"Just brought some coffee for everyone." I settle the cups down at the top of each agent's desk, stopping last at Tony's.

"Where's yours?" He nods to my now empty hands. "God, Eva, I swear —"

I peck him on the lips, shutting him up instantly. "Calm down, Tony. I already had mine on the car ride over."

When I try to return to my desk, he pulls me back down by the collar of my buttondown, bringing me in for another kiss.

"McGee over-bleached his teeth."

Now that's not a sentence you need to hear while kissing.

But I pull away nonetheless.

"Is that so, McGee?" I glance back at the newly promoted agent, cocking a brow. "Tony, you're not even making fun of him. Why should I believe you?".

"Because I am your. . .Gibbs."

"My Gibbs? That's a new way of calling me your —"

Tony turns me around before I can finish my sentence. And then, I see him. The silver-haired, shabbily-dressed man running up the stairs.

"What is. . .?"

"I have no idea."

We wait a couple of minutes, of course, to give him some privacy. As soon as the appropriate amount of time passes, we dial Cynthia's deskphone.

Our new boss sits with his hands balled. "Come on. Don't tell me you don't eavesdrop, Cynthia. Every director's assistant eavesdrops."

"He's coming, he's coming." Ziva warns in a desperate tone.

"Hey, uh, Gibbs." Tony greets him with a wave. "Just visiting the neighborhood or. . .taking your desk back?"

Without a word of reply, Gibbs makes himself at home in the vacant, isolated desk in the back.

Tony waves the rest of us over to the opposite side of the floor.

"Okay, I've got an idea." His fingers snap together. "Maybe he lost his memory again and forgot he quit his job."

"Wouldn't he be sitting at his old desk then?" McGee points out.

Ziva rolls her eyes. "If Gibbs wanted us to know what he was doing, he would've told us."

"Because obviously he tells us everything, Ziva." I growl out, causing all three of them to cast confused looks. "Too much caffeine."

"Gibbs is back."

Speaking from directly behind, Jenny startles all four of us.

"On temporary reassignment." She walks through the bullpen. "The Paulson case."

"Paulson?"

"Petty Officer Derrick Paulson. He knocked over a bank and killed two of his accomplices. But the money was never found." Tony dictates the findings of the case.

"Paulson's prison cell." Gibbs speaks into a cellphone. "I want to see what was in it."

And just like before, he's gone within the next moment.

We spy on him through the camera installed in Abby's lab. Of course, he notices us eavesdropping quite easily. Tony and I take Gibbs to locate Paulson's sole visitor in prison, a former Navy sailor named Mickey Stokes.

"Gibbs seemed awfully quiet in the car." Tony shuts the door behind him, watching Gibbs already head toward the front door.

"Well, when would he have gotten a chance?" My eyes roll. "You really think he came back here to take his job back? Because you're way more nervous now."

He scoffs loudly. "Of course not. I'm just bringing him up to speed on the latest protocols."

The ex-Navy man swings open the screen door.

"What took you so long? He's been waiting over an hour."

With guns in hand, the three of us walk past him.

"Hey, shoes off!"

Once we clear the small house, we return to the elder man.

"Where is he?"

"I never said he was here." Stokes lifts his right hand, revealing a telephone.

By the time Gibbs is able to strike up a conversation with Paulson, he's already taken our car from the front. And Stokes' gun.

"Tony, you said you'd let me listen in."

I tug on his belt strap, pulling him closer into me. The cellphone practically falls out of his hands, but he catches it at the last second.

"Two can play that game, Ev."

His arm hooks around my waist and twirls me around, gently pushing me up against the space under the stairs.

"You two taking a break?" Gibbs steps off the adjacent elevator.

I clear my throat and nudge Tony off. "Just eavesdropping on our fellow coworkers." My hand reveals his cellphone.

"Oh, you sneaky, cunning —"

"Save it for the bedroom, you two."

We return to the bullpen to discuss our missing accomplice and key witness from the Paulson case, Russell Nash. And while Gibbs is busy downstairs with Ducky, Paulson calls on the tip hotline.

"Hey, Jethro." His voice is rather staticky yet smooth. "You got a tip hotline to find me, but nothing on my original case. Not cool. Gonna have to do something about that."

