Lieutenant Junior Grade Catherine Everett had heard her share of cheesy pick-up lines. As an attractive woman in her line of work, she had grown used to letting the men down easy with a polite smile, if they were higher in rank than she was, or, if they seemed like they could take it, a snappy one-liner. She shifted her weight in her black pumps, trying to find a comfortable position as she dusted an imaginary speck of dirt from her immaculate white gloves. She had prepared herself for an evening of polite smiles as she greeted silver-haired dignitaries and admirals attending the gala for the Navy's birthday.

Usher duty wasn't exactly her cup of tea, but the monotony of the job would usually be tempered by another officer, doomed to the same fate. But unfortunately, the Navy officers were one to each station, and since the Director of Naval Criminal Invesigative Services was going to be here in addition to the Chief of Naval Operations and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, she was paired with an NCIS agent. She hoped that the agent would be another woman, and as she glanced over her shoulder she caught sight of the team that would be helping with security at the doors. One was a dark-haired woman a little older than her, and as she turned back around she thought that with a little luck, the evening wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo had spotted the young officer as the team inspected the banquet hall, and he had only half listened to Ziva as she enumerated the many weaknesses of the room.

"They should really pick a more secure spot for a meeting of such important people," she said matter-of-factly, surveying the windows of the hall, glimmering in the fading light of dusk. "Unless they intentionally want to make the Director a sitting goose."

"Duck, Ziva. Sitting duck," Tony corrected automatically, his voice distant as he narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at the young officer stationed by the side door.

"Performing your own inspection, eh, Tony?" McGee said with a sly grin, following Tony's gaze to the white-clad young woman.

Tony turned a scowl on the youngest member of the team. "I am scoping out the area that my skills would be used to the best advantage, McGeek."

Ziva merely rolled her eyes. "If we are—scoping out—the best place for our skills, I will take the front door, and pick up the Director when he arrives," she said succinctly.

"I've got the side door," Tony said quickly. Then he paused. "Probie, you take the other side door."

"Oh, you mean…you mean that side door?" McGee said, pointing and taking a step toward the side door Tony had clearly claimed.

"No, probie, that side door," Tony replied, jabbing a finger over McGee's shoulder. "Anyway," he said as he started walking away, straightening his suit jacket and running a hand over his hair, "we can't have you scaring the ladies, McGeek."

McGee stood for a moment, watching amusedly as Tony drew back his shoulders and switched to a slight swagger as he walked toward his selected duty station. Then he turned and walked toward the opposite door, shaking his head at the antics of the Senior Field Agent.

Tony walked up to the post with all the confidence of a man skilled in the art of seduction. He glanced at the officer, taking in her tall, slender form. Navy uniforms weren't exactly the most flattering to women, but his practiced eye could tell that beneath the polyester blend of the uniform, there was a lithe, athletic body—not too well endowed, but with a nice, clean line and the suggestion of hips. Her face, from the profile, was just as nice as her body: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones, expressive lips. She was no supermodel, he decided, but she was definitely beautiful. Crossing the border into hot, just because she had that certain edge about her that excited him. She pretended not to notice him as he silently took up his post beside her, so he turned on the dazzling DiNozzo smile—just a hint, not full wattage yet—and said, "Hello, I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

The officer turned her brilliantly green eyes on him, not wary but not interested either. She had the coolly professional look mastered, he noted. Her dark blonde hair, streaked with subtle golden highlights from the sun, was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, not a single hair astray. "Hello, Special Agent DiNozzo." She gave a little nod and the barest hint of a smile, careful not to encourage him. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Everett."

"I work with NCIS," Tony continued with a small, private smile, just for her. "That stands for Naval—"

"Criminal Investigative Services. I know," Lieutenant Everett finished for him. "I am in the Navy, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"Call me Tony, please," the agent said, turning up the charm. When Lieutenant Everett didn't respond, he continued, "So, ah, usher duty. Kind of a bum rap, isn't it?"

"I'm the youngest lieutenant at the squadron, so it stands to reason that I get the worst duties until the next new officer reports," she replied, not taking her eyes off the road that wrapped around to the front of the building.

