"Eva, McGee?"

McGee and I wait by the back door with our weapons raised. I take the lead with my gaze focused on the doorway while he guards from the back.

"In position, boss."

"The back door's wide open."

Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs stand at the front door, announcing our presence before kicking down the door and entering the house.

As if timed precisely, an adult German Shepherd comes bounding through and leaps on top of me. His sharp teeth embed themselves through the thick N.C.I.S. jacket and into my skin, drawing blood almost instantly.

"Eva!"

"Just distract him, McGee! Whatever you do, don't —"

Bang! Bang!

- - - - - - - - - -

"Looks like a through-and-through flesh wound."

"Well, it's a good thing McGee's not a better shot."

"When did you last have a tetanus shot?" Ducky presses a few cotton pads against the laceration across my neck before bandaging it close.

"Two or so years ago." Tony replies, his fingertips grazing over my shoulders. "You see, we were experimenting with —"

"He didn't ask for an explanation, Tony."

"Sorry, dear."

I lift a finger towards the enemy at hand. "You had one thing to not do, McGee. I didn't even finish my statement before you went and did that one thing."

"Can you blame me for trying to save your life? That dog is vicious."

"And he is now in pain because of your mistake."

"Boss —"

"Drive her and Fido back to the lab. He's covered in evidence."

"If you think I'm getting in a car with him —"

"Eva."

"Fine. But I'm driving."

Abby greets us the moment we pull up into the garage. Her maternal instincts steer her mind when she sees my superficial injuries before turning to sympathy for the dog. But all of her thoughts morph into anger when she realizes who shot the poor puppy: McGee.

The rest of the team arrives to discuss the few remaining viable aspects to the drug trafficking case.

"He really hasn't left your side, huh?"

"Poor Butch lets out this heart-wrenching whine every time I try to leave."

"I'm sorry, Butch?" Abby swivels around in her chair.

Nonchalantly, I shrug my shoulders. "That's what it said on his collar. Although, I think we could give him a better name."

"What about Jethro?"

". . .you want to name him after Gibbs?"

"Well, why not? Doesn't he look like a Jethro to you?"

I tilt my head to the side and squint my eyes to thin slits. The dog mimics my action, drawing giggles from both me and Abby.

"You're absolutely adorable, Jethro." I gently scratch him behind the ears.

"Excuse me?"

We glance back to see Ducky and Gibbs standing at the doorway, looks of confusion filling their features.

"Hey, Gibbs. Hey, Ducky." Abby switches the monitors to the DNA samples.

"Gibbs, Ducky, meet Jethro. Say hi, Jethro."

The dog barks excitedly before eagerly pushing his snout into my open palm. I smile at him before looking up at the elderly men.

"You're dismissed, Eva."

"Alright, let me just put Jethro's leash on and —"

"Leave the dog."

"But —"

"Eva."

The next morning, Abby reluctantly finds more and more evidence leading to the unfortunate conclusion that Jethro killed his owner.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

The sergeant forms a fist with his right hand, forcing me to stop just by the gate. I roll down the window and tilt down my pair of sunglasses.

"I'm looking for fleas."

"Fleas?"

"Special Agent Giudice and forensic specialist Sciuto, N.C.I.S.." I flash my badge along with Abby. "You heard what she said."

With a curt nod and a "yes, ma'am", he allows us to pass.

The house where Jethro and his mauled owner were found is still taped off, providing for a perfect curbside parking job. I clip Jethro to his leash — an old one from the collection Copper and Todd have chewed up — and the three of us start.

Not realizing the strength a Navy dog has, Jethro's leash snaps out of my hands as he runs off.

"Jethro! Jethro!"

"I'm Jethro!"

"Wrong Jethro!"

Abby and I follow Jethro to the deeper parts of the woods. We finally catch up to him when he stops to dig through the dirt.

"Don't you ever run off like that, Jethro." I huff under my breath. "God, you're fast for someone that was shot a day ago."

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

"Uh-oh." Abby turns her cell for me to read the name of the caller I.D. — McGee.

"Pick up and. . ."

"Eva?"

"Pick up and tell McGee we have a new body."

The team arrives promptly to investigate the crime scene, only for Ducky to conclude that the bones found are not human. . .they're from a dog.

"God, I love it when Ziva interrogates."

I stand next to Tony in the interrogation room, a playful grin gracing my face as I point out the results of her technique.

"A single bead of sweat. . .folded hands with clammy palms. . ."

"Is it bad that I'm turned on by you right now?"

His fingers splay across the front of my hip as he pulls me closer to him.

"So, why'd you and Abby steal the dog?" He lowers the volume of his voice.

I lean into his desireful touch. "Because he's innocent. Jethro is innocent. . .and Abby and I are the only ones who believe it."

"Don't you realize he severely bit you?"

"The poor thing had cocaine running through his system. And it didn't help McGee shot him."

"You. . .are unbelievable."

"Sue me for not wanting to see an innocent be put down."

When hydraulic fluid found in the cocaine leads us to flight engineer Petty Officer Bidwell, we pay him a visit. . .only to find out someone else got to him first.

But as the tip of a Navy-issue tactical boot knife is found inside of Jethro, a quick search through the database reveals our true killer.

"Petty Officer Perelli." Gibbs is the first to step out of the vehicle.

"Yes, sir." The red-headed woman stops in her tracks, the leash to her Navy dog bound tightly in her fist. "What's this about?"

"Have you received the tactical boot knife you requisitioned?" Ziva questions.

Caught off guard, her voice falters. "How did you know about. . .not yet, ma'am."

"What happened to the knife you got issued three years ago?"

"I lost it."

"Let me guess: it chipped off in Hanson's body?"

"You knew about our investigation. You and Bidwell needed to pin it on somebody."

"And, well, you picked Hanson."

"Was it because he was suspicious of you?"

"You killed Hanson and tried to frame him for it."

"You set him up by using his phone to call Galante in Panama, then you planted the cocaine and cash in his house for us to find."

"Tried to cover your tracks by making it look like he was killed by his own dog."

"But you didn't stop there. No, you killed Bidwell, too, at the slight chance he'd crack."

And so she speaks.

"I'm no lawyer, but this sounds like an awful lot of conjecture to me, sir." She glances amongst the team. "Your whole case is me requisitioning a boot knife. You really think that's gonna hold up in court?"

"Nah."

"Neither do I."

But with a small packet of cocaine from the evidence locker, it proves she killed a drug-sniffing dog and replaced him with an attack dog.

"Well, McGee. I officially forgive you for shooting Jethro."

"Thanks, Eva."

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a firm embrace.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Abby's making me adopt Jethro, does it?" He mutters into my ear.

"What?" I hold out the syllable for longer than necessary. "I didn't know you're adopting him."

Pulling away, he narrows his eyes.

"Okay, so maybe she mentioned it."

"Ha! I knew it."

"Big deal, McGoo."