Timothy McGee was lost in thought. Sort of. He was paying attention, of course, since it was his turn to stand guard. They were getting ready for a suicide mission in hostile territory, and he had told Gibbs he wasn't going to back down.

He didn't regret it, but a certain chill went through him, despite the hot night, whenever he thought of going home to Delilah in a body bag. She would be mad, no doubt about that.

She would be so angry. And he would deserve it, because Gibbs was right. He had other responsibilities.

He looked up at the sky, and smiled to himself, staring out at the stars. He was still amazed that Delilah had even agreed to marry him. Amazed wasn't the right word. He loved her so very much, and could only hope she returned a fraction of the love he felt for her. He fiddled with his wedding ring, knowing that he should have let someone else go on the mission. He was stupid, a fool, but too proud to admit it. And he wasn't leaving Gibbs and Torres to fight by themselves. He had sworn a vow.

To serve and protect.

"Delilah," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes. He conjured up an image of her face, smiling and laughing, looking as beautiful as the day he met her, if not more so, on the day of their wedding, and yes, she was glowing.

They'd been married for a week. Less than a week. But she was finally his.

Mrs. Delilah Fielding McGee. He had a child on the way. What the hell was he doing here?

"McGee." He was tapped on the shoulder.

He opened his eyes, turning. "What is it, Torres?" he asked.

"Get some rest. It's my turn to watch."

He checked the time, "It can't be."

"Yeah. It is. You need sleep, man. Gotta be ready for tomorrow."

"Right. Thanks Nick." He stood up to walk away, and then turned back. "Thanks for having my back."

He shook his head. "Don't thank me, man, I just don't want Delilah killing me. She scares me."

Tim sat down at the battered wooden table with Gibbs, noticing the faded newspaper pages- blank on one side- that scattered the table. He pulled out a pen, and pulled one of the pieces of paper towards him.

"Tim, you should rest." Gibbs was quiet, but firm. He clearly meant business. But then, so did McGee.

"No, boss, there's something I have to do first."

"You need to be at the top of your game tomorrow, Tim. Or you need to go home. Told ya, you're not obligated to stay."

"I'm not going anywhere. And I'll sleep soon."

"Be careful, Tim," Gibbs warned. "You told me you weren't going to put yourself at risk now. You have a kid on the way, and I want you to meet that kid. Don't make me send you home."

"Boss, I told you, I'm not going. I'm staying."

"Fine, but never say I didn't try." He stood, and then turned back to McGee. "And Tim, you don't have to keep showin' me how brave you are. I know. And maybe it's easier to face this than fatherhood… but not if you die in the process."

Tim nodded, and then turned back to what he was doing. He tried to think of what to say to Delilah. What could he possibly write? His life had changed so immensely, in the best possible ways, since he'd met her. He smiled to himself at the thought, the single candle glowing on the table catching the metal of his wedding ring, and making it gleam in the dimness of the room.

Torres and Gibbs were both right. He couldn't admit it to them, but he could admit it to himself. He was terrified of fatherhood. And somehow he was trying to avoid facing it. It hadn't been planned, none of it had, and he wouldn't trade his new life for the world… but it was an adjustment. He was used to having the team depending on him, having Gibbs depending on him. But he had a family.

He returned to what he knew. He wrote.

Dear Delilah,

If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you how scared I was to be a dad, and how instead of facing it, the way I've faced every other complication, I ran. I thought that maybe if I could face rebels and thugs, then I could face fatherhood. And now, it means that I could lose everything. I could never apologize enough, honey, for thinking that I wasn't enough by myself. I'm scared, yeah, but you and I… we've been scared before, and we faced it all together.

We both knew when we started dating, that there was a chance that any day I could walk out our front door and not come home. And because we knew this, we accepted it. I let myself fall in love with you- as if it was ever my choice- because I knew that even if I was gone, I would at least die loving you. But… I'm not ready, Delilah. Not now. I should have stayed home, instead of going to Paraguay.

No time to dwell on it now. Thank you, Delilah. I love you so much, please don't forget that. I never wanted it to end like this, but if this is how it ends… thank you for being the best thing that ever happened to me. You and Peanut. If this is the end of me, then please know that you deserved so much better than an idiot husband who went and got himself killed after being married for one week. And Delilah, honey, it was the best week of my life. And that's a fact. I fought like hell for every minute with you, because I never knew when the last one would come. If this is it, then I love you. I have always loved you, and I will love you long after we're both dead and buried. As long as we both shall live, right? And even if I don't live to meet Peanut, I already love them so much that it scares me. Fatherhood scares me, but not living to meet our baby scares me more. If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. I fainted at the hospital because I was in shock, and it wasn't planned, but I would never ever go back and change it. None of it, honey. My life was improved by you, until you became my life. You are always going to be the smartest, funniest, most beautiful woman I've ever met, and I love you, Delilah, my wife. You are my light. Love, Tim.

He signed it, his hand shaking, and he looked over the smudged letter, tears forming in his eyes. What a paltry, pathetic substitute. If he came home in a body bag, was this how he wanted Delilah to remember him? A sappy letter making promises he'd be too far gone to keep?

He folded it and stuck it in his pocket, staring at his wedding ring again in the candlelight. He walked over and kneeled next to Gibbs.

"Boss."

He opened his eyes, and looked up at him, "Change your mind, Tim?"

"Boss, I need you to do me a favor."

"Tim…" Gibbs said, sitting up, a warning note in his voice.

He held out the letter. "If something happens to me, I need you to give this to Delilah. Please, boss, I'm begging you."

"Tim, give it to her yourself. I'm not letting ya die."

"Boss, please. I need her to know…"

"To know what, Tim? That you should have been home with her instead of dyin' in a blaze of glory?"

Tim brushed a hand over his eyes, a lump in his throat that no amount of swallowing would erase. "I know it's stupid."

"Damn right it's stupid, it's the stupidest thing you've ever done."

"Boss," any protest was gone from him. "Please."

"Okay, Tim. If that's what you want, then it's your choice."

"It's my responsibility."

"That's where you're wrong, Tim. You don't have any responsibility to me. Your only responsibility right now is to your wife. Your child."

"Boss, you were right about me. I am scared. I'm trying to prove I'm brave. And once this is over, maybe I'll go home. Maybe I won't. But nothing is going to stop me from doing my job."

"I understand."

"But you don't like it. Just trust me… boss."

"Tim?"

He turned, from where he was about to lie down against the wall. "What?"

"We're going to make it."

"I hope so."

"And if you do anything stupid…" The threat was implied.

"I won't."

"Promise me, Tim."

"I won't make a promise I can't keep, boss. Not when it comes down to it. If it's the difference between life and death… well, to serve and protect, right?"

"Don't need protecting. I've lived long enough, Tim. Not you. Get some rest."

Tim sat against the wall, closing his eyes. If he thought hard enough, he could see Delilah smiling… His hand clenched into a fist, his wedding ring cool against his skin.

Time to be brave, Tim.