Between the Lines -- A Jethro Gibbs Fanfiction (Part 29)
The drive back is quieter than the drive out. Not tense. Not awkward.
The case details scroll past on McGee’s phone screen, reflected faintly in the car window. Tony drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the door, unusually subdued. Ziva watches the road ahead, unreadable. Emily flips through her notes, pen tapping once against the margin as she thinks.
Jethro sits beside her, gaze forward, posture steady.
Tony glances at them in the rearview mirror again.
Just a word that lands heavier than any punchline ever could.
Emily looks up slowly. “Okay… what?”
Tony keeps his eyes on the road, not daring to look at them now.. “I’m gonna say something, and I want it on record that I’m saying it solely as a concerned coworker and not as the charming, devastatingly handsome agent you all know and love. “
“That’s new,” McGee mutters.
Tony continues anyway. “You two were weird the last few days.”
Tony presses on. “I mean… off.”
Tony shrugs. “Now you’re not.”
“That’s… all?,” Emily asks.
Tony finally glances back at her. “No.”
Ziva turns slightly in her seat. “Tony,” she says evenly, “if you are going to speak, do not circle it.”
Tony sighs. “Right. Okay.”
He slows slightly at a red light, the car idling as the moment stretches.
“You two,” he says carefully. “You are better when you’re honest with each other.”
Jethro’s jaw tightens just enough to be noticeable.
Tony raises a hand. “Not saying how. I’m not asking for details. Trust me, I don’t want them.”
“But the other day,” Tony continues. “That tension was… bad. It messes with the team when you aren’t the dynamic duo. We depend on you. We support you. I am all for whatever it is that’s finally happening, but you guys can’t be angry at each other anymore.”
Ziva nods once. “It was distracting.”
McGee clears his throat. “I didn’t want to say anything.”
Tony glances at him. “You never do, McGee.”
“But,” McGee adds quietly, “it was very noticeable.”
Emily exhales slowly then looks at Jethro.
She turns back to Tony. “We’re not angry anymore.”
Tony studies her for a beat, then nods. ‘Yeah. I can tell.”
The light turns green. The car moves again.
Ziva speaks next, voice calm but precise. “Whatever you resolved, it’s good.”
Emily huffs a quiet laugh. "That's one way to put it.”
Ziva’s eyes flick to hers. “It is also the only way I would put it.”
Another stretch of silence passes– this one easier.
Then Tony smirks faintly. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad.”
Emily tilts her head. “About?”
“About you two not looking like you’re one bad day away from snapping at each other in the bullpen.”
Jethro finally speaks. “We hear you. Stop the intervention.”
Tony nods, satisfied. “Okay.”
The conversation doesn’t go any further than that.
When they pull back into the Navy Yard later that afternoon, the car empties in the usual shuffle of doors and footsteps. Emily falls into step beside Jethro, Tony lingering long enough to add quietly, “Whatever it is… don’t mess it up.”
Then Jethro answers, low and firm. “Not planning to.”
Tony grins and walks off.
Emily glances up at Jethro as they head toward the building. “You okay?”
She studies him for a second, then nods too.
And somehow, that makes the ground beneath them feel even steadier than it did this morning.
Norfolk follows them back to the Navy Yard.
Not physically but in fragments. Dock water. Wind off the pier. The sound of the tarp snapping as the body was loaded into the van. Emily feels it settle into place as she steps off the elevator and back into the bullpen, the case threading itself neatly into her mind where emotion used to sit.
McGee sits at his desk when they return, fingers moving fast across the keyboard. Ziva drops her bag and pulls up surveillance feeds without being asked. Emily takes her crime scene jacket off and grabs her forgotten coffee from her desk, taking a sip even though it’s cold. Tony tosses his jacket over his chair.
The team moves like a machine that knows itself again.
Jethro stands at the center of it, quiet authority anchoring the room. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s build the last twelve hours of Henson’s life.”
Emily steps to the whiteboard she insists on still having even though they have a digital screen for their work, marker already in hand. “Henson clocks out at seventeen hundred,” she begins, sketching a loose timeline. “Cell records show a call at nineteen forty-two– last outgoing. Didn’t reach voicemail.”
“Who was he calling?,” Tony asks.
“Unknown number,” McGee replies without looking up. “Burner. Activated three days ago. The last ping puts it near the docks.”
Emily nods. “So he goes back voluntarily. He’s not dragged. Not surprised.”
Ziva glances over. “Meaning he trusted the person who called.”
“Or owed them,” Emily adds.
Jethro watches the board, eyes narrowed. “What was Henson working on?”
McGee pulls up a file. “Supply logistics. Civilian contractor interface. Nothing flashy, but he flagged three irregular shipments over the last month. Filed internal notes, never escalated.”
“Because whoever he suspected,” Tony says, “might’ve been above his pay grade.”
Jethro nods once. “Pull the shipment manifests. All of them.”
Emily’s marker pauses mid-air. “If this is corruption, it’s not small and not impulsive.”