"Squadron?" Tony repeated with interest.

"I'm a pilot, Agent DiNozzo."

"Tony," the NCIS agent said automatically. He couldn't help but show his interest in the pretty, enigmatic officer. "So, ah, what do you fly?"

"SH-60 Seahawks, although right now we're in the middle of transitioning to the MH-60," Lieutenant Everett replied. At Tony's blank look, she said simply, "Helicopters."

"Oh, right. Helicopters." Tony cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. They still had at least twenty minutes before guests began to arrive at the gala, and this wasn't going at all according to his plan. "How did you get into, ah, flying?"

"I went to Annapolis," she replied, hands folded in front of her, eyes still on the road.

"The Naval Academy?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's quite…impressive," Tony said. He was grasping at straws, and he knew it. In frustration, he checked his holstered sidearm, frowning slightly. "So, where are you from originally?"

"Look, Agent DiNozzo—"

"Tony. Please." He gave her his most ingratiating smile.

"—Tony," she said finally, giving in, "if it's all the same to you, I'd rather just focus on the task at hand. I didn't pick this duty and I'm pretty sure you didn't either, so let's just make it painless." She gave him a quick, polite smile and turned back to observing the road.

Tony considered. Damn, but this chick was a tough nut to crack.

Catherine breathed a silent sigh of relief as the NCIS agent fell silent for a moment beside her. At least he hadn't used any bad pick-up lines, she thought to herself, focusing on the road that was beginning to fill with black limousines, windows tinted and flags flying by the rear-view mirrors. Dignitaries and high-ranking officers were beginning to line up to gain entry to the gala, being held in honor of the Navy's birthday. She suppressed a shiver as a chilly wind hit them—October began to get cold in Washington, especially after dark. This was one of the few times she was glad to be wearing her service dress blues. At least it wasn't summer, and she wasn't trapped in service dress whites—"choker" whites, although the female version of the uniform more closely resembled the service dress blues she was wearing now, just with a white jacket and skirt instead of the dark blue. She was also much more comfortable in the dark blue SDBs, since white uniforms were never anything less than a pain in the ass to keep clean.

The agent standing beside her shifted restlessly, his hazel eyes roaming the cars as well. For all his attempts at flirting, she thought, he knew how to do his job, watching the way his eyes inspected every car. There wouldn't be much traffic at this entrance, but it would become a crucial exit if something were to happen at the gala. Which it wouldn't, because Explosive Ordnance Disposal teams had already cased the building and it had been under twenty-four hour surveillance for a week now. There was a crew with bomb-sniffing dogs circling the perimeter, and on top of that there were the NCIS agents themselves. Only one team, though, which Catherine thought was a handful too few for an event of this importance. She decided to try to engage the agent in friendly conversation—duty was boring and she was as eager as the next person to relieve the restlessness.

"So, is your team the only team covering the event?" she asked.

"Our team's the only team that's needed, if that's what you're asking," Tony replied. "Agent Gibbs—that's the boss—he's on the Director's personal detail. The rest of us are here to back him up."

"Hopefully there won't be any backup needed," the lieutenant replied.

They stood in silence for a few more moments, watching the sluggish stream of vehicles shining in the last vestige of daylight.

"So do you have a first name, Lieutenant? Or should I just keep calling you…Lieutenant?" Tony asked. He saw the barest hint of a smile before she suppressed it. "Look, I know you probably have to deal with come-ons a lot." He held up his hands. "So I promise, no cheesy pick-up lines, and no flirting…unless you start it." He grinned devilishly.

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling for real now. "Fine. First of all, it's Lieutant Junior Grade. I'm not that old yet. And second…it's Catherine." Her lips twitched in another smile. "You can call me Cat, Tony, unless you feel the urge to make a bad joke about it."

"Bad joke? Me?" Tony widened his eyes in mock horror. "Never." Under his breath, he whistled the refrain to the old song "What's New, Pussy-Cat?"

Catherine laughed. "Well, at least that's a littleoriginal. And I haven't heard a guy whistle that well in a long time."

