Tony didn't make any bones about coming into Gibbs's house. He clunked across the living room to the stairs to the basement, and then sat heavily on the top step, opening the bottle of bourbon in his hand. He took a long pull from it as Gibbs looked him over, noting the dishevelled hair and wide-eyed stare that didn't quite meet his gaze.

"Tony...what's going on?"

Tony blinked slowly, finally turning his attention to his boss as he made his way across the sawdust strewn basement floor, flakes of wood and particles of sawdust dancing away from his feet. "I saw McGee get shot this evening. Point blank. In the chest. Six rounds, boss. Six rounds. And then the guy tried to get him with a sword." He blinked rapidly and took another swig from the bottle. "And they fought. McGee took six rounds to the stomach, boss... and then he had a sword. I don't even know where he got it from...but he had a sword. And he ran the guy through...and decapitated him."

Gibbs set down the chisel he had been holding and took out his cellphone. "Where is he now?"

Tony shrugged, his eyes losing their focus again. "I don't know...he didn't know I was there...didn't see me, didn't...he took off...there was lightning, boss...lots of lightning...and...and..."

Gibbs sighed softly and took the bottle out of his hands, setting it by his feet on the step. Hitting a speed-dial, he waited patiently for it to be answered. "Who was it?"

This caught Tony's attention, and he lifted his eyes to stare curiously at his boss. Gibbs's frown grew, and he sighed. "Yeah, you were seen. DiNozzo's getting tanked in my basement right now. Get yer ass over here." He hung up and sighed. "We'll clear this up, Tony..."

Tony shrugged, and looked at the bottle again; he'd only had two swigs from it and would really have appreciated a few more. "Boss? What's going on?"

"McGee's on the way over, but I might as well start explaining now. There are...people, that walk among us. They are like you, but they're not. They are immortal. They will live until something happens, and they die."

"Beheading?" DiNozzo was suddenly more alert as Gibbs started feeding him facts that would make everything work out. "Really? I mean, you're not the kind of person to yank my chain, but...it's very yankable right now, boss..."

"This is the God's honest truth." Gibbs admitted. "This race walks side by side with humans, and have gone undiscovered for thousands of years. Most are good, and just want to live their lives peacefully, like everybody else. But there are others...others like them that play a game. To win, they must be the last one standing. What you saw tonight is somebody playing the game with somebody who didn't want to. And very poorly at that. It's not very nice to try to incapacitate your opponent before fighting them."

"McGee...is immortal..." DiNozzo murmured faintly. "But...and how do you know?"

Gibbs smiled queerly and took a nip at the bottle, handing it over, but gesturing for it to be handed back once Tony had taken a sip. He didn't want the young man getting completely tanked before he'd had a chance to talk. "Because, DiNozzo, I've known McGee for a very, very long time."

"How long?" Tony's eyes widened at the implication, and he sat back, his jaw hanging slack. "Boss?"

"Gibbs met me in 1858, near Washington." McGee smiled behind him. "I was on my way here anyhow, Boss; no need to glare at me."

Tony flinched and jerked to his feet, heading past Gibbs into the basement, whirling around once he reached the concrete floor to stare at the both of them. McGee shrugged and sat on the step the senior agent had just vacated, trying to appear unthreatening. "Boss..."

"Yeah, Tony, I'm one of 'em too. Why do you think I've been able to stick around NCIS for so long."

"So you're like...old. Really old..." Tony stammered out, and McGee laughed softly.

"Really, really old, Tony. I'm older than he is. I died my first death a very, very long time ago."

"How...when? What?" That stopped Tony in his tracks, and he stared at the two of them as Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"McGee is older than me, DiNozzo. I died in 1703. McGee's a shrinking violet and won't say when he first kicked the bucket." He griped; it was obvious that it was a long-standing bone of contention between the two of them.

McGee snickered and sat back, leaning his elbows on the step behind him. "Let's just say that when Emperor Galba was ruling, I was still considered 'old'."

"Galba?"

"Flavian Dynasty...about 76 AD." Gibbs grumbled, annoyed that McGee had offered up this titbit after so long, only because Tony had been read into the situation.

"The man was a twit." McGee mused quietly. "God, I hated Rome. Athens was much better, but only marginally. Anyhow, Tony, I'm sorry you had to see that tonight. I haven't had a challenge in a few years...I wasn't expecting this one. Young buck that'd heard of the Game." He shook his head ruefully as he rubbed his still tender abdomen. "Little shit. I hate it when they don't play by the rules. If they're gonna play the 'Game', then play it right. It should be just him, me and two swords."

"You don't bring a gun to a knife fight?" Tony seemed to be calming down somewhat, and leant against Gibbs's stool.

"Exactly. Kind of." McGee frowned slightly and shrugged. "It's bad manners."

"So, what, the two of you have been running around lopping heads off people for the past god only knows how long?" There was a quiet strain to Tony's voice and McGee sighed.

"Kind of. Tony, we only...it's like...God, how do I explain this to a friend?"

"It's the height of bad manners to go around lopping the heads of people who aren't immortal; there's nothing to gain from it." Gibbs offered quietly, picking up the bottle of bourbon and heading for the workbench. Grabbing 3 jars, he poured a hefty measure into each and offered one to Tony. "The lightning you saw is called the Quickening. It only happens when an Immortal dies; like its life-force is being discharged."

"What, and that's the prize in this 'game'?" Tony asked curiously, and McGee shook his head sadly.

