“Smack!” The ball sailed off the bat directly into the space between first and second base. NCIS Special Agent Michele Lee, the first baseman,ran quickly to her right, hoping to snag the ball and tag the runner advancing toward second. She caught the ball on a hop, tagged the runner, and tossed the ball to Special Agent Alexandra Brown, who ran in from right field to cover the base. Sandy easily caught the ball just in time to tag the base before the 250 pound Army CID officer, who was huffing and puffing his way toward her, reached the bag. Sergeant Morris apparently wasn't going down without a fight. He ran full force, tagging the bag and digging his cleats into Sandy's left foot. As he ran through the bag, he elbowed her in the face for good measure.

“Out,” the line umpire shouted.

Sandy dropped to the ground dazed but still clutching the ball in her glove.

“You are out of the game,” the umpire shouted at Morris. He walked over to Sandy and bent over her.

“Coach,” he called and waved in toward the NCIS bench. It was unnecessary. Coach Leroy Jethro Gibbs was already on his way to first base.

“You alright, Special Agent Brown?” Gibbs asked.

“I didn't drop the ball, Coach,” Sandy said as she sat up.

“Yeah, I can see that, Sandy,” Gibbs stooped beside her and tilted her head to get a better look at her face. “That's gonna leave a mark,” he said.

“I don't even feel it,” she said wincing, “over the pain in my foot.”

“You will later,” Gibbs replied. “Let's get you up.”

Gibbs put her left arm across his shoulder and his right arm around her waist and helped her stand. She could feel the muscles rippling in his upper back and could feel his breath across her left cheek. She had never been this close to Gibbs. His eyes were an incredible shade of blue and his silver hair just made them seem bluer. Sandy's heart skipped. She felt strangely turned on. Sandy hoped Gibbs didn't notice the blush rising in her cheeks.

“I must have gotten hit harder than I thought,” she muttered.

“You okay, Sandy?” Gibbs asked.

“Yeah, just need an ice pack,” she said as they made their way to the bench. "Or a cold shower,” she thought.

Gibbs led Sandy to the bench. “Palmer,” he said then turned back to coaching the game.

“Got it,” Jimmy Palmer helped her sit then knelt down in front of Sandy, put her foot up on the bench and untied her shoe. Sandy winced as he removed it.

“Sorry,” he said. He gingerly pulled her sock off and examined her foot. It was bruising quickly in a cleat-shaped pattern. “You should probably have this x-rayed.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been stomped on, Jimmy. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, at least let’s get some ice on it.” He reached into his bag an pulled out a cold pack, which he cracked open and gently laid it on her foot.

“Thanks.”

“Let me see this,” he said as he turned her face to the right. “You’re gonna need a cold pack for this, too.” He cracked another cold pack and handed it to Sandy. As she raised it to her cheek, Palmer took out a flashlight and checked her eyes for signs of concussion.

“I think you’re going to be fine,” Palmer smiled.

The crowd behind them roared. They looked to the field and saw the NCIS team running in, chest bumping, and generally celebrating. Apparently,they’d gotten the final out and NCIS beat CID 5-3.

“Now I just have to figure out how to get home,” Sandy said. “My car’s a stick and there’s no way I’m driving it home with this.”

“I’d be happy to drop you off,” Palmer offered.

“That’s okay, Palmer,” Gibbs interrupted. “I’ll make sure Sandy gets home.”

“Gibbs,” Sandy said, surprised and still a little disconcerted by the earlier swell of hormone-driven emotion.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Palmer and Sandy shared a look of confusion and watched Gibbs pack up his gear and carry it and Sandy’s bag to his pick-up and toss them in the back.

“I’ll see you later, Sandy. Remember fifteen on . . . ,” Palmer started.

“And fifteen off,” Sandy finished. “I remember.” Sandy’s eyes followed Palmer to the parking lot, where he said goodbye to Gibbs, gave her parting glance, then walked to his car. Movement drew her eyes back to Gibbs. He was walking her direction.

Sandy picked up her sock and carefully put it back on, then picked up her shoe and her cold packs. Why did she feel so—awkward?