Tony raised one eyebrow. "You should see what else I do well."

Catherine fixed him with a serious gaze. "You promised no flirting."

"Hey, you started that one," Tony protested. Then he jerked forward and winced as a weathered hand smacked the back of his head.

"I don't care who started it, DiNozzo, I'm stopping it," Gibbs said, glowering in his tuxedo.

"Hey, lookin' sharp, Boss," Tony said brightly.

Gibbs merely scowled in reply.

"This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Catherine Everett," Tony said, introducing the young pilot to the seasoned NCIS agent.

"Ma'am," Gibbs said as he shook the lieutenant's offered hand in a firm grip. Tony looked slightly perplexed.

"You were a Marine, weren't you, Agent Gibbs," said Lieutenant Everett with a small smile, causing Tony's look of confusion to deepen.

"Yes, ma'am, I was," Gibbs stated. "Lieutenant Everett, was your father in the Corps?"

"Uncle," Lieutenant Everett said. "My father's older brother."

"He was a damn good officer," Agent Gibbs said firmly.

A shadow passed over the young officer's face. "He was," she agreed softly. "Did you serve with him?"

"Only for about a month, when my unit was running ground operations and his squadron was our backup. He was a damn good pilot, too." Gibbs' dark eyes studied the young officer as she absorbed his statement.

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs. I appreciate it. And maybe we could…get together for coffee or something, later, if you're not busy," she replied, her green eyes studying him just as intently. "I'm sure my father would like to hear more about his brother."

"It would be my pleasure," Gibbs said with a small smile. Then he turned to Tony. "DiNozzo, pay attention. The Director is here." He tugged at his tuxedo jacket. "If I catch you being inappropriate with the lieutenant here, you'll be doing the whole squad's paperwork for a week."

Tony winced. "On it, Boss. The paying attention part, and the being appropriate part. Hopefully not the…paperwork…part…" He trailed off as Gibbs turned sharply and made his way back into the banquet hall. A small sigh escaped him and he rubbed the back of his neck, rueful that he had let the boss catch him unawares in front of Catherine. But to his surprise, she was looking at him sympathetically, a small smile on her usually cool face.

"That's your boss, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tony answered.

She nodded. "I know how it feels. Commander Bailey expects a lot from the squadron. He doesn't say much, drinks a lot of coffee, and gets really intense when we're working a mission, even if it's just training."

"Does this Commander Bailey dish out head-smacks too?" Tony asked suspiciously. Maybe Gibbs had a long-lost twin that he had never known about. And then again, if Gibbs did, Tony certainly didn't want to reunite them. He shuddered at the thought of two Gibbs.

"That's kind of against Navy regs," Catherine answered, her eyes sparkling.

"Never stopped Gibbs," Tony muttered.

Catherine looked at the NCIS agent musingly. He really was handsome, in a rugged play-boyish kind of way, with his hazel eyes and light brown hair. He was a little taller than her, which was good, with broad shoulders and a physique that suggested he took care of himself and hit the gym a few times a week. She turned her attention back to the stream of cars, now illuminated by headlights and the spotlights chasing away the darkness from the sides of the building.

"So, ah, you really going to go out for coffee with Gibbs?" Tony asked casually, straightening his suit jacket.

"Yes," Catherine answered.

"I didn't peg you for a girl who likes her men older," he continued. "I mean, I'm a little older than you, probably, and—"

He was interrupted by her laugh.

"You think I invited Gibbs out to coffee because…as a date?" she asked incredulously. After a moment's interlude, during which she directed one of the dignitaries' security details through the door, she turned to Tony, shaking her head.

"Well…I…I mean, Gibbs looks…pretty good for his age, and I…" he stumbled.

"You assumed since I hadn't asked you out for coffee yet that I liked older guys," Cat replied with a sly smile.

Tony rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, you got me there, Cat."

"My uncle was a Marine officer," Catherine explained quietly, the smile fading from her face. "He was shot down during Kosovo. I never knew him very well, but my Dad took it hard." She shrugged. "Your Agent Gibbs said he knew him, and I want to find out more about him."

