation,” Edgerton said with a shrug, hefting the duffle he held back over his shoulder.  “I thought I’d get some practice in.”  He said gesturing back towards the reception building of the range.

Tony wondered for a moment at the stilted inflection in Edgerton’s voice, but kept his own friendly enough.  “Practice is always good,” he said brightly.  He had actually been requalifying for his weapon after taking a minor injury thanks to his newest team member.

“Glad to see you made it out of the Macaluso family alive.”

Tony grinned at that.  “I never did get the chance to say thanks for stepping in as a mercenary to help me get rid of Alonzo Acura when Mike wanted him dead.”

Edgerton’s dark eyes twinkled.  “You did all the hard work; you even got him into position.  It was an easy shot.”

Tony felt warmed by the praise, even if his actions had been too many years before to think about.

Edgerton gestured at the badge on Tony’s belt.  “I see you came over to the Dark Side even if it is a sister agency.”

Tony smiled.  Taking down Macaluso had been the first time the FBI had tried to recruit him.  “Gibbs wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” Edgerton repeated, although he didn’t seem surprised at the mention of Tony’s boss, “the man’s a legend.”

“He’s something,” quipped Tony, keeping his tone light, his body language relaxed.  He might have concerns about Gibbs, but he’d be damned if he showed it to anyone else.

Edgerton glanced around the almost empty car park at the range almost casually enough for Tony to believe it; he didn’t.  “I was just heading out, but there’s a bar about three miles down the road.  Good beer and it does a mean side of chicken wings.  We could catch up properly.”

Well. 

Interesting.

He was pretty sure Edgerton was just arriving since he’d heard no mention of him being on the range and the news that Edgerton was shooting would have certainly spread like wildfire if he had been. Moreover, Edgerton, both by reputation and from what little interaction Tony had had with the man had never seemed like the social type.  He had half a mind to see what Edgerton would do if he refused, but he was too curious. 

“I could eat,” Tony said with a smirk and put his sunglasses back on.  “I’ll follow you there.”

Edgerton nodded and headed for his car. 

Tony slid into his classic Mustang.  He breathed out as he ran his fingers over the wheel and fired up the engine.  She was a little temperamental, but she was all his and he loved her.  He reversed out smoothly and drove out, following Edgerton’s non-descript rental.  He waved to the security guard as he passed.

He was second guessing, third guessing, hell even maybe fourth guessing his decision to accept Edgerton’s invite. 

He sighed. 

He admired Ian Edgerton.  If Gibbs was a living legend in law enforcement and military circles, so too was Edgerton.  He was renowned as a tracker and a sniper. 

Tony’s singular mission with the man had done everything to say the reputation was well-earned.  Tony’s gratitude at Edgerton’s competence at getting rid of Acura had been genuine at the supposed pay-off, where he’d also staged shooting his hired gun to ‘tie up loose ends.’ 

The question was, Tony thought as he flicked his indicator light and followed Edgerton’s car onto a side street, whether Edgerton’s sudden interest in him was professional or personal. 

Personal interest was not something Tony usually indulged in with other law enforcement professionals.  His bisexuality was something he kept closely under wraps and very few people in his close circle were even aware that he was an equal opportunity dater. 

He figured Gibbs had worked it out. 

Abby had found out when they’d ran into each other at an obscure club in New Jersey of all places (he’d finished kissing his very, very male date, looked up and found her smirking at him across the dance floor). 

The only other person who knew was Senior.  Since Tony’s Dad had disowned him for the same reason and had been mostly absent thereafter, Tony had no real concerns about the man telling everyone.

Which brought him to Ian Edgerton.  God knew the man was hot.  Lean, dangerous and intelligent.  He was exactly Tony’s type.

But.

Tony wasn’t about to make his personal life complicated by jumping into bed with a fellow agent, not right then.  God knew he had enough problems with his professional life.

Also he really didn’t think Edgerton’s interest was personal.  The whole thing seemed too pre-planned – like Edgerton had known where to accidentally bump into Tony.

He sighed again. 

