The bar was noisy and filled with regular, ordinary guys who liked football and liked to shout at the televisions in every corner of the place. Jethro sighed deeply as he relaxed into his beer, taking a long draught before waving for another one.

“Man, what a crappy week. Can I get a Bud? Thanks.”

Looking over at the voice that was suddenly beside him, Jethro found a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man about Tony’s age. He had broad, handsome features and crinkles at the corners of the eyes and lips that said laughter was a big part of the man’s life. He was broad shouldered, but not especially tall, and the near buzz-cut would’ve done a Marine barber proud.

“Hey. Nick Stokes,” the man introduced himself, smiling and holding out a hand.

Taking the hand, Jethro answered, “Gibbs.”

“Just Gibbs? Like Madonna, or Cher?”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

Nick chuckled and said, “So what’s your first name then?”

“Leroy.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. So you can call me Jethro.”

Looking interested, Nick leaned on the bar and observed, “You look like you’ve had a rough week, too, or I don’t know the look of the common slob ground down into the mud.”

A chuckle escaped despite himself and Jethro confirmed, “It’s been...long and strange.”

“Man, I hate weeks like that. And trust me, I’ve had my share of them.”

Casting another look over the man, Jethro guessed, “Cop or military?”

“Close. CSI,” Nick answered. “You?”

Becoming interested himself, Jethro told him, “NCIS.”

“I didn’t hear about any government trips in town this week,” Nick said, frowning thoughtfully.

Jethro shook his head. “Personal business.”

“And that’s my cue to shut up. Sorry, Jethro,” Nick replied, taking a drink of his beer, which had finally arrived.

But Jethro didn’t want his new acquaintance to shut up. There was something about him that interested Jethro in a way that no one had in a long time, not even Tony. The unassuming, honest look that came from having a clear conscience and the will to stick to his convictions. He placed the accent a second later and prompted, “Texas?”

“Wow. You’re good!” Nick exclaimed, smiling. “I been trying to keep it low key so people stop thinking of me as a yokel, but it just sticks.”

Thinking of Billy, the Virginia Sheriff who’d played him more than she’d been played, Jethro grinned and said, “Oh I don’t know. I’ve had my ass whipped pretty good by a local before.”

That seemed to give Nick pause and he asked, “Um, you do mean that figuratively, right?”

Surprised, Jethro answered, “Yeah.”

“Good. Sorry. It’s just...I had this on-again, off-again who was into that and it’s totally not my thing. Good for them and whatever, but not this Texas son.”

Jethro’s mouth curved into a slow grin and he leaned in a little as he asked, “What kind of shot are you?”

“Depends on what kind of weapon you’re talking about,” Nick flirted, smirking.

Laughing, Jethro motioned to the bartender and ordered another round.