Graaahh. It's been forever. I can't believe it's taken this long to update D: I apologize. Hope you enjoy the second chapter! I do not own NCIS or any characters.

Blast from Tim's Past

"She was the older sister of a childhood friend of mine, Eddie Lutz, in Bethesda. She got that tattoo when she was just sixteen, and threatened to beat us up if we told anyone. She was so excited..."

As McGee recalled the happier memory, the corner of his mouth curved upwards into a grin.

"They moved away shortly after she graduated high school. She had always wanted to go into the Marines, and it was hard on her parents when she left. I never got their new address or number, and haven't heard from Eddie since."

"Hey, weirdoes! You want to see something cool?" asked Arlene. She hopped onto the couch, shaking her hands, and seeming very jittery. A 13-year-old Tim and his friend, Eddie, looked up at her from their Battleship game.

"If it's anything like that picture in the magazine you showed us last time, I think we're good," Eddie answered. Tim nodded in agreement, but secretly, he had enjoyed it. Arlene may possess a strange taste in music, but it was still a pretty cool poster, and he could appreciate it.

"No, you dip wad!" her voice changed to a whisper," I got a tattoo!"

The boys looked at her incredulously, then at each other. They both burst into laughter at the idea, a TATTOO! Her parents would never let her do it, not at 16, anyway. Arlene's face reddened, whether at anger or humiliation the boys couldn't be sure. She jumped off the couch and made sure no one was coming, and then leaned against the door.

"Shut up! I did too!" she exclaimed. She even lifted up her shirt just enough to show it, and sure enough, there it was. The eagle, the Earth, and the anchor. She smiled.

"I'm going to-"

"'-serve my country someday'," Tim said. It surprised him that he remembered it so clearly, as though it was just happening now.

"And she did, Timothy. Proudly, I'm sure," Ducky said, laying a consoling hand on the man's shoulder. He nodded at Gibbs, giving him the floor.

"Alright, DiNozzo, check in with BPD, see what they know. Ziva, run a background check." Gibbs ordered. He turned to Tim, as the other two agents left the room to do their part.

"I think," he said slowly, "you ought to give your friend Eddie and the parents a call, McGee."

He complied, but it proved easier said than done. Getting the number was the simple part, and it turned out that Eddie was now a graphic designer, living near his parents in Pensacola, Florida. Actually making the call, now that was another story. It would be the first time in over twenty years he would be speaking to his old friend, and he wished it had been under more positive circumstances. He looked over at Gibbs, hoping for a piece of advice.

"Every call is hard, Tim," the older agent said gently, "and the hardest are the ones personal to the caller. But for the people on the other end, hearing it from someone who cares makes a difference. You care. Remember that."

McGee thanked him, and picked up the phone. Gibbs, meanwhile, left him to himself, and headed over to the director's office. Though, while McGee appreciated the privacy, and the advice, he found that he still could not dial.

"He's quite the sage, isn't he," Abby said, putting her arms around her friend.

"Where did you come from?" Tim asked, startled. He hadn't even heard her footsteps.

"New Orleans. But I thought you could use some support, anyway, Timmy," she offered. He smiled at her, and put the phone down, still discouraged.

"Thanks, Abs. I just…need a little push, I guess," he said, his face falling. Abby picked up the phone, dialed the number, and patted him on the head.

"Your welcome!" she shouted as she ran back to her lab. McGee rolled his eyes, but not without a smile. He put the phone to his ear, took a deep breath, and heard it ring one, two, three times before it picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Eddie? It's Tim McGee."

The conversation was brief, changing quickly from excited greetings, to the painful explanation and subsequent reaction, to the final decision for the family to fly out to D.C in the morning. After Tim hung up, he sat fiddling with a pen for a few minutes, and then rushed to the men's locker room. He slipped into a shower stall, pulling the curtain as far over as it would go. He slid down the wall into a sitting position, muffled his mouth, and for the first time in awhile, cried.

Oh, poor Tim :[ . Well, it was a bit short, but my next one has a bit more meat to it. Hope you liked it, and as for reviews and constructive criticism: it's welcomed. Have a good one!

Lauren