Since the arrival of Ziva David and the appointment of Jenny Shepard as Director, all he seemed to do every day was worry about motivations and manipulations, he considered tiredly.  And maybe their cases had never been run-of-the-mill, but lately it seemed that he was always the one who was bruised at the end of them.  Bottom line was that he didn’t trust Ziva, questioned how much Shepard and Gibbs did trust her.  His arm ached, reminding him how easily Ziva had winged him with ‘friendly’ fire.  But there were days when, if he wasn’t so certain she was a spy, he might even like Ziva.  He certainly felt for her situation.  He understood Daddy issues and at least his had never sent him out to kill his own brother (not that he had a brother but the point stood).

He shoved all thoughts of NCIS and his team back into a box in his mind and followed Edgerton’s car into the parking lot of the bar.  

Tony approved of the pick as he parked up in a wide empty space under one of the few lights.  He’d lucked into finding the place once himself. 

Game on, he thought.  He wondered how long it would take for Edgerton to give away his real motivation in inviting Tony out.  He happily skipped out of his vehicle and met a waiting Edgerton by the door.

They walked easily into the dark space together. 

Tony’s nose breathed in the familiar smell of beer and fried food.  He noted that there was a rerun of a football game on the big screen in the far corner.  He let Edgerton lead him over to a booth with clear lines of sight to both exits and the bar.  It had nobody else on either side and with the background music just loud enough to cover normal conversation tones, it gave them plenty of privacy.

“What can I get for you boys?” asked the waitress, smacking her gum.

Tony smiled wide and easy at the attractive blonde; her hair was up in a messy ponytail, her gypsy blouse showed off freckled shoulders, and her jeans fitted her very, very nicely.  She smiled back at him.

“Beer for me, and a side of chicken wings,” Edgerton ordered with a hint of amusement creasing his eyes at the corners.

“Same again,” Tony tossed out breezily. 

The waitress winked at him.  “Call me Amber, sugar.”  She smiled.  “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Edgerton shook his head, a hint of a smirk playing across his lips.  “That is some game.”

Tony waggled his eyebrows.  “I’ve always been good at sports.” 

And he’d just confirmed that whatever had prompted Edgerton to invite him was professional not personal otherwise the man would be showing some hint of disappointment at his ‘date’ scoring with their waitress.

“Football?” asked Edgerton.

“Football, basketball,” Tony shrugged again, careful to play into the pretence of colleagues catching up, getting to know each other better.  “I’ve played most things at least once.  You?”

“Track,” Edgerton said.  “Shooting.”

Tony tilted his head.  “You always had an interest in sniping then?”

Edgerton paused in replying as Amber dropped their bottles of beer on the scarred tabletop and sauntered away swinging her hips.

Tony tapped his bottle to Edgerton’s when he offered it in silent toast.  He took a sip.  “So, sniping because…?”

Edgerton smiled.  “A sniper chooses their own weapon.”

Tony acknowledged that with a tilt of his beer.

“Which,” Edgerton said, pointing his bottle at Tony, “is why I’ve chosen you.”

And there it was; the real reason why Tony was sitting in the bar with the agent. 

Still, Tony wasn’t going to make it completely easy for him.  He slowly lowered his beer bottle and regarded Edgerton with the hint of a slight frown, perplexed brow. “Huh?”

Edgerton lifted an eyebrow.  “You have the best masks of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not sure you mean that as a compliment,” remarked Tony, with a laugh.

“Compliment.  I need your masks,” Edgerton said bluntly.

It was Tony who paused as Amber arrived back with their food.  They got the chicken wings along with a portion of potato wedges which were set on the table with another wink at Tony. He smiled slyly back at the waitress as she walked away.

“I should bring you to bars more often,” Edgerton said, diving into the food with the air of a man who had forgotten to eat. 

Tony picked up a chicken wing.  “As long as you’re paying.”  He waited until they’d sated a rush of initial hunger and reached for his beer.  “So, what do you want with my masks?”  He tossed out.

Edgerton wiped his fingers on a crumpled stained napkin.  “I’m working on a complicated assignment; it’s joint op with the Army Intelligence and Homeland.  Your name came up.”

Tony hummed.  He’d rarely had anything to do with Army Intelligence, but either of the FBI or Homeland could have put his name in the hat.  “You need somebody under.”

Edgerton nodded and sipped his beer.  “I can’t give you much more than that without bringing you in fully.  It’s classified.”

