I shared my toys with you. You shared your ice cream cone even though it was your favorite flavor. I followed you like any annoying siblings should. Sometimes, if I was good, you'd let me lead our way home.

We'd always get lost, but that was fine. We shared the adventure, too.

**

It was a late night when Timothy McGee returned back to his apartment. Work was a rough affair with a hostile witness that later became a suspect and, even later, became a victim. The paperwork took hours to sort through and Tim was now very much looking forward to getting into his bed and staying there until Gibbs called him for another case or until hell froze over.

With his breath condensing and forming puffs of vapor as he walked to his apartment building's entrance, Tim couldn't have an accurate prediction as to which event will come first, Hell or Gibbs. The cold wasn't fit for anyone, much less tired NCIS agents who deserved a long night's rest.

Tim almost didn't notice the hooded man sitting hunched down in front of his apartment door until his keys were ready in his hand.

At the jiggle of the keys, the man looked up and Tim just stopped. He stopped walking, stopped jiggling the keys to his home. He even stopped thinking about beds and witnesses/suspects/victims who were in morgues right now because someone didn't have enough sense to stand down when told.

Instead, Tim was looking at the face of a man he hadn't seen in years. The man looked relatively neat given the circumstances of their last meeting and the fact he was sitting on the floor of the dingy hallway. That didn't mean the years of dust and grime from the streets didn't cover his face and body. The raunchy navy blue sweatshirt was much too thin to keep the chill of the cold night away and the man continued to shiver while he waited for Tim's reaction.

Years ago, Tim would have been angry or bitter or even remorseful at the sight in front of him.

Today, he didn't feel anything at all.

"Will," Tim responded as neither a question or statement.

"Timmy," the man greeted warm and open as if the years of silence never existed between them. "Can I stay here for the night, little bro?"

Tim wanted nothing more than to open his door and shut the man out but, even in the hallway, the cold seeped into the unwary. Will shivered even more and Tim could hear his brother's teeth chatter.

Still, Tim never made a move closer to door and brother.

Will was a pitiful sight. His skin was bleach white even against the shadows of the late night hours, making his brown hair much darker than Tim last remembered. The darkness under his eyes probably had nothing to do with late nights and the shivering was probably a coverup for something more than the chill.

The signs were subtle, but they were there.

"Are you still using, Will?"

Will's green eyes glared at his little brother. "So what if I am?" he challenged. "Are you going to turn family away?"

Tim sighed at the familiar defensive snap. Seven years and not much had changed after all. Tim was tired, too tired to care about caring and he just didn't have the energy to kick him out into subfreezing temperatures. He went to the door and shoved his brother out of the way put the key into the lock.

"You can stay just for tonight. That's it."

Tim knew as soon as he opened the door he was going to regret this decision.

"Nice place."

Tim didn't respond to his brother knowing it as the polite chit chat that it was. The place could have been a dump and it would still be nicer accommodations than what Tim has found his brother rolling around in during their teenage years.

Instead, Tim placed his keys in the dish by the door and closed the door before all the warm air came rushing out.

"You can sleep on the couch," Tim decided. "I have some spare blankets you can use."

His brother nodded as his eyes flitted around the small apartment. A flash of anger Tim thought was long gone welled up at the thought of his brother judging his small, trivial life.

"It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

Will looked back at Tim as if he just realized his brother was in the room. "Right," Will agreed. "It is better."

Tim grabbed the blankets from the closet and tossed them to Will. Will only bothered to unfold enough to cover his body and promptly laid down with his face turned towards the back of the couch. It wasn't long for his breaths to even out and become deep with sleep.

Will didn't ask about Sarah or their parents. It just as well that he didn't. Tim would have to mention how Sarah was always angry for being forced into ignorance for the sake of her innocence. Mom still cried every May and during the holidays. Their dad stopped talking to Tim shortly after they gave Will the ultimatum to get clean or get out.

William McGee's choice wasn't exactly a big surprise.

And then there was Tim. He was forced into new roles after his brother left. He became Sarah's protector and Mom's advocate and Dad's disappointment and somehow along the way he lost the adventures he remembered when he was younger.

Tim wanted to tell his brother how scared he was of this co-worker named Tony.

This guy puts too much thought on pranks involving superglue. He schedules classes called 'Wingmen Training 101' to my calender and acts annoyed when I refuse to work on the homework he assigned. It's so weird that I don't know what to do.

"I hate you," Tim said to the man on the couch.

He meant it. He wanted to mean it. He let the anger swell up and simmer until he remembered something Ziva once quoted when the subject of brothers came up.

"The opposite of love is not hate, McGee."

"I hate you, too, little bro," Will muttered to the back of the couch with none of the bite and all in affection. It was exactly the same way he use to respond to any of Tim's rants when they were kids and Will had the upper hand.

Guess Will wasn't asleep after all.

Tim could have said more. He could have taken the playful words as a opening to a deeper and meaningful relationship. Tim could start reminiscing about that time they got stuck in that tree in Maryland and Will could maybe flip around and look at his brother, laughing at the memory.

Tim went through these moments too many times with Will to know that hope was a much dangerous emotion to feel than hate.

"Good night, Will," Tim said instead and went into his bedroom. He didn't even hesitate to add his wallet and badge into the safe when he went through the routine of locking his gun for the night.

When he woke up the next morning, Will was already gone.

So was his DVD player.

Hope, Tim decided, was only meant for days he wasn't super-glued to his desk.