A/N: Based upon the "imagine you age until you get to eighteen, then you stop until you meet your soulmate so you can grow old together" post that's been going round Tumblr a lot lately. This is my first crack at an AU fic of any sort, so I apologise if this is shaky in places with regards to that. As always, I am English, so I'll try my best to make sure any Britishisms don't slip in anywhere!
Everyone has tried to tell him at least once that this is still normal.
Having four three ex-wives and yet he still doesn't look a day older than eighteen, even though he's just over twice that. Strangers still do a double-take at his date of birth when he hands over his ID to buy a bottle of bourbon and even though most do a pretty good job of not showing it, he can feel their judgement and sometimes even pity when he turns and leaves the store.
Of course, it's not unheard of that some people don't find their soulmates until they're in their sixties or even older than that, but it's a rarity of sorts. He'd be absolutely fine with this too, if it weren't for Shannon. They met when they were young and everyone was convinced that they would grow old together, leaving both of them frustrated at the beginning when it didn't happen. However, as time went on, they stopped caring and by the time they were married and had Kelly, he had grown to love the thought that they could look forward to spending what could be forever together without having to worry about ageing.
At least, that was until everything went wrong.
Now here he was: childless, a widower, and three-time divorcee at forty five. The only thing that seemed to be keeping him sane was leading his team at NCIS, but after Blackadder left, the stress of working minus one agent was beginning to pile up on him a bit. He had to do twice the work, but what was starting to get to him was how he was in desperate need of someone else to help keep DiNozzo in check all the time. Tony hadn't found his soulmate yet either, but then that was hardly surprising given the reputation he'd built up for himself before he'd even started working for the agency.
Going home to bourbon and steadily building the skeleton of his boat in his basement was his sole solace as of late, so all he could do was hope that the next case could at least bring him out of this state.
Little did he know the impact that one telephone call would have on him.