“Any reason why you’re not approaching my assignment to your assignment through normal channels?” asked Tony, biting into a potato wedge with more grace than his over-grown frat boy persona would exhibit.

Edgerton reached for another wing.  “You agree and we’ll do that, but I’m of the mind that I’d rather not have the Secretary of Defence call and ask for you personally if you’re not interested.”

Tony didn’t allow his eyebrows to rise at the mention of the Secretary.  “Right.”

He turned that over in his head as he finished eating the wedge.  The assignment sounded interesting; FBI, Air Force, Homeland; classified; the Secretary.  Clearly, it was important.  But not very urgent otherwise Edgerton wouldn’t be sat in a bar with him and he would have been approached through normal channels.

But there was also NCIS to consider.

“I’m not sure I can step away from the day job right now,” Tony mused out loud.

Edgerton looked at him, the question of ‘why’ painted across his Latino features as clearly as though the other agent had simply asked.

“Hypothetically,” Tony lobbed out casually, “if you thought there was a possible foreign agent infiltrating your agency and team would you step away?”

Edgerton’s expression hardened.  “Hypothetically, no.” He grimaced.  “Firstly, shit.”

“Shit’s a good word,” Tony agreed.

“And secondly,” Edgerton said, “damn it.”

Tony regarded him with open surprise at the regret Edgerton was displaying.  “I’m sure you have other candidates for this.”

“None as good as you, DiNozzo,” Edgerton said. 

And there was enough genuine sincerity in that comment that Tony felt the words like a healing balm on the myriad of professional wounds he’d taken since Kate’s death.

“Tell me what you can,” Tony invited.  “And call me, Tony.”

“Ian,” Edgerton offered.  He regarded Tony for a long moment before giving a nod. “Hypothetically,” he began, “how would you run a mob game in the military?”

Tony’s heartbeat kicked up a notch as his brain latched onto the puzzle.  “A couple of different ways,” he said, sitting back and considering Ian with a frank look. “A traditional protection racket would work in the right unit or base, particularly if senior officers can be bribed to look the other way.  There are plenty of new recruits or even long-timers who’d barter some pay for easier duties, reduced or waived punishment duties, or just an easier life.”

Ian nodded.  “Not to mention access to luxuries not usually on offer on a military base.”

Tony grinned.  “Sure, supply and demand would be easy enough with either the quartermaster in on it or bribed to stay out of it.”  He looked over at Ian.  “Honestly?  I’ve worked with NCIS long enough to know most bases and ships have some kind of black market.  Usually it’s harmless…”

“…until it’s not,” Ian concluded.

Tony’s mind tumbled over the information and came up with a few disturbing theories.  “Deaths?”

“Four,” Ian confirmed.  “Two high profile.”

“One personal,” Tony guessed.

Ian inclined his head.  “His widow asked me to help a couple of weeks back.” 

“And your first recommendation is to bring an undercover in,” Tony surmised before his mind made another leap.  “They have someone on the inside of the investigation; they can’t figure out who.”

Ian’s dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction.  “See?  This is why I need you.”

Tony smiled and picked up an abandoned chicken wing.  “I’m not the only candidate,” he reminded Ian.

“But you’re the best,” Ian countered, before he heaved a sigh.  “Are you absolutely certain about your hypothetical?”

“I’m certain something hypothetically stinks,” Tony said.  “But so far, I have a lot of conjecture, coincidences, theories…” he waved the chicken wing bone, “not a lot of hard evidence.”

“Which is why you can’t step back,” Ian deduced.

Tony nodded.  “I have people to protect.”  He chewed thoughtfully.  But maybe staying close wasn’t the right play.  Maybe giving Ziva what she wanted – Tony away from the team – would get what he needed to know sooner.

Ian sat forward as though he suspected what was running through Tony’s head. 

Tony flipped over the idea in his head a couple of times more before he sighed.  “My approach isn’t working.  If I give them some rope…”

“Maybe they’ll hang themselves?” suggested Ian.  “I’m not going to pretend I have any objectivity here, Tony.  I want you on my assignment.”

Tony pursed his lips and nodded.  “Count me in.”

