A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update this, I'm having trouble with writer's block this week. Thanks for reading

McGee went into work early on Monday, needing to distract himself from brooding over a particularly disastrous weekend. Shaken by his conversation with Abby, he'd driven more slowly than usual through the flood of people fighting to get home to start the weekend. Arriving at his apartment, he'd opened the door to find an envelope sitting on the floor, addressed to him in Emily's writing. The letter inside had been brief and to the point. She'd said she was sorry, but that she'd changed her mind; she was going back to her ex fiancé. He'd tried to call her, but every time he did her cell phone was off or his call was rejected.

After the first shock had worn off, he'd retained the presence of mind to call his parents and make his excuses; then he sat down and got quietly drunk, with the end result of waking up late Saturday morning with a hangover to go with his aching heart.

He'd sat at his desk, alternately re-reading Emily's letter and reliving the moment he'd broken his best friend's heart, the pain in his chest seeming to grow as he did so. Lost in his own world, he'd been momentarily surprised when he realised that it 11pm. He'd been there all day. Wearily he'd stumbled down into his room and climbed into bed. He'd stayed there most of Sunday, finally shaking off his lethargy late in the afternoon. Unable to look at the letter any longer, he'd run it through his heavy-duty shredder.

So now he sat at his desk in the deserted bullpen, trying to pull himself together enough to make it through the work day. Even Gibbs wasn't in yet, for which he was thankful. Gibbs had a way of seeing through everyone's carefully maintained facades which was downright uncanny, and McGee needed some time to collect himself before dealing with his boss. Particularly as the team leader was probably going to be irate when he saw Abby.

Soon Gibbs entered, depositing his badge and weapon in his desk as usual. He favoured McGee with a nod before making his way up the stairs towards the Director's office. Tony and Ziva exited the elevator together, Tony obviously in a good mood; he was laughing with Ziva about something that had happened over the weekend. McGee tried to look busy with the computer in front him, knowing what was coming next.

Tony swung his pack in behind his desk, and then turned to McGee.

"So, McLoverboy, how was your weekend?"

Unwilling to admit the truth, he settled for the generic

"Fine Tony, thanks."

"Really, McGee? Cause you don't look all that crash hot." He paused for a moment "That's the same answer I got from Abby, and she looks even worse than you."

McGee looked up at him. "Is she ok?"

"I dunno. Something's up- she's got no music on, no makeup, no pigtails. She wouldn't talk to me though, Probie; maybe you should try?"

McGee gave a mirthless laugh at that before replying positively. "She won't talk to me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because it's my fault."

Tony looked at him blankly for a moment, and then opened his mouth to say something. He was interrupted by Gibbs' entrance into the bullpen.

"Grab your gear; we've got a dead sailor in Georgetown."