“Which means,” Ziva says, “someone decided Henson was a liability.”
Emily writes MOTIVE on her whiteboard in block letters.
She steps back, assessing. Jethro moves closer– not crowding, just close enough that she can feel his presence at her shoulder.
“Are you thinking internal?,” he asks quietly.
He gives a low grunt. “Alright. Tony, Ziva– Norfolk interviews. I want names. McGee, stay on the burner. Emily–”
Not because he doesn’t know what to say.
Because this part matters now.
Emily looks at him, steady.
“-- you’re with me,” he finishes. “Contractor side.”
She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t nod immediately.
They move out together, grabbing their coats, folders, keys. The bullpen doesn’t pause to watch them go, but there is an awareness now, a quiet recalibration that no one names.
In the elevator, the silence is comfortable again. Emily flips open the folder. “If this ties back to the irregular shipments, we’re looking for someone who knows the system well enough to hide inside it.”
“Means paper trail,” Jethro says. “And people who don’t want it followed.”
The contractor’s office is all glass and polish– Norfolk’s attempt at looking clean. Emily clocks the receptionist’s posture immediately. Defensive. Prepared. They flash badges. Ask questions. Get polite answers that don’t quite land. Emily notices the way Jethro lets her lead the conversation, stepping in only when needed. It’s subtle. Intentional. Trust that’s always been there visible in small ways.
When they step back outside, Emily exhales. “They’re hiding something.”
Jethro nods. “And they know we know.”
“Got something,” he says when she answers. “Dockworker finally remembered a detail. Henson wasn’t arguing. He was pleading.”
Emily closes her eyes briefly. ‘That changes things.”
“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “It really does.”
She hangs up and looks at Jethro. “He wasn’t trying to expose anyone. He was trying to survive.”
Jethro’s jaw tightens. “Which means whoever killed him decided mercy was a liability.”
They stand there for a moment, the case settling into sharper focus. Emily then breaks the silence. “You realize this is going to get messier.”
She studies him– not searching, not testing. Just seeing.
They head back toward the car, the investigation pulling forward again– steady, familiar, dangerous. And beneath it all, something else holds. Not fragile. Not hidden. Just… there.
The breakthrough doesn’t come with gunfire.
McGee leans back from his screen an hour later, eyes tired but sharp. “I’ve got it.”
Jethro looks up immediately. “Talk to me.”
“The private security firm isn’t the operation,” McGee says. “They’re the cover. The real leverage is procurement approval– one signature. Navy civilian. Untouchable on paper.”
Emily steps closer. “Name.”
McGee pulls it up. “Randall Keene. Senior logistics oversight. Been rubber-stamping emergency reroutes for years.”
Tony exhales. “So Henson flagged shipments that were already blessed from above.”
“And once he realized that,” Emily says quietly, “he panicked.”
Ziva nods. “He tried to fix it from the inside instead of exposing it.”
“Which,” Jethro says, “got him killed.”
They move fast after that– warrants, subpoenas, quiet coordination with Norfolk PD. No sirens. No confrontations. Just pressure applied where it matters.
Keene folds in a windowless interview room before lunchtime.
He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t rage. He just… deflates.
“I didn’t think it would go that far,” he mutters, staring at the table. “I thought that they’d scare him. He was young. Nervous.”
Emily doesn’t raise her voice. “You don’t get to outsource consequences.”
Keene swallows. “He wouldn’t stop.”
Jethro’s voice is flat. “Neither do we.”
By late afternoon, Emily’s whiteboard is full. The display screen full. Names connected. Shell companies exposed. Illicit shipments documented. The case closes the way good cases do– not explosively, but completely.
The bullpen exhales as one.
Tony drops into his chair. “I don’t know about you guys, but I love it when corruption collapses under the weight of its own stupidity.”
Ziva smirks. “It is very satisfying.”
McGee smiles faintly, already starting the final report.
Jethro stands at the board for a long moment, eyes moving over the timeline. Emily joins him, shoulder brushing his– not accidental, not avoided.
“That’s it,” she says. “We did what Henson couldn’t.”
The team filters out gradually– coffee runs, paperwork, small talk returning now that the tension has somewhere to go. Emily stays. So does Jethro.
The bullpen quiets again, not heavy this time, just end-of-day stillness.
He turns to her. “You wanna do dinner?,” he asks.
“Yeah, I do,” she responds, smiling at him.
“We do, too,” they hear Tony say as he enters the room again with Ziva and McGee next to him.
Emily and Jethro turn to look at the group. “The diner?”
“Sounds good to me,’ Tony responds, grinning now.
“Yeah, sounds good,” McGee says.
“The diner will be good,” Ziva adds.
Emily smiles at them, going to her desk to turn her computer off. She is relieved things are back to normal as much as they can be– except the overwhelming urge to kiss a grey haired, grumpy senior agent.
Taglist: @lanadelrey10 @whenyouwannafindlove