Ian offered his bottle in another silent toast and Tony tapped it.  He just hoped he’d made the right call.

o-O-o

Why was it always a warehouse, Tony thought as he pulled on his gloves and hunched down in his battered uniform coat.  Couldn’t the mob boss have found somewhere warmer for their meeting?  Not that Tony was complaining if it meant that the whole song and dance was on its climatic number; they’d finally get the head and cut it off.   

Serendipitously, it was exactly a year since Ian had accidentally on purpose bumped into him at the range.  If everything went to plan, they’d agreed to celebrate with beer and chicken wings afterwards, even if Tony had hardly seen the other agent since his official assignment to the task force. 

It had almost been amusing to watch how NCIS and his team had reacted to his sudden assignment.  The Director had been a picture of a proud boss when she’d called the team to her office and informed Tony that he was going undercover on the personal orders of the Secretary of Defence.  He’d pretended complete ignorance.   

There had been awkward goodbyes with Ziva and McGee, followed by a long hug from Abby with an admonishment to come back alive, a tale from Ducky which ended with a hope he would return in one piece.  Jimmy had given him a firm handshake and Tony had made a note to get to know the Autopsy Gremlin better when he returned to NCIS.

Gibbs had accepted Tony’s assignment with an angry snarl at losing his agent without his consent.  He had also jumped into the elevator with Tony on his way out and told him to take care in Gibbs’ own imitable style.  It had been surprisingly heartening to hear Gibbs thought he still warranted rule five. 

In return, he’d left Gibbs a present in his basement; the file he’d collated on Ziva along with a letter outlining his own suspicions and his hope that with his absence, and because she was confident Jenny and Gibbs trusted her, Ziva would make mistakes.  News of her subsequent deportment a few months into his assignment had made Tony smile then, and made him smile again at the memory.

“Why are you smiling, Major?” Colonel Marchin, who acted as the consigliere of the outfit, rounded the car and stood beside Tony in what Tony believed Marchin believed was a threatening manner. 

“Nothing, sir, as always,” Tony replied lightly, pushing thoughts of NCIS out of his head.      

“One day someone’s going to cut that clever tongue of yours right out of your head,” Colonel Marchin snapped.

“But then how would I charm all of those lovely customers of ours?” asked Tony easily.

Marchin snorted.

The growl of a car engine cut across the warehouse and another car entered from the opposite side to park up in front of them. 

A young Lieutenant got out and hurried out to open the rear passenger door.

Tony watched as the General who emerged just marched over to him; he was a stout man with a brush of brown greying hair, hard dark eyes and a sour expression.  Everett Hardy, Tony named him immediately.  He’d been Tony’s top pick for the bad guy; Fornell owed him a hundred bucks.  Two other men got out; muscle, Tony determined in a single glance.

“So, Major Cavallo,” Hardy said, “the Colonel’s been telling me all about you.”  He accepted a lit cigar from the hovering Lieutenant. 

Tony wondered if he was trying to emulate the A-team’s Colonel Smith or the stereotypical mob boss in popular movies.  For all Mike Macaluso had been a murdering tyrant, he had also had his own style.

“Good things I hope,” Tony replied jovially, but infusing a hint of respect in his voice.

“He says you’ve performed well in your duties,” Hardy said tersely, “you’ve followed orders and you’ve had remarkable success.”

Tony nodded, smiling coldly.  “It’s not my first time.”

“I’m sure it’s not Agent DiNozzo,” Hardy said.

Marchin choked on his breath, scuttled away from Tony and pulled a gun on him. 

Tony stopped himself from smiling smugly.  “Ah, good. Harry did tell you.”  He’d worked out pretty quickly who the informant was and after that it had been an easy thing to use him for misinformation.

There was a stunned silence from all.

“What?!” barked Marchin.

“Well, it’s hard to get good staff in the business we’re in,” Tony remarked, carefully casual.  He kept his own body language relaxed even though he knew exactly where his concealed gun was and how quick he could get to it.  “Even harder to be sure a double agent will pass on the information you need him to pass on.”

“What?!” shouted Marchin again.

The General shifted and thrust his cigar in his direction.  “You’re claiming you wanted Harry to tell us who you are?”

Tony nodded.  He needed to carefully steer the conversation and he had to ensure they would incriminate themselves; he had documentation squirrelled away, digital downloads of activity and emails but…it would be good to get an admission.  “How else would we converse about how I can get you a foothold into federal law enforcement?”