"No. It's...I don't want to say a perk. You gain a lot from a Quickening, whether or not you want to. People's memories, strength...I don't like it. I never have. The aim, the prize in the Game is to be the only one left standing. I hate it. I've lost some pretty good friends to the game, whether or not they were playing it. Gibbs has been a pretty good constant for the last 150 years or so, though. Once he got a little bit of finesse..."

"I wasn't the one that let the ass into the General's tent." Gibbs muttered warningly, but unlike when they were in work, McGee refused to be cowed.

"No, but it was your idea." He countered, taking the jar of bourbon. "General Clarke was around about 200 years before that; but I'm not sure of his exact death year." He shrugged and took a sip from the jar. "So, Tony..."

"How...how are you...your family, do they..."

"Most Immortals are 'foundlings', Tony. Even Sarah...yeah, she's one of us too. I found her a few years after Gibbs came along. She died too young. I think she was about 16 when she died...I'm thankful I died pretty old; at least for my time I was considered old. She's doomed to be a perpetual teenager. She finds it hard to get a job, or considered seriously most of the time."

"Speaking of the Mini-McGee, where is she these days? I haven't seen her in I don't know how long..." Tony asked as things began to click into place in his mind.

"She's starting her first year of college in London. Still under the name Sarah McGee, but she's de-aged herself about 5 or 6 years in order to fit in. She probably has about 10 degrees under her belt at this point; now she's studying physics." He made a face and shrugged. "At least I'm not financing it this time."

"Gotta love that Cloyver." Gibbs muttered, and McGee laughed an 'amen to that'.

"Cloyver?"

"An idiot from, when, 1910...ish?" McGee murmured with a frown. "Can't remember the year. He was a nice enough guy, but just...an idiot. He was rich. Very rich. He went out hunting one day, got thrown from his horse, refused medical treatment and died. Leaving everything to his favourite assistant, Tyrone McGee. Who is nice enough to share it with some of those who need it from time to time. The interest earned on it is more than enough to help a handful of Immortals that need assistance."

"What kind of assistance?"

"Sometimes, Tony, we have to disappear. You can only 'age' for so long before people start noticing you aren't exactly as old as you should be. I think Gibbs has another 2, 3 years tops left at NCIS. Then he's going to have to either 'retire' or 'die'."

Gibbs nodded slowly at McGee's words. "I was going to retire, but that didn't go so well the last time." He commented quietly. "Had to come back. McGee here, he can keep going for another 20, 25 years at NCIS. He's got one of those faces that 'doesn't age', don't you McGee. A little creative dyeing and he'll age gracefully."

"Would you have told us?" Tony asked quietly, and Gibbs shook his head slowly.

"No. I wouldn't have. I wanted to retire quietly to Mexico. And disappear off the radar after a few years. Like Franks should have. Bastard can't keep his nose out of other people's business."

"I'm perpetually young; Franks looks like he's been old forever. Which he has, for the last century at least." McGee smirked, swirling the alcohol around in the jar. "And will hopefully continue to do so."

"Amen to that." Gibbs muttered.

"Anybody else around that I should know about?" Tony asked. Though his tone was clearly dazed, he was taking it a lot better than either man would ever have given him credit for. "Ducky?"

"Nah, though he knows. Jimmy. We do seem to collect them."

"He can't –"

"When Ducky retires, I think Jimmy will disappear off the radar too." Gibbs mused quietly. "That's all he's really sticking around for. He likes Ducky."

"Jimmy, or James McAllister, has been around longer than Gibbs. I think. Maybe they're around the same age, give or take a decade or two." Tim murmured, and Tony sat properly on the stool, letting his back rest against the basement wall.

"What was your birth name? Your real one? I doubt you are really Timothy 'no middle initial' McGee."

Tim started to laugh softly and shook his head. "You know, you make one oversight when filling out a form..." He gestured to himself and continued to laugh. "I forgot to fill in the middle name box on the birth certificate. I nearly discarded it, but hey, it was a good one." He took another sip and sighed. "Tony, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't tell people the name I was born with. I'm too old. My head is...very valuable in the Game. There are a few of us that have been around longer than dirt, and to take our heads...might not be such a good thing."

"He's known as Athos." Gibbs supplied quietly. "People think he's about a thousand years old. There's another few about that are older than him, so he says, but still...to have kept his head this long is impressive."

McGee's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. "At least I've managed to keep it. Tony, this is not for discussion outside of this basement; you understand that, right. You can't tell anyone. And when I say anyone I mean Abby, Ducky, or even Ziva. I've lived a long time; I'd like to live a little longer. With my friends."

"I understand. God help me, I understand." Tony nodded slowly. "At least, I think I do. It must be hard..."

"To live a lifetime of lifetimes? Yes." McGee nodded, and glanced over to the much younger Immortal. "I get tired of it. So tired...but at this point, the dangers of losing my head pose a much greater risk. Even if I 'committed suicide' and there was no immortal around...there's theories that it would do a lot of damage to the planet; someone of my age loosing their quickening like that..."

"Plus, it'd be a waste." Gibbs pointed out. "But if the wrong Immortal got his hands on McGee's power..." he shuddered and took a long drink from the jar. "It'd be worse than a good immortal taking an evil one's. That's called a 'Dark Quickening'. It's rare, but..."

"Dangerous." McGee finished, draining the last of his drink before setting it on the stairs beside his foot. "I'm gonna go home now; I have to feed the dog."