The bullpen was tense. The kind of tension that settled deep, weighing down the air. A triple homicide with a missing suspect. Dead-end leads. Time running out. Gibbs stood at his desk, flipping through case files, his jaw tight. McGee typed furiously, Ziva muttered in Hebrew under her breath, and DiNozzo—

“Hey, Boss?” Tony called, waltzing over with his usual smirk, though it was tinged with curiosity. “Someone just dropped off lunch for you.”

Gibbs didn’t look up. “Not hungry.”

“Yeah, well, you might wanna make an exception.” Tony leaned in, lowering his voice. “They’re standing in front of the elevator right now.”

That made Gibbs glance up. His sharp blue eyes flicked toward the glass doors, where—sure enough—you stood, hands in your pockets, watching the bullpen with quiet amusement.

Ziva and McGee followed Gibbs’ gaze, exchanging a look. No one recognized you. No badge, no obvious reason to be here, but you weren’t exactly nervous either.

“Who is that?” McGee asked, brows furrowing.

“Not a clue.” Tony said, though the intrigue in his voice was unmistakable. “Gotta admit, Boss, they don’t look like your usual delivery person.”

Ziva tilted her head. “Do they seem… familiar to you, Gibbs?”

Gibbs’ lips pressed together. He grabbed his coffee, took a slow sip, then without answering he headed towards the elevator.

Behind him, his team watched in stunned silence as he stepped into the hallway, stopping just in front of you.

“Hey.” You greeted with a small smile.

Gibbs, for all his gruffness, let the corner of his mouth twitch—almost a smile. “Hey.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “No way.”

McGee blinked. “Did Gibbs just smile?”

Ziva crossed her arms, watching intently. “Who are they?”

But no one dared to ask. Not yet. Because as the elevator doors slid shut, leaving Gibbs and his mysterious visitor at the entrance of the bullpen, one thing became clear.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had a secret. And now, they all wanted to know what it was.