“It’s a trick!” Marchin warned. 

“How is it a trick?” asked Tony.  “I’ve known since I got ordered to go undercover as your XO that Harry’s a big old liar.  It’s why my colleagues hit the wrong supply train last month.”

“Or maybe you’re that good at undercover,” the General asserted before Marchin could reply.  “You have a reputation.”

“Of course, I’m good,” Tony allowed, “I got trained in the cradle by my father and Mikey was a good teacher.”

“Mikey?” asked Marchin sounding bewildered.

“Mike Macaluso,” Hardy supplied almost absently, his attention still on Tony.  “There’s a rumour he wants you back in his family; that you were the best son he had.”

Tony shrugged.  “Mikey’s sons don’t really have the right…mentality for the family business.”

The General frowned.  “What’s your proposal?”

Tony didn’t allow any of his relief or triumph to show.  “I play both sides while we establish a foothold in the federal agencies.  It will also give us the opportunity to seed misinformation.  We’ll also need to eliminate Harry; he’s becoming a liability.”

“Cold,” Hardy noted with approval, “but why should I trust you?”

“You’re the missing link, Hardy.  The Feds have been after you for a long time, but they’ve never truly been able to establish who leads the business,” said Tony.  “I’m your added protection.”

Hardy motioned at Marchin and grinned at Tony.  “I’ve built this business up from the ground; spent years cultivating it, carefully selecting men to serve me.  Betray me and I’ll put a bullet in you, DiNozzo.”

Tony nodded in acknowledgement.

“Now take me through this plan to establish ourselves in the federal agencies,” Hardy ordered.  

They spent another good hour working through Tony’s idea until Hardy brought the meeting to a close.

Tony slowly pulled off his gloves as Marchin and he got back in the car they’d travelled in.  It would be a signal for the sniper watching some distance away.  He watched dispassionately as once they’d reversed out of the warehouse, they were immediately surrounded by a sea of vehicles.  He had a knife at Marchin’s throat before the Colonel could do more than blink.

Tony grinned at him.  “You have the right to remain silent…”

It was organised chaos in the aftermath. 

Tony turned away from watching as two FBI agents were putting Marchin in the back of one of the FBI’s cars and walked over to where the Associate Director was talking with Fornell and Morrow’s Deputy.

There was a sudden shout behind him, the sound of a scuffle and a gunshot…

Tony turned, reaching for his gun…

Marchin had knocked out one agent, grabbed his gun and shot another.  He was aiming at Tony…

Suddenly something hit Marchin in the forehead sending him backward to the dirt…

Tony ran over, kicking away the gun from Marchin’s death grip.  He looked at the bullet wound in the centre of Marchin’s forehead and looked back to where the shot had been fired.  He gave a salute.  It looked as though the beers and wings were on him when he and Ian were done with the crime scene.

o-O-o

“TONY!”

Tony braced himself as Abby launched herself across the lobby floor and jumped on him.  He caught sight of a grinning Ducky nearby and realised they’d been waiting to welcome him back. 

“Abs,” Tony managed to get out as he hugged her back gently while also trying to pry her off him.  “Breathing.”

“Oh,” Abby said jumping down, “right.”

“Anthony!” Ducky beamed at him and they shared a brief manly hug as they shook hands warmly.  “It is good to see you, dear boy.”  His eyes twinkled behind his spectacles and Tony could see the professional gaze which raked him and returned the assessment he was fine.

Tony nodded acknowledgements as other agents came over to shake his hand or shout a greeting.  He finally turned back to Abby and Ducky.  “I heard what happened to Gibbs and David, but where’s McGeek?”

“Ah,” Ducky looked completely chagrined and darted a look of consternation to Abby, who immediately pretended to be fascinated with the ceiling when Tony looked towards her.

“There was a small problem…” Ducky began.

“Miniscule,” chipped in Abby.

“…with a manuscript,” Ducky continued, “and so he decided to pursue a different career.”

Tony frowned heavily, reading between the lines.  That sounded like…

“He wasn’t fired, but he certainly believed it was in his best interests to find another position once NCIS pointed out the issues with the book he was planning to publish,” said a voice behind him.

