Despite his teammates' many questions, Tim hadn't said much in the way of an explanation during the ride. He knew Gibbs was a bit irritated with his tightlipped attitude, but the truth was that he hadn't been able to organize his thoughts in a fashion that was fit for sharing yet. He might look deceptively collected on the outside, but inside his head, it was all a jumble. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to his teammates, he just didn't know how yet. But he knew that it needed to be done.

Tim looked morosely at the huge stone walls and barbed wire fences as they turned into the prison parking lot. He hadn't even known that Denny was kept at a prison so close to home. Not that it would've mattered to him anyway. He'd stopped keeping track after the first move, which was when he had moved away from home to go to college. He knew his mother still got the information whenever he was moved, but she never forwarded it to him, and he had no interest in knowing anymore. His relationship with Denny had been over for a long time.

Even at this early hour the parking lot was full, but with law enforcement vehicles. A prison break of such a high-profile prisoner rendered a lot of manpower. Luckily there were no news vans yet. McGee was relieved. Every moment of investigation they got without media attention was a blessing. This was going to blow up soon enough.

Fornell was standing with the leader of the dog squad, studying a large map of the area. Seven dogs were barking and pulling at their handlers, eager to get going. "Nice of you to join us, Gibbs," Fornell said. "Your coffee's gone cold."

"Complications on the way," Gibbs said and McGee flinched. He wasn't going to tell everyone, was he? But Gibbs didn't elaborate. Instead he picked up the coffee mug, took a sip, grimaced at the taste and said, "So, what do we know?"

"We know he's been gone a few hours," Fornell said. "He was present for the ten o'clock bed check, but was gone at the two o'clock bed check. The prison is in lockdown and is being turned over from top to bottom. So far, we have no idea how he got out or even if he got out. There are still areas inside that haven't been checked, so fingers crossed that he's hiding in a closet somewhere. But not bloody likely, huh? I've got agents going through security tapes. The outside search has only covered a one-mile radius yet, but we're expanding as we speak and as you can see, the dogs are about to go out. No sign, as of yet. Maybe your guys can go check out his cell, see if you can find anything there."

"Sure," Gibbs said, and nodded his head at his team to get moving. McGee, Ziva and Tony headed for the trunk of the car, to gather their equipment.

"We also need to find Langston's family," Fornell continued. "He may be trying to contact someone from his past."

"McGee's already talked to them," Gibbs said, his eyes still glued to the map, "And Vance has sent a couple of agents to keep an eye on their house."

"He did?" McGee turned back, surprised and a little annoyed with himself for not thinking of that before.

Gibbs gave him an irritated look. "Of course."

"What did they say?" Fornell asked.

"Who?" McGee asked confused.

"Who?" Fornell frowned at him. "The Langstons, of course, boy. Who do you think?"

"Oh, right" McGee shook himself out of the stupor and formulated a very neutral response, deliberately not explaining that they hadn't been the Langstons for 20 years. "They'll contact us if they hear anything from him, and they have agreed to us putting a trace on their phone."

Fornell grunted in confirmation and Gibbs motioned for McGee to go with Ziva and Tony. McGee escaped gratefully. He hadn't lied to Fornell, but he hadn't told the whole truth either. Would Gibbs? Was this to be his faith now? To look upon all the people in his life and wonder if they would find out, when they would find out, how they found out, and what they would do when they found out. What would Fornell do?

It reminded him of the first few years after Denny's trial and how he had felt then. How he had been afraid to meet new people, afraid to make friends, afraid to reach out to others. Afraid to talk about himself, closely guarding his thoughts and feelings. Craving acceptance and togetherness but expecting nothing but scorn and distrust, always with a feeling of shame lingering in his gut. It had been lonely years, before he came to realize that he had self-worth, that he was more than just a serial killer's brother, that people could actually care about him. That his brother's actions weren't his.

But now he could feel his old insecurities creeping back up on him. Would the people he cared about still be able to see him as him, or would the knowledge of his brother's foul acts forever mar their perception of him? Would they think of him differently? Would they still trust him? Would they still like him? How many friends would he lose this time around?

xxx

Denny's cell was small and depressing, just as McGee had expected. Two baseball posters hung on a wall and Tim noted that his brother was still loyal to the same team as when he was a teenager. On a shelf stood about a dozen books, mostly mystery novels. Tim's heart skipped a beat when he noticed that 'Deep Six' was one of them. Denny couldn't possibly know that he was hiding behind the pseudonym, could he? Then he found a legal pad with only a few sheets of paper left. He wondered what Denny had been writing. It wasn't letters to home, he knew that much. He bagged it to let Abby scan the imprint on the top sheet. Maybe that could tell them what he'd been writing lately.

