"Hey Probie, did you miss me?"

McGee jerked upright from where he had been hunched over, resting his weary forehead on the kitchen table, too physically and emotionally drained even to even drag himself to the couch as he tried to catch a few moments of rest. Now he narrowed his eyes to thin, furious, slits as as DiNozzo waltzed in through thefront door of Gibbs' home, several bags of Chinese take-out tucked under his chin, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Where have you been?" McGee hissed, between gritted teeth, careful to keep his voice low. "It's been hours. I tried calling you, I sent you messages, I even used my lap top to triangulate a search on your cell."

"I might have left it on silent," Tony admitted as he put the bags on the table and began pulling out cartons. "But you could just have looked next to the stove, it was right there on the countertop."

"I know that now, but I was trying to reach you," McGee was frustrated, Tony was the one who had taught him rule three. "Why didn't you take it with you?"

"Why were you trying to reach me?" Tony paused in mid-motion, pinning him with a sharp gaze.

"Um," McGee hesitated. "Never mind I took care of it."

McGee waited, but Tony made no response. He simply went back to unloading the cartons of Chinese food, before reaching in a drawer for silverware and opening a cupboard for plates. If he was honest, Tim had expected Tony to return ready to interrogate him about his day, eager to crow over his misfortunes and mock his errors. At the time the fact that the man had left his phone behind had infuriated him. Not to mention the way he had been gone nearly all day leaving him alone with Gibbs had seemed like a particularly cruel practical joke. But now he began to wonder if he should be looking at this from a different angle.

Tony would never have left him alone with Gibbs, especially an injured, irritated, incapacitated, Gibbs, if he did not think he could cope, Tony was many things, but he would never knowingly put a friend at risk. More to the point, it was totally out of character for him to leave his cell behind. He might not always answer but he was never without his phone. Even during those dark days at Bethesda he had clung to his phone like a lifeline, which could only mean he had trusted McGee to deal with whatever came up McGee felt a wash of warmth as he realised he had dealt with things. It had been hard, harder than any training FLETC had ever come up with, but he had survived, better than that, he had coped, ensuring that Gibbs was fed, well-rested, kept safe even from himself and was appropriately medicated, despite the man's own stubborn streak on that subject.

"Its almost time for Gibbs' Meds," He realised, glancing at the clock. "He had his last dose about four hours ago, so he's going to be feeling that arm again pretty soon."

"You get him to take them?" Tony asked, in genuine enquiry.

"No," McGee admitted, feeling the slight blush rise in his face at his failure. "I tried but he said .."

"I know what he said, McGee," Tony shook his head with a rueful smile. "The same things he always says. So, what did you do? Crush them up and put them in his sandwich? Dose his coffee? Dissolve them in his bourbon?"

"You do all those things?" McGee blinked. "You've done that?"

"When Gibbs won't take his Meds I have," Tony agreed easily. "So, mostly now he just takes them once he knows I mean business, took a few months though. The important thing is thought you have to be consistent. Do not let him psyche you out."

"I'll try to remember that," McGee nodded seriously, even as Tony's words made him feel oddly concerned, even though he wasn't sure why. "I just called Abby and got her to guilt him into taking them. She was really impressive, I think she even cried."

"Emotional blackmail? Excellent use of available resources, McGee," Tony grinned his approval, causing the other man to relax just a little. Still, McGee had no time to bask in the praise before DiNozzo was moving on to his next topic of enquiry. "So, what light but satisfying and nutritionally balanced lunch did you prepare to hasten our wounded leader's recovery to health?"

"You never said it had to be nutritionally balanced," McGee defended his actions, even as his heart sank. "You just said make him lunch."

"He's injured. McGee," Tony pointed out. "Injured people need the right balance of carbs and proteins and stuff to rebuild cells and muscles and .." Tony floundered. "Other things."

"Are you sure you're a Phys Ed Major?" McGee queried.

"Stop changing the subject," Tony retorted. "What did you two have for lunch?"

"I called out for Pizza," McGee admitted, slightly uncomfortably, before striving to justify his choice. "It was the only thing Gibbs said he felt like and I figured some food was better than no food, especially on top of his meds and you always say how it has all the food groups in it."

"I do, it does," Tony acknowledged, in a way that was giving no ground. "But as you just so adroitly pointed out I told you to make him lunch."

"I made the call." McGee shot back.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Tim wondered if it had been a mistake to use a DiNozzoism against the master. He braced himself for a volley of one-upmanship, but the expression that flashed across DiNozzo's face before he turned to reach the juice from the refrigerator wasn't anything like what he expected. For a split second Tim thought Tony actually looked wistful but surely that couldn't be right?

"Did he eat much?" Tony wanted to know.

"About half the pizza." Tim didn't think that was too bad. "It was a large."

Apparently, Tony didn't think it was too bad either because he made no comment as he collected three glasses and filled them with juice, before returning the carton to the refrigerator. McGee watched the calm, deliberate movements and couldn't help feeling that something in their NCIS world was, as Abby would say, totally hinky. Part of him almost wanted DiNozzo to make a wise crack at his expense.