Tony spun round and found a small but formidable looking woman standing directly behind him in a smart grey suit and pale lavender blouse.  He had a sinking feeling he knew who she was since news of Shepard’s sudden retirement on medical grounds had been the talk of all the agents around him as he’d typed up his report at the FBI.

“Welcome back, Special Agent DiNozzo, I’m Acting Director Henrietta Lange,” she said, with an approving sniff at his Armani suit.  “Shall we head to my office?”

“Of course, Director,” Tony followed her up the stairs, shooting Ducky and Abby a concerned look.

They both smiled uncertainly back at him and Abby gave him two thumbs up.

Lange waited until he was seated in front of her desk and had taken her own chair before addressing him again.  She regarded him with a frightening intelligent look which made Tony think she saw past all his masks.  He repressed the urge to fidget.

“You must be commended on your recent assignment,” Lange opened, “you kept your head and did very well to corner Everett Hardy.  Director Morrow tells me it was your strategy of making yourself bait to lure him into the open.”

“Thank you,” Tony said.

Lange sat back and crossed her hands over her belly.  “It has been a somewhat tumultuous year since your departure, Agent DiNozzo, although I believe you may have caught up on the main events?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony replied and gave into the question he’d wanted to ask since he’d gone round to Gibbs’ house and found the place locked up.  “Is Gibbs OK?”

Lange’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.  “Leroy is recovering well.  We cannot say for certain that the Reynosa Cartel will never come after him given his inadvertent confession after regaining his memory, but with the Mexican government’s pardon for his crime as part of the ongoing war on drugs, he’s safe enough.”

But he’d never work on law enforcement again, Tony mused sadly.  He’d known about Gibbs’ first family since he’d done his homework on the man after the whole debacle with Danny had proven Tony couldn’t just trust his own instincts.  He’d suspected Gibbs had shot his family’s killer, but he’d had no proof and an investigation had cleared him.

Lange reached over to her desk and pushed a letter across the wood to him.  “He left this for you.”

Tony took it and pocketed it, stunned that Gibbs had left him anything.  He’d read it later. 

Lange smiled at him and Tony wasn’t ashamed he felt just a bit terrified.  “You should know that you contributed greatly to the case made against Ziva David before she was deported to Israel.  You were correct in your statement to Gibbs; your absence made her bolder in passing information onto Mossad.”

“With respect, ma’am, deportation seems a light reaction,” Tony said.

“Politics, Mister DiNozzo,” Lange said sagely.  “Speaking of which, I understand you have turned down a number of offers open to you in the wake of your success.”

“I like NCIS,” Tony said honestly.  Well, he’d liked it well enough before Kate’s death, Gibbs’ sudden agreement to having Ziva around, and the appointment of Shepard.  He wasn’t sure he would have turned down Homeland’s offer if Shepard had still been in place.

Lange nodded, apparently pleased with his reply.  “Dwayne Pride has been looking after the MCRT in the interim.  He will spend the next week with you to handover the leadership to you, Supervisory Special Agent DiNozzo.”

Tony’s eyes widened.  “Really?”

“Really,” Lange said firmly.  She hopped out of her chair with a surprisingly amount of grace and Tony scrambled to his feet.  She came around the desk and handed him his new credentials.  “Do not let me down, Anthony.”

“I won’t,” Tony said as he happily accepted the wallet, “thank you.”  He hefted his new badge and headed out of her office. 

“Oh, and Mister DiNozzo?” Lange smiled at him.  “I would recommend stopping by the range this evening.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow but nodded an acknowledgement before leaving to find his team. 

o-O-o

“Tony.”

Tony smirked at the voice behind him.  He should have known.  He turned around from stowing his bag to grin at Ian.  He plucked his sunglasses off to better look at the other man.  “Fancy meeting you here.”

Ian smiled back at him, not bothering to deny that the meeting was anything but intentional.  “Heard about your promotion.  Can I interest you in a dinner to celebrate?”

Tony cocked his head.  “Would this invitation be professional or personal in nature?”

“Definitely personal,” Ian confirmed, holding Tony’s eyes without a hint of nerves or humour.

Tony let his own smile flow across his face; a genuine, warm smile.  “Count me in.”

fin.