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A plane touched down, the cold D.C. air surrounding him brushes against his exposed skin. Flashes attacked him, the rush of questions by reporters. 

The capital was outside of Virginia, yet Tim felt like he was back in New York City. He was an idiot for just wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and the lightest shirt he had and this stupid military jacket he got from him. It was nearing Thanksgiving, and Tim figured that it be warm, not below freezing like like this.

He just wanted one last goodbye from him, maybe one last viewing of The Godfather, curled up on his couch with a mug, filled of hot apple cider and two sticks of cinnamon.

 Tim sat in the back of the limo looking out the windows. Peolpe living their lives without hurt and fear, nothing bothering them. 

"Sir, are you alright?" The driver asked.

Damion, his head bodyguard, driver, and closest friend looked at Tim thought the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah, just day-dreaming I guess." He said. 

"Well, wake yourself up, sir. We're almost to D.C." Damion said. 

 Damion stood at the end of the hallway, looking around for danger or harmful ways, leaving Tim to walk down the hallway, leaving him alone. He took deep breaths as he walked down the hallway, and stopped at his door.

“You can do this, Tim,” Tim informed himself under his breath. “You can do this.”

A few gentle rasps on the door. No answer, and Tim knew it was time to head home.

“Timmy? What are you doing here?”

Well, time to get this over with.

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Maybe Tony was wrong to let Tim come in. They were an on-off couple for years, then that music mogul found him and they fought and split. Tony nearly forgot about him, been with women after nearly fifteen years.

Did Tony every except to see him, after only seeing him on TV and on the radio?

Never.

Yet, here he was, standing in his apartment in DC, not in the shirt and tie Tony knows that his closet is full of, but in a matching grey sweatsuit.

"What are you doing here, Timmy?" Tim smiled, almost cheeky about it. "Can't a guy see an old friend?" Tim was cheeky. Timothy McGee was never cheeky.

Tony didn't take that piece of bait.

"Guess not, huh?" Tim said, answering Tony's response. "How's New York?" Tony said, getting himself a drink. God, this man can't read a situation. "Your dad said hi." Tim remarked.

Why did Tony even married him?

"Still a womanizer and a con isn't he?"

"Oh yeah."

Tony pulled down a bottle of whiskey from when they first started dating. Even after they broke up, it was too good to get rid off. He took down a glass and poured out the Burgundy liquid and handed it off to Tim.

"You here to drink or to make love? New York guys are too fast, huh?" Tony’s quip was unimpressive to say the least. Tim used to snort when Tony cracked those jokes. No response, just nursing his drink. "Just to catch up, one last time." Tim took a sip.

Tony knew something was off.

"You moving huh? Heading to Paris, without me?" Tony leaned against the little table, giving Tim his puppy dog eyes, that usually would get Tim to spoil any surprise, secret, or plans.

Paris was something they always promised to move this and learn the language and chain smoke cigarettes.

"London."

"I thought you hated London. You get car sick on the underground." Tim shrugged. "I got an offer there I can't refuse." Tim took one last sip of whiskey and placed it down on the table.

"See you later, Anthony." Tim grabbed his jacket and walked towards the door. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a clicking noise behind him."My Timmy never called me by my real name." The man didn't have enough time to turn around as Tony pulled on his sig's trigger. The gun made a horrible screech. Tony never felt the kickback. In a few apartments over, dogs began to bark with a neighbor calling 911. Tony DiNozzo's apartment now had a fourth murder.

Tony pulled out his cell phone and dialed an all to familiar number.

"Gibbs,” A gruff voice on the other end came through.

Tony could feel his voice locked in his throat. "DiNozzo? You good?" Gibbs pushed Tony.

"Hey boss." Tony voice shakes in fear and regret.

"Is everything alright?" Gibbs could hear Tony almost puking on the other line. "I messed up Gibbs, I messed up really bad." Tony fell into his chair, with his pistol still in his hand. "Are you at your apartment?" Gibbs questions." Tony could manage only a squeak. "Stay right there, I'll get the gang."

And there Tony DiNozzo sat in his apartment with his ex-husband impostor, bleeding on his hardwood floors.

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In no less than 15 minutes, Agent Gibbs arrives at Tony's apartment with Ellie, Dorneget, Ducky and Jimmy. It was treated like any other case, Ellie marking evidence, and Dorneget with the camera. Tony was quiet. He felt like hell, and couldn’t say what he needed to say. "What the hell happened, DiNozzo?" Gibbs placed a hand on Tony's shoulder to ground him back to earth. Tony struggled with forming his words, "That's what I'm trying to figure out, boss." He croaked.

He was sweating profusely, his leg would not stop shaking. He felt sick. "Got anything yet, Duck?" Gibbs asked the medical examiner. "Well, we certainly have got the cause of death figured out," The elderly man remarked. "One well-placed bullet to the heart, instantly killing our victim here. Good shot by the looks of the situation, Anthony."