"He seems very neat," Ziva commented as she stuck her hand into the pillowcase, looking for hidden goods. "Everything in its place."

The guard who was escorting them, a man called Zander, agreed. "He's very anal about things like that. Everything has to be in order, in the correct position. I mean, he's got what, 12 books over there? Still, he's alphabetized them. Like they would be hard to find otherwise."

"Family trait maybe," Tony smiled and bumped McGee's elbow. McGee sent him a scalding look, and for once Tony shrank back. "Sorry," he mumbled.

McGee picked up a shoe box from under the bed and opened it. It was full of pictures of women. Some just normal headshots and vacation pictures, many of the more scantily clad version. He scanned a couple of layers quickly, but couldn't find any of Denny's victims among the women. "What's this?" he asked.

"His groupies," Zander said with disdain. "I can't stand women like that. Who in their right mind throws themselves at someone who's in prison for killing women?"

Tony leaned over McGee's shoulder. "Wow, there's a lot of them."

"He's had 22 years to collect," McGee said quietly.

"We will have to check them out," Ziva said. "He could be planning to hide with one of them."

"Where's the rest?" Tim asked, turning to Zander.

"The rest what?" Zander asked.

"The letters," Tim said. "They can't all have just sent photos, can they? Is he keeping in contact with any of them?"

"Oh, he never keeps the letters," Zander said. "Just the photos. The letters go straight into the trash. He's never had any outgoing post either, so he doesn't respond to any of them, at least not since he came here. I doubt he even reads them."

"But he keeps the photos," McGee noted.

"Souvenirs, maybe?" Ziva theorized.

"Or company," Tony suggested, holding up a photo, checking the back for a name. "This one's a real looker, too bad she's obviously insane!"

Tony pulled a larger cardboard box out from under the bed. Opening it, he discovered that it was full of files and legal briefs. He started leafing through them. "It's court files," he said. "From his trial. Was he looking for an appeal maybe?"

"Why escape if he was planning an appeal?" Ziva asked.

"Maybe he wanted to do it, but realized it was a lost cause," Tony said. "So he decided to escape instead."

"He had those with him when he came here a few years ago," Zander said. "But he's never made a move to appeal."

"We'll read through them," Tony said. "Maybe he's been making notes in the margins or something."

"The trash can is empty," Ziva said, nudging it with her foot.

"This ward had cell inspections yesterday," Zander explained. "Many of the inmates clean before inspections; a clean cell is worth a few extra merit points. And like I said, Langston's anal."

"Where do they empty their trash?" Tony asked.

Zander pointed down the corridor at a garbage chute. "In there. Ends up in a bin in the basement. But it's emptied out every night."

"And where does it go after that?" Ziva asked.

"Incinerator," Zander said. "We've got a closed system for our trash here. We don't send much out, just a bit of recycling from the kitchens."

"Show me," Ziva said, leading Zander away, giving McGee and Tony a chance to speak privately.

"So what do you think?" Tony asked.

"I don't know," McGee said, looking around again. "He seems very orderly. And isolated. There isn't much personality in here."

"Yeah, I can see that too," Tony said. "What about your special insight? What's here that shouldn't be? Or, what's missing."

"I don't know, Tony," McGee said shrugging his shoulders. "I'm not seeing anything you're not seeing."

"Really? Because I thought… you know."

McGee smiled a little sadly. "I don't know this man, Tony. In this cell lives a 40-year-old man who's spent more than half his life in jail. My brother was an 18-year-old boy who liked sports and video games. There's no way to compare them. He's as much a stranger to me as he is to you."

"You haven't seen him since then?" Tony sounded surprised. "You haven't kept in touch at all?" Not that Tony blamed him, it just didn't sound like the Tim McGee he knew. No matter how horrible the crimes his brother had committed were, McGee wasn't the type of guy to turn his back on someone he loved. He was usually loyal to a fault.

