"Come on Tim, just a few more… please?" he smiled at me.

This is how it always goes: he begs me to do "just a few more," and I try to resist, but he gives me that look, and I have to do it.

"No Tony. It's getting really late; you should probably get going soon."

He pouted. "Just one more... I promise I won't do any around you tomorrow. Besides, how am I supposed to stay sharp if I don't get to practice?"

"Fine," I sighed. I sat back down on the couch next to him. "Alright Tony, but only one more; we have to work in the morning," I cleared my throat and looked down at the little card in my hand, "'Oh no! It wasn't the airplanes. It was Beauty killed the Beast.'"

"King Kong, 1933, starring Fay Wray, Bruce Cabot, and Robert Armstrong, directed by Merian C Cooper and Ernest B Schoedsack! Score one for DiNozzo!" he pumped his fist into the air.

"Produced by…?" I prodded.

"The directors."

"And?"

"What do you mean 'And?'" he tried to stare me down.

I rolled my eyes. He was going to be very cross with himself for the next few days for forgetting… "David O Selznick, executive producer."

"Gah, how could I forget him?" he threw his head back, accidentally slamming it against the wall. "Ouch! Alright, David O Selznick: the O doesn't stand for anything, he also produced Gone With the Wind, Anna Karenina, David Copperfield, and A Tale of Two Cities."

"Right you are. How's your head?" I reached over to check out the spot that had slammed into the wall.

The area that had collided with the wall was read, and there was already a small bump. "That's going to leave a nasty bruise. Hold on, I'll get you some ice."

I went into the kitchen and wrapped a small ice pack in a dishtowel and gave it to Tony. "Thanks Tim," he held it to his head.

"Are you alright to drive, or do you want me to take you home?" I asked.

Tony prodded his head, wincing a little. "I think I'm alright," he stood up.

I walked with him to the front door of my apartment. "Remember your promise!"

"Promise? What promise?" he looked at me innocently as he slid on his jacket.

I glared at him. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly, "But after tomorrow its fair game."

"You know, you could try not quoting at all for a few days…" I suggested.

"If it will really make you happy, then yes, I will try not quoting for a few days. 'Try' being the operative word. I'm not making any promises," I made the best begging puppy dog face that I could, hoping that he would give in. "Fine. I promise that you, Tim, will not have to put up with any more quotes and references. I won't even as you to help me keep my skills sharp. However, after work tomorrow, you, McGee, are subject to the same treatment as everyone else. Unless, you've decided we can tell," he looked me straight in the eyes.

It was not the first time he was asking me this. In fact, it was becoming a regular thing. I know he really wants to tell everyone at work so that we don't have to pretend anymore, but I'm just not ready. Rule twelve has long been ignored, but I'm not sure how Gibbs would react if it were me and Abby, or even me and Ziva, let alone me and Tony.

How would everyone else react? I think Abby has her suspicions, she's had an inkling that something was different ever since she tried to hook me up with some girl she met at a Brain Matter concert. And Ziva, well, Ziva's a different story altogether. She already knows about Tony, she just doesn't know about me and Tony. Whenever he feels like picking on me at work, or trying to make me smile, he'll mention something to her about how cute he thinks I am, or how good my butt looks that day. She'll skip along to me, just like he wants her to, and say things like "You know McGee, earlier today someone said that your butt looked extra good today, and I have to agree. It must be your new pants."

Of course, she wants me to play along and ask who said it, and I do. She never tells me though. I think she's afraid that I'll get freaked out if she tells me it was Tony.

It gets a little boring sometimes. I wonder if she has noticed that we have had what feels like the same conversation multiple times. If wonder if she'll ever come right out and tell me that Tony said those things. I'd probably blush, and then I'd have to tell her.

Ducky wouldn't think anything of it. Palmer, well, I don't think I'm going to tell him.

As far as everyone else around the office, they follow the 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy, and I don't intend to tell any of them.

I realized that Tony was still waiting for an answer. "No, not yet."

His face fell, but he had known when he asked the answer would be before he had even mentioned anything. He knows that when I'm ready for people to know, he'll be the first person I tell. "I'm sorry Tony," I pulled him into a hug worthy of Abby.

"I know Tim," he squeezed me back, and then pulled away. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, like he does before he leaves every night, and handed me the icepack back. "Goodnight Tim."

"Night, Tony."

He left, and I went back to my couch. I was tired, but I wouldn't go to bed until he called to let me know that he had gotten home safely. I watched as the clock on the wall ticked, each passing second felt more like an hour.

Finally, the phone rang. "Hi Tony," I greeted.

"I'm home, safe. You can go to bed now."

"I wasn't waiting up," I lied.

He chuckled. "Right Tim, that's what you say every night."

Even though I couldn't see him, I knew he was rolling his eyes at me. "I know," I said.

He yawned on the other end of the phone, waiting for me to tell him goodnight for the final time until tomorrow, "Hey Tony, um, so right after you left, I started thinking," all noise coming through the phone's speaker stopped, "Maybe… maybe we could tell… just one person, like, Ziva," I said quickly.

There was a moment of silence. "Tim, do you really mean it?"

As if I would joke about something like that. "Yeah, Tony, I really do," I smiled to myself, knowing that he was doing the same.

"Alright, great! I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight Tim."

"Um Tony,"

"Yeah Tim?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."