Wow, thanks. "We got a name yet?" Gibbs gruffed. "According to the scanner, Petty Officer Dylan Cunningham is the victim here,” Bishop crouched down to the corpse. “He’s 24, out of Fairbanks.”

He doesn’t look like a Dylan, he looks like damn Timothy Farragut McGee. “Mr. Palmer, help me put the officer on the cart.” Ducky took hold on the man’s upper body, while Palmer was holding Cunningham’s legs. The body was zipped in the body bag, and all seemed to be open-and-shut.

“Dr. Mallard, I think we dropped something.” Jimmy pointed to a black leather wallet next to his shoe. Dorneget took a picture, and picked up the wallet. “What do we have, Ned?” Gibbs questioned.

“Uh, a credit card, a couple hundreds,” His face twisted. “What is this?” Ned mumbled under his breath. Pulling out a folded piece of paper from the dollar bill section, he unfolded it. Ned’s eyebrows reach up to his hairline. “What is it?” Gibbs was clearly over this case. Ned walked over to Tony, handing him the paper. It was an old polaroid picture, with two men, one being Tony. The two were sitting on a couch at a party, in mid-laughter. Around Tony’s face, was a circle in red marker with a big red ‘x’.

Shit.

 Tony was terrified at the moment. Trying to sleep in the apartment that smelled like bleach was hard enough, harder when his team was one step closer to his secret. Hell, not even his dad knew that he was married to a man. Sitting at his desk in the bull pin, Ellie and Ned were having a silent conversation. Lots of hand gestures, eyebrows, and mouthing, trying to figure out Tony’s deal. Tony just ignored them to the best of his ability. He needed a drink at the moment.

“What do we got?” Gibbs walked in the bullpen, with his travel cup of coffee in hand. The team shuffled to their feet, while Tony just stood in the background. He wondered how quickly he could run out without Gibbs chasing him. Ellie grabbed the remote, and began the briefing. “Petty Officer Dylan Cunningham signed up for the Marines straight out of high school. I talked to his CO, who said that he had no problems with Cunningham.”

Ellie flipped through the slideshow, showing a picture of Cunningham’s ID. “The credit cards we found were stolen, and were not even in Cunningham’s name.” “Whose name were they in?” Gibbs was wanting to get in and out, clearly. Impatient as hell. “A man in New York named Derek Morgan. Broadway actor.” Bishop stated.

“Dorneget, what about the man in the picture?” Gibbs asked. Tony could feel the blood rushing to his checks at that mention. “I had to do some research.” Ned said, grabbing the remote from Ellie. He went to his computer, did some typing and clicked on his mouse, bringing up an image.

It was Tim, on a stage with some heavily pregnant woman in a wheelchair. He looked skinny, and more happier versus the last time Tony saw him. Granted he was in his bed with two strangers. “Tim McGee,” Dorneget said. “Also a Broadway actor, two-time Tony Award winner, but he is the son of a Naval Admiral.

“Possibile target.” Gibbs said. “Yes, but the problem is his father is retired and in terminal life care.” Dorneget said, removing the picture of the man. Gibbs was silent, taking a sip of his coffee. “I'll tell Vance to get a hold of our office in Manhattan. Bishop, DiNozzo, head to New York. Dorneget, head to Cunnigham’s ship.” Gibbs went on his way to Vance’s upstairs.

Tony could feel his heart beating and it started to get hard to breath. Be still my heart, for my team should not know. Despite the lack of food in his stomach, something wanted to see the light of day. He raced around the corner, and made it just in time.

Tony didn’t hear Gibbs come into the men’s room. He was too busy trying to wash the taste of acid from his mouth. “You don’t have to tell me anything DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, leaning against the bathroom wall.

“But if we need to remove you from this case, I need to know.” “Boss, I would love to be removed, but I can’t.” Tony wiped his mouth in an attempt to get rid of the last bit of disgust from his lips. Gibbs placed a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You can tell me anytime, understand?” Gibbs looked him dead in the eyes. Yeah.” Tony lied. Jesus, this was gonna be easier said than done.

The hour long plane ride to Manhattan was about as pleasant as you expected it. Tony was about as happy as a hornet. He was going back to New York, to see his ex, and he had to save him from whatever crazy person was trying to kill him. Fantastic. After meeting the navy officers stationed at the harbor, and taking them to some apartment building downtown, Ton thought it would be cut-and-dried, that is until fresh blood was noticed on the door jam.

The officers entered the apartment, Bishop going upstairs, and Tony going down a hallway. Blood was fresh, and dark red footprints were on the ground. Tony could feel his heart beating out of his chest. Tony made it to the end of the hallway, where the blood seemed to be thicker and plentiful, oozing out from under a door. Tony was gonna hurl again.

Tony slowly opened the door, his hands shaking. He looked around the room, clearing it from all harm. As he looked around, something stuck his eye. He walked closer to the far side of the bed, and nearly dropped his weapon.

“I- I need medical!” He squealed out, hoping Ellie or the officers would hear him. On the floor was his ex, unconscious and bloody. Tony put his gun away, and felt for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt one. “What the hell, Tim?” Tony asked aloud.