Tony nodded. "I see." He slid a glance at her. "So…would you be interested in going out for coffee with me?"

She quirked one eyebrow, looking at the road. "I have a pretty busy flight schedule, Tony."

He tried very hard not to look deflated.

"But I'm sure we can work something out," she finished.

An admiral and his aide got out of their car, choosing to use the side entrance rather than wait in line for the main entrance. Catherine saluted sharply as the admiral made his way up the steps. His aide, a lieutenant, smiled at Catherine as she hurried up the stairs after the admiral.

"Sir," Agent DiNozzo said gravely with a small nod as the admiral passed.

The next dignitary to use the side entrance was none other than the Secretary of Defense. Dark-suited Secret Service members, badges visible on their belts next to their firearms, surrounded the Secretary in a loose protective circle.

From across the street, Tony glanced a sharp movement: a man, running toward the Secretary, dodging cars as he flitted across the street. He looked at Catherine and she was already halfway down the steps, calling out, "Mr. Secretary!"

The man had a gun, and he was shouting something in a foreign tongue. Tony tore his radio out of his pocket as he leapt down the steps. "Boss, we've got a problem, West Entrance!" he said.

The Secretary of Defense turned as the man reached the curb.

"Weapon, he's got a weapon!" shouted Catherine, and the dark-suited Secret Service members closed around the Secretary like a vise, leaving the young Navy lieutenant as the most visible target for the madman with the gun.

Tony's stomach dropped. He jumped the last few steps and launched himself at Catherine, hearing the report of gunshots as if from a distance. His body hurtled into hers as she ducked for cover, his hand automatically cushioning the back of her head as they went sprawling across the cement. Her Navy cover flew off as they hit the ground, the silver and gold shield emblazoned on the front catching the light of the headlights. Tony dimly heard more gunshots, from the Secret Service agents most likely. There was the sound of horns blaring, confused shouting. He knew he should get up, draw his sidearm, try to help control the situation. But for some reason his brain was working very slowly, and it hurt to breathe.

Catherine hadn't had time to think when she'd seen the man with the gun. Well, truthfully, she had thought, Damn these heels, and had fervently wished that she'd worn pants instead as she had ran down the steps toward the Secretary of Defense, all of her protective instincts rearing. The Secret Service agents had enveloped the Secretary after she'd shouted and they'd spotted the threat, leaving her exposed.

There was a clear instant that she would remember forever, a crystalline memory preserved like an insect in amber. She stood, exposed and unprotected, mere yards from the man with the gun. He looked at her, shouting in a foreign language—Arabic, she knew with a chill—and turned the gun to her. She knew she should move, throw herself to the ground, but she stood, frozen, as the terrorist's eyes bored into hers with all the heat of his insanity. She felt his hatred.

And then something hurtled into her, knocking the breath from her. There was a hand at the back of her head, protecting her as they crashed to the ground. Shots rang out as they fell, and the person who had tackled her jerked once, twice, as if he had been punched while they were still in midair. Special Agent DiNozzo, she realized as they rolled in a tangle of suit and uniform and limbs.

The crack of the Secret Service agents' sidearms split the darkness of the night. Catherine looked up and saw the man dancing, jerking as the return fire of the security detail ripped through him. She heard the crackle of Agent DiNozzo's radio, and a voice she recognized as Gibbs, tightly demanding a report from his agent. The NCIS agent was dead weight.

"Agent DiNozzo?" she said. "Tony? Are you all right?"

He raised himself to his elbows, blinking blearily, his hazel eyes unfocused. Looking down at her, he became sharply aware when he saw the bright red staining the white shirt of her dress uniform. With one hand he unbuttoned the gold buttons of her jacket, nearly ripping them off.

"Hey!" she protested, not understanding. Then she looked down as he pushed her jacket open, staring at the red stain on her white button-up shirt. Tony gazed down at the stain in confusion, his face paling. She had barely enough time to realize that it wasn't her blood before the NCIS agent collapsed silently onto the pavement beside her.