"He cut us out," McGee said, shrugging his shoulders again, feeling uncomfortable. "He refused any contact with any of us. Dad never wanted any contact anyway, he just wanted to forget that the whole thing ever happened. I wanted it in the beginning, when everything was still fresh. I wanted answers back then. I wanted my brother back. But I grew out of it when I got older. Mom tried the longest, still tries every now and then I think, but he's never answered any letters and he's never put any of us on his approved visitor's list. The last time I saw him was the day I took the stand at his trial and testified against him. Though he didn't really look at me much. Maybe if he had made an effort…"

He remembered sitting in the too hot room, wearing a blazer that was just a little too big, which his mother had bought for him for Elena's funeral, and a blue tie that was Denny's. He didn't like the way everybody was looking at him. It felt like there was a sea of people in front of him, everyone staring at him. The jury, the attorneys, the judge, his father, the victims' families and all the other onlookers. Even Oliver's mom and dad were there. And Harlan, of course. And everyone was looking at him. Except for Denny. Denny kept his eyes firmly on the table. His attorney had given him paper and a pen, and he was doodling. His hair had grown so much that it was hanging down over his eyes so he couldn't see his brother's face at all.

They were asking him questions. What did you see—? What happened then—? Are you absolutely sure—? How did you—? When—? Who—? How—? What—? Where—? He answered them all with a dry throat, shaky voice and sweating, itching palms. Harlan was giving him encouraging smiles the whole time, but he was too nervous to see them.

When it was over he went and sat with his father, pressing himself up against his side, sitting right behind Denny. His father put an arm around him. "You did good, son," he said quietly.

A few minutes later, the judge called a recess. Around them, the room slowly started to empty. He stood up too, his hands clutching the barrier that separated the audience from the court floor. "Denny?" he called, but his brother didn't turn around. "Denny, please!" He reached out a hand, intending to pull on Denny's arm so that he would look at him, but his father caught his hand before he could make contact.

"Come on, Johnny," he said. "Let's go."

"But—I—" But his father had a hand on his back, ushering him out of the room. Every few steps, he looked back at Denny, but he never turned around.

"Tim?" Tony asked. "Are you okay?"

Tim blinked and returned to reality. "Yeah, of course. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Tony said. "This whole situation must've thrown you for quite a loop."

"Yeah," Tim agreed. "It's got my head's spinning, that's for sure. We should just bag everything, bring it back for Abby. Maybe she can find something."

"Yeah, sure," Tony said, pulling more evidence bags out of his kit. "I'll start over there."

xxx

A few hours later Tony and Tim walked into Abby's lab, arms laden with Denny's belongings, their ears automatically adjusting to the sound level of the music.

"Hi boys!" she greeted them cheerful. "How was prison?"

Tony put down a plastic box full of evidence bags on her work bench. "Oh, you know. Gray and drab. Picked you up some souvenirs though."

"Lovely!" Abby exclaimed. "You know, this is going to be interesting. I couldn't believe it when I heard on the car radio that the Cowboy had escaped. And then I got here and heard that we were on the case. We're going to make history! I mean, I remember when this was going on, it made headlines for weeks! This is going to be so big and we get to be a part of it." She was practically bouncing with excitement.

McGee was confused for a moment, but then he suddenly realized that Abby had no idea that Denny was his brother. At first he couldn't figure out why, as rumors usually travelled a mile a minute at NCIS and Abby had ears like saucers when it came to gossip, but then he remembered that it had been 4 a.m. when he told his team, and the bullpen had been empty. The only other person who knew was director Vance, and he didn't gossip. But it would be out soon enough, and Abby deserved to find out from him.

"Uh, Abby…" he started uncertainly. "There's something you should know."

"Yes?" She looked expectantly at him.

"Denny… that is the Cowboy, as you call him, well, he's kind of… we're…" For some reason he was more nervous about telling Abby than he had been to tell Gibbs. Probably because Abby was always so expressive and immediate with her reactions.

"Just spit it out, McGee," Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Like ripping a bandage."

McGee looked at Abby, who was now looking at him rather worriedly. "Denny is my brother, Abby. My older brother."

Abby's eyes grew impossibly big. "No way… Are you serious? Big brother? As in family?"

McGee nodded nervously, waiting for the inevitable.

"Wow, McGee," Abby said reverently. "I can't believe I never knew you are a middle child. This explains so much!"

xxx

TBC…