“You ready?” Gibbs asked, reaching his right hand to help her up.

She took his right hand in hers, thumbs interlocking, and together they pulled. She stood and put a little weight on her foot. Yep, the pain was still there, just not as bad as it had been. The cold pack was doing its job.

“Easy,” Gibbs said.

He put left arm around her waist and, still holding on to her right hand, steadied her as they walked slowly toward the truck. He opened the door and could see that Sandy couldn’t decide how to climb into the truck without putting her full weight on her left foot. Gibbs picked her up in his arms and placed her into the passenger seat. Once again, Gibbs noticed that Sandy’s face turned red.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

Gibbs closed the door and smiled to himself as he rounded the front of the truck. He climbed in, closed the door, and started the engine. The radio was playing an oldies station. Gibbs reached to turn it off.

“No, that’s okay,” Sandy said. “I like oldies”

"Oldies,” Gibbs snorted. ”That’s what I am.”

He watched her from the corner of his eye. It’s that damned red hair. He’d always been partial to red heads. To top it off, Sandy had that same fire as Jenny, and Stephanie, and Shannon.

Gibbs sighed.

“You all right?” Sandy asked.

“Yeah,” Gibbs said, reaching for the radio. “Great song.”

Sandy nodded, “Three Dog Night. ‘Just an Old-Fashioned Love Song.’” My parents had the album.

”OUCH!” There it was. He’s old enough to be her father. He smiled and listened as Sandy sang along with the radio.

When they pulled up to Sandy’s condo, Gibbs put the truck in park and reached for Sandy’s chin to turn her left cheek to the light.

“That’s going to be a heck of a bruise,” he said.

She looked him in the eye, just inches away, “Badge of honor, Coach,” she smiled.

Gibbs paused, as if making a decision, then said, “Let me get the door for you.”

He climbed out of the truck and walked between it and the Porsche parked in front of it.

“McGee,” he said as he saw Tim climb from the Porsche and walk toward him.

“Boss,” Tim said surprised. “I’m, uh, supposed to help Sandy study for finals.”

“Give me a hand.” Gibbs walked to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door then he walked to the bed of the truck and pulled out Sandy’s bag.

Tim looked into the cab of the truck and saw Sandy, bruised cheek, shoe off one foot. “What happened?”

“Who knew that softball was a contact sport?” Gibbs replied.

“A little help, Tim,” Sandy said reaching for him.

Tim put his hands under her arms and helped her from the truck. Gibbs watched as Tim reached for her cheek to examine the bruise. “You okay?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “Just need a little coddling," she thought to herself. Coddling was a code word Tim and Sandy had started using earlier in the week. Gibbs had been less than pleased that Sandy was, in his words, “coddling” McGee when he was attacked by Jethro, the dog. She just saw it as being "attentive".

“My keys are in the front pocket, Coach.” He pulled them out of the pocket of her bag and walked ahead of them toward the door.

She slipped her left arm across Tim’s shoulder and he slipped his right arm around her waist and they started toward Sandy’s door. She breathed deeply his cologne. Her heart fluttered. This was nice.

Tim smiled. “So, I guess it’s my turn to coddle you.”

“Looks like it,” Sandy returned a flirty smile, happy that he was thinking on the same wavelength.

Gibbs quickly opened the door and dropped the bag inside. He watched them walked up the walk and knew what he should do.

“Listen,” he said as they reached the stoop. “I have two tickets to the Orioles game tomorrow. I can’t use them. Why don’t you and Tim go?”

“Are you sure?” Sandy asked.

“Baseball?” Tim nearly whined.

“They’re going to go to waste,” Gibbs replied, pulling two tickets from his pocket.

Tim could tell by the expression on Sandy’s face that she really wanted to go, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could say, “no” to Gibbs.

“Sounds like fun,” Tim answered less than cheerfully.

Sandy took the tickets from Gibbs. “Thanks, Coach,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Have a nice time,” Gibbs turned from the stoop smiling. He called behind him, "Enjoy the coddling. It's back to work on Monday."