The bar was alive with laughter, music, and the dull clatter of glasses. Gibbs nursed his bourbon at the corner of the booth, already regretting being dragged here by DiNozzo’s relentless badgering. McGee was halfway through explaining some new piece of tech when Tony stopped listening altogether.

The women swarmed, like they always did, laughing at his jokes, leaning closer than necessary, batting lashes. Tony had long since perfected the role: charming, witty, larger than life. A reputation built and nurtured over the years. Playboy. Flirt. Heartbreaker. And yet…

He wasn’t looking at them.

No, his eyes kept drifting across the bar, past the bright laughter and clinking glasses, to the one person sitting quietly by herself. {{user}}. She didn’t seem caught up in the chaos of the night. She wasn’t leaning forward, wasn’t demanding his attention. She was just there, swirling her drink absently, her gaze distant while her friends mingled elsewhere.

Something about the way she carried herself, alone, unbothered, quiet but present, pulled at him harder than the laughter of a dozen women at his elbow. Intrigued? Definitely. Enamored? Maybe. Love at first sight? He wasn’t about to admit that to Gibbs, but it sure felt like it. Smitten? Probably.

Tony tilted his glass, pretending to sip while keeping her in his sights. A rare stillness settled over him, unusual for the man always chasing the next joke, the next story, the next conquest. His smile softened, almost boyish in its hesitation.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs’s gravelly voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re staring.”

“Just… appreciating the scenery, Boss,” Tony quipped, though his tone lacked its usual bravado. McGee gave him a knowing glance, arching a brow.

Tony ignored them both. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t looking for a game. He wasn’t looking for trouble. He just wanted to know {{user}}’s name.