Chapter Text
Prologue: The Pool
By the end of the week, there would be a dead Navy commander, a stolen antique, one very compromised donor circle, and a federal building full of people pretending they had not participated in an unauthorized betting pool.
The murder investigation was official. The rest was not.
No one admitted to starting the pool.
Tony claimed it began as “pattern recognition.” McGee insisted he had only been present for technical support. Ziva denied involvement with the calm confidence of someone who had absolutely been involved. Abby called it emotional intelligence and refused to apologize. Ducky, when asked directly, said only that human behavior had always been an imprecise science.
NCIS was a federal agency.
NCIS investigated murder, espionage, terrorism, smuggling, treason, and, on one memorable Tuesday, whether Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs would physically snap a pencil in half if Luc Moreau called Director Shepard “Jennifer” one more time.
The official case involved a dead Navy commander and a stolen antiquity.
The unofficial one began when Luc Moreau arrived with relevant case information, excellent manners, and an unfortunate habit of standing just close enough to Jenny Shepard to make Gibbs consider several violations of diplomatic protocol.
For the record, Mr. Moreau did not kill anyone. That was almost the problem. Had he been guilty, Gibbs could have handled him.
Across the building, the situation spread like smoke. A clerk in Records knew Mr. Moreau had been issued a visitor badge before Gibbs did. Two security guards had developed a radio shorthand for Luc’s arrival.
“Package is in the lobby,” one would say.
“Does the package have cheekbones?” the other would ask.
“Affirmative.”
“Gibbs visible?”
“Negative.”
“Copy. Stay alert.”
Even the night janitor had an opinion. “He’s the ex?” he asked while emptying the trash near the elevator.
Tony looked up from his desk with wide eyes. “How do you know that?”
The janitor shrugged. “Man, everybody knows that.”
By Friday, the entire agency seemed to be walking slightly slower past the bullpen. No one admitted it. No one had to. Gibbs drank more coffee than usual. Jenny smiled less often, but when she did, every visible agent within twenty feet became suddenly interested in paperwork.
Luc Moreau remained charming, cooperative, innocent, and alive, despite Gibbs’ best efforts to interrogate him into being guilty of something.
It was unbearable. It was glorious.
It was, according to Abby, “the most emotionally productive case NCIS has ever had.”
A couple days later, the final bet would pay out. But that, as Tony would later insist, was not proof that the pool had influenced events.
It was only proof that, occasionally, the entire agency could recognize the inevitable before Special Agent Gibbs and Director Shepard did.