Contrary to popular opinion among the powers that be, the ones who rule fanfic – you know, shipper teenagers – I do really like McGee, and the actor who plays him, just not how the show writers write him. So it sort of hurt my heart to write this, but, it had to be done. Because the powers that be told me I HAD to, and I ALWAYS do what I'm told. Always. Just like Tony.

It was a wonderful funeral, with eulogies given by the likes of Director Vance all the way to the Secretary of the Navy. The casket was closed, and covered in a vast array of flowers, enough to keep Tony DiNozzo sneezing for the next month. He himself had not offered a eulogy for his friend Tim McGee, and everyone understood, with him being so broken up over the unexpected and tragically violent – but heroic – death of his Probie. He needed time alone, time on a long expanse of sugar-sand beach, and the powers that be had granted him the bereavement time, for him to recover and adjust.

Stepping off the plane in Barbados, he slipped on his Ray Bans and took in deep breaths of the island air. His Hawaiian flowerdy Magnum shirt, which the boss had bought and given to him the morning he left, fluttered in the ocean breeze, and he felt an unfamiliar draft travel up his shorts and give him a chill. The ghost of McGee, perhaps? Had he followed him here? Well, fine, whatever, but Tony sure as hell wasn't paying the guy's hotel bill or bar tab. He took a cab to the small but opulent waterfront hotel, checked in and grabbed his key, and made his way to his room. Unpacking his bags, he smiled as he saw the note written in copperplate cursive on the dresser top. It was held down with a Godiva cherry cordial.

"Couldn't wait to hit the beach, Julio will show you where I am."

He smiled and ate the syrupy chocolate candy, then stashed the rest of his clothes and headed out the sliding glass doors to the beach. Julio met him, immediately attentive to the needs of the hotel guests, and led him to her beach chair, a double size with white canopy and cushions. She looked up at him and smiled, her scantily clad skin already tanned from the day spent on the beach ahead of him. Putting her computer aside, she patted the seat next to him and he cast his sinuous frame into it, closing his eyes with a long sigh at the feel of the hot sun and smell of her perfume. Eternity by Calvin Klein. He thought he might buy her an entire box of it.

"So did you do it?" she asked him calmly, quietly.

"Oh yeah. No one suspects a thing. Vance gave me an entire week off to 'grieve'."

"Sweet. So, give me a kiss, then tell me all about it."

He leaned over and drew her into his arms, and sighed again at the exquisite silk and roundness that was a woman. She had been Gibbs' gardener, and had even had a thing for him, but learned rather quickly her chances of having a relationship with him was next to nil. She wasn't a red head, for one, and his emotional baggage was just too much to handle. Then Tony had been emboldened to ask her out, and how could she say no to those green eyes and that flashy smile? When he asked her what she did to relax, she had hesitated to tell him. How did she explain writing fan fiction? It wasn't something she talked about to anyone, not even her own family. But he had seemed genuinely interested; after all, he was crazy for movies and t.v , so he totally 'got it'. He even came up with 'plot bunnies' for her, and goofy challenges and they spent a lot of quality time talking about the different genres and tropes and ships and when they got a buzz on from too much wine, they would write one-shots involving the team, just like McGee had done with his 'Deep Six' books but continually denied until one day he couldn't.

But he'd come home from work one day to find her beside herself, mumbling unintelligibly in between cursing the keyboard, He had never seen her so out of sorts, and whatever it was, he knew he had to help fix it. Pulling her up into his strong arms, he peered down into her blue eyes.

"Tell me. Tell me whatever it is and I'll make it happen."

"I -I – can't write about TIMMY anymore. I – I wrote that one-shot where I had you trying to commiserate with him about his tyranical, demanding father, and – and I was told to – to -" the rest of the sentence came out in a whisper. "Do everyone a favor and not write any more stories with McGee'. And that I had focused too much on you. Even though I did have your name first in the character credit. And that why would I write about you when it was clearly about Tim, because obviously I hadn't put your name anywhere in the character credit. That I clearly disliked both Gibbs and McGee, and probably your father, and Tim's father, and every other man on the face of the planet, including George Clooney, so why was I even writing about them? Because, yes, I know that they are perfect in every way, that it was Gibbs' wives fault that he was divorced three times, and very obviously
your fault that TIMMY hasn't become Assistant Director at the Agency yet." She took a shaky, ragged breath and looked up at him, still not used to the difference of over a foot in their height. "It just means one thing, Tonio."

"I know, Sunny. And I'll do everything in my power to make it happen."

"Really? You'd really do that for me?"

"Of course I would, sweetheart. I can't let those Taylor Swift-Justin Beiber-Tim McGee teeny boppers try to run you out of fanfic. I mean, I just looked at the reviews last night, and frankly, most of the ones on there who are writing – erm..urghh..ehhh...uhhf..." he had to swallow, trying to keep the bile down out of his throat - "errr...Tee -mmmm - t-t-teeve -"

"That's alright, sweetie," she patted his shoulder lovingly. "I know what you're trying to say and how difficult it is for you to say it. Just call it the 'ship that must not be named' from now on."

"Yeah, so, anyways that – particular ship and McAbby ones, well, most of them didn't have anywhere near the number of reviews you had, I mean, sure, some of your reviews were from the trolls who obviously are so full of themselves that they think they can dictate to other writers who they can and can't write about because you're not portraying their favorite character in a perfect light, even though you've written all of us, including ABBY of all people, and me, with unflattering character flaws that none of us actually do have, by the way – we're a perfect, non-dysfunctional team and family, who poop rainbows and braid each other's hair on the weekends – but I digress – what I'm trying to say, is that even not counting those reviews, although, in a way they're kind of nice, cause other readers will see the big fat number and say, 'Hmmm. That story got a lot of reviews, maybe I should read that, or some of the author's other stories, cause I don't really like TIMMY that much – just head slap me, sweetie, I'm not focusing very well -anyways, they're saying to themselves, 'look at all those reviews.' And then maybe they even read them and maybe they can't read your stories for a while cause they're too busy choking on the bullshit being ladled out in the form of a constructive review...but when they do stop choking, they'll probably read your other stories, cause just like bad celebs trying to be relevant again, any publicity is good publicity."

"Mmmm, maybe. But no one has the right to tell another author they can't write about a character because they don't make them a hero, or make them into something they're really not-this is freaking fan fiction, I don't go to their sandbox and tell them to quit writing unflattering Tony stories."

"They write unflattering Tony DiNozzo stories? Really? I mean, more unflattering than you've written about me, about being a doormat and Gibbs's punching bag and all that stuff? Like...worse than that?"

"Probably. But I don't know, cause I've never actually read any of them. And I'm certainly not going to start now."

"Well, that settles it, then, there's only one thing to do. If you're not allowed to write about McGee anymore, then he'll just be a temptation you can't resist, you know how you are when someone tells you you can't do something. So I'll take care of it. I have some ideas already, but maybe you should take some of my mother's trust fund and go south for a while, and I'll meet you down there when I'm done, you know, plausible deniability and all that.."

"Mmmmm, that sounds yummy. You, me, on the beach, you just in your shorts, your chest andlegs all bare and waiting for me to put sunblock on.."

Tony swallowed hard again.

"Uh, yeah, okay. You go decide what island and hotel and make the reservations, I'll take care

of things on my end. Then we'll meet somewhere in the middle."

"Mmm, I love meeting you in the middle. Every chance I can..."

Join me tomorrow for the conclusion of 'Messin' With their Heads, or Binkey's Revenge.'