Meanwhile, McGee records the audio while attempting to trace the call.

"But for now, I'm just calling to say thanks for the car. I left you a token of my appreciation in return. I'm sure you'll find it soon."

The line clicks off just as he hangs up.

Tony switches his attention to the deskphone. "Called his own tip hotline. I'm starting to like this guy."

"We're getting an address from the back trace now." Ziva alerts.

"We got it." McGee zooms in on the map.

I point at the highlighted point on the screen. ."It's right here in the city. At 4242 —"

"Adams Boulevard?" Gibbs finishes for me.

The four of us share looks of surprise.

"You been there before, boss?"

"That's where Paulson killed his two accomplices."

We drive to the address, heading up to the apartment. Instead of Russell Nash's dead body, Paulson has left us with a complete rendition of his crime scene.

The next morning, Tony, Gibbs, Ziva, and I leave to meet with Russell Nash's old roommate, Gary Silverstein.

"You think you could be happy flipping a sign all day?" Ziva speaks from the back. "I think you'd get bored."

"Tony doesn't seem to be doing well." A goofy smile appears on my face as I watch him take the sign out of Silverstein's hands.

Less than five minutes later, Tony returns empty-handed. He slips into the driver's seat and immediately pulls out his cellphone.

"Get anything good?"

"I'll tell you in about twenty seconds."

The phone rings before Abby's voice comes in. "He's already making a call. I'm putting it on speaker. . .now."

"Hey, you got Nash. Uh, leave me a message after the beep."

He shoves the device into my hand before starting the car.

"Hey, Nash. It's Gary S." Silverstein's voice takes over. "Now I know you told me to call you here never, man, but there was some feds here and they were asking questions about that tat."

McGee in the background traces the number he called.

"At least, I think they were fed. I never heard of no NCIS."

"Got it." Abby talks over his voice. "82 West Pratt Street, apartment twelve."

"Forty miles north from here, Tony."

A crowd has already formed by the time we reach the outside of the building. In the center of it all is Nash's lifeless body in a pool of blood.

Gibbs deducing skills — and sharp knife — breaks open Tony's voice recorder to reveal a bug. A bug Paulson had implanted, which is the reason why he's been a step ahead of us all this time.

With a final interrogation of the bugmaker, the five of us prepare to confront our target.

"Signal's strong. Not moving."

"Got eyes on the target, Ziva?"

"I did, yeah. Suspect's not alone. I heard Paulson's voice."

Tony and I run off to the bushes towards the back of the house, leaving McGee and Ziva with Gibbs in the front.

"In position, boss." Tony alerts him.

We break in time just to see Paulson take the gun out of Mickey's hand.

"Don't do it, Derrick." Tony steps through the backdoor. "We will shoot you."

Paulson glances back at Mickey for a moment.

"Tony, Eva. Put your weapons down." Gibbs instructs.

With hesitation, we lower our weapons simultaneously and slip them back into our holsters.

Gibbs turns to the innocent man. "I was wrong. I know you're innocent, Petty Officer." He follows suit. "But you're not, Mickey."

"You're under arrest for the murders of Russell Nash, his two accomplices in the Greater Virginia Bank robbery. . ." Tony wraps the cuffs around his wrists. "And last but not least, the Greater Virginia Bank robbery."

"Don't forget about the bug implanted in our forensics lab." I remark.

"We were almost surprised as you look now. . ." Ziva nods in Paulson's direction. "When the guy you bought it from pointed you out in the photo instead of Paulson."

"This is ridiculous." Stokes scoffs at the accusations. "Do I look like I got five million bucks just laying around?"

"Yeah. Where is the money?" Derrick questions.

"It's here. It's been here the whole time." McGee lifts the sheet covering a table "Rosewood Bureau Plat desk, nineteenth century. That's $38,000."

He moves to the bookshelf.

"First edition Huckleberry Finn, $20,000." His hand touches the wood of a clock. "Chippendale mahogany case clock. Six figures, easily."

And with that, we arrest Stokes.

The next morning, we come into work as usual, the four of us talking as we get off the elevator.

"What is. . ."

"Why is. . ."

"Where the hell is. . ."

"Look who's finally back. . .for good."