TONY

Tony rubbed at the headache growing between his eyebrows. Spring always had its moments. Too many memories this time of year: Paula and Pacci had both died in April. May was even worse: Jenny and Mike Franks had been murdered in May, they'd found Lara Macy from OSP in May, and Kate had gone MIA in May. May was a bad month to be an agent, in Tony's not at all humble opinion.

None of them ever mentioned it - it was never said out loud - but he knew the others felt the same way. Those anniversaries would roll around, and the conflicting emotions that came with losing colleagues in the line would be clear as day on all their faces. Grief, what ifs, all the things they wished they'd said... and worse, the survivor guilt, the treacherous relief that said 'at least it wasn't me.' Knowing that was a natural reaction didn't make it feel any less of a betrayal.

It had taken a while, though, for DiNozzo to figure out why Gibbs was always such a grouch in early March. He usually perked up again for Abby's birthday, but that first week? Tony tried to stay out of his way.

Eventually he'd looked back through the case files and realised that March 2nd was when Ari Haswari had first showed up, taking three of their team hostage and wrecking Gerald's shoulder. Gibbs had obsessed over the terrorist for weeks, had flipped out when he'd abducted Kate a second time, and when Ari had been implicated in Kate's final disappearance he'd signed his own death warrant. They'd got the bastard - shot by Gibbs down in his basement, apparently - but Gibbs had been very... unGibbs for a long while, there.

So far today Gibbs had been more pensive than grumpy, but then he'd been summoned to see the director. Once in a while he came down from seeing Vance with good news, or at least with no bad news. Usually, though, a trip to the principal's office meant nothing good for the rest of the team, and Tony was already bracing himself for the combination of early March and Vance to leave Gibbs as cheery as a razor blade in Halloween candy. It was shaping up to be a long day.

At least their caseload had been light this week. Not usually something that was a good thing, in the DiNozzo play book, but if Gibbs was going to be grumpy and on the warpath, Tony would rather not have to solve a gruesome murder at the same time.

He'd just settled down to a relaxing game of bash-a-terrorist (a reward for finally finishing an overdue report) when Tim reappeared.

"Where's Gibbs?"

McGee had a tray of coffees and looked like someone had dumped a bucket of water on him.

"Got called up to see the toothpick. What the hell happened to you? We're supposed to be having a warm dry spring out there."

Tim put a coffee down on Tony's desk, then squelched around the bullpen to place one on Ziva's and two on Gibbs', his shoes making unpleasant wet sounds as he walked. "Don't ask. You don't wanna know." He took a long swig of his own coffee and collapsed into his desk chair.

"Oh, but I do. Spill, McSplashy."

He sighed. "Lorry. Pothole. Heavy rain overnight."

He sounded so pathetic and looked so seriously wet and cold that Tony couldn't bring himself to draw out the teasing any longer. He got up from his desk and fished around in the filing cabinet, then threw a fresh shirt and a towel over.

McGee's expression scrolled through surprise, appreciation, then landed on suspicion with a touch of gratitude. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Can't have you catching a cold and leaving me in the lurch." Tim looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Tony rolled his eyes. "Go on. Get outta here before I change my mind."

"Thanks Tony." McGee scuttled off towards the men's room, and Tony shook his head. Getting soft in my old age.

Spring. Yup. It was definitely overrated.