"McGee!" Tony's sharp tone cut into his thoughts. "What are you waiting for? The food is getting cold. Go wake Gibbs. If he doesn't get his soup he will kick both our asses."

"Me?" McGee's first reaction was surprise that the other man wouldn't want to check on their Boss for himself after being out of the house all day. But that was swiftly followed by a flush of pride that the senior field Agent clearly didn't feel the need to come in and take over as soon as he stepped through the door. Even so, he couldn't help shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. "Are you sure you don't want to ..?"

"I left you in charge, your orders still stand," Tony reminded him, without bothering to make eye contact, as he sat himself down, picked up a fork and pulled one of the cartons towards him, squinting unhappily at the mix of meat, vegetables and noodles inside. "I should have ordered the shrimp."

McGee shifted his weight as he prepared to make his way upstairs but something held him in place. Not the expression on Tony's face. Nothing about his tone of voice, not even his body language. In fact there was no reason for McGee to be the least bit concerned, which was exactly how he figured Tony wanted it and that alone was enough to hold him in place. Any occasion – short of moments of imminent danger of death and sometimes even then – when DiNozzo didn't strive to be the centre of attention were always cause for concern.

"You're taking the job," He realised. "In San Diego, you're going to leave."

"Its time," Tony shrugged slightly, as he paid rather more attention to his meal than the simple noodles warranted. "I've been here long enough, time to move on."

"But I shot my Blackberry!" McGee protested, still haunted by the fear that could have been a teammate. "And the paperwork and the boxing ..?"

"You'll learn." Tony shrugged.

"You ready think I'm ready?" McGee ventured.

"Ready?" Tony shook his head at that. "No-one is ever ready to become Gibbs' senior field Agent. Its is a lot like waiting for the Spanish Inquisition, no matter how much you think you are ready you can never really be prepared. The trick is not minding and being able to deal with the fallout when it comes."

"Right." McGee nodded, suddenly feeling a whole lot less secure about the promotion than he had when it was entirely in his head.

"Your problem McGee is that you sweat the small stuff too much," Tony eyed him seriously. "If you expect perfection of yourself or those around you, someone is gonna get killed. You have to learn to focus on the bigger picture. You've never let any of us down when it really counts.

""So, stop trying so hard and I'll do fine?" McGee offered. "Mrs Hollander, my third grade teacher said exactly the same thing."

"Then she must have been a wise woman," Tony surmised. He took another forkful of food before fixing McGee with a meaningful look. "I wasn't kidding about how pissed Gibbs is going to be if I eat all of this before he gets a chance at the soup."

"Maybe you should go," McGee hedged. Something was seriously wrong with DiNozzo and he needed to get to the bottom of it before he made any hasty decisions. "I was worried he might be running a temperature earlier but he would probably break my fingers if I tried to feel his brow. You might have better luck."

"Why didn't you say so before?" Tony demanded, his chair already scraping across the floor as he rose to his feet, long strides eating up the distance between the kitchen and the stairs, turning his head to bark one word over his shoulder in a more than passing impression of Gibbs. "Symptoms?"

"Irritability, shortness of temper, flushed complexion." McGee reported. "Sounds like the Boss on a good day," Tony retorted, as he made his way up the stairs, a new sense of purpose and direction invigorating his attitude. Even so, he slowed somewhat as he approached the master bedroom, pausing on the threshold to look carefully at the figure, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, tossing restlessly in the bed. "Damn." McGee watched from the doorway as Tony approached the bed, he might not have been entirely honest about the rising temperature but there was no doubt that the injury and resulting trauma had stirred up some deep emotions in their Boss, that even the heavy medication Ducky had prescribed couldn't entirely diminish. He saw his own concern mirrored in Tony's eyes. Then his friend and his teammate reached forward a warm, brown, hand, and let it rest lightly on Gibbs' brow. Instantly, the other man calmed under his touch, his expression smoothing out as a warm thumb caressed his temple. McGee sighed. Given the strength of medication Gibbs had taken, a trained monkey could probably have soothed him with a calming touch and the ex-marine would have been none the wiser. But it was the look of loss on Tony's face, the expression of anguish in his eyes as he continued to caress a vulnerable temple, the way the way the set of his shoulders spoke of abandonment and despair that touched his soul. And in that moment, McGee realised exactly how much a transfer to San Diego would cost DiNozzo. And in a dawning of painful realisation he finally understood why Tony had hated his promotion to Agent Afloat so much. Why he was so reluctant to leave Washington and those he loved.

The closest thing he had to a family. The closest thing he would ever that was the moment that McGee realised. Whilst he might be ready to step up and try his hand at being senior field Agent, for him it would mean breaking up the team. For Tony it would be shattering the only security he had ever known. The only father figure who had ever given a damn about him, Tim shook his head, first the loss of his royalties from Deep Six on the stock market had taught him that money wasn't nearly as important as he had imagined. Now he was learning that there was more to ambition and career goals than pure advancement.

"Tony," His voice was firm and there was no hesitation in his tone. There would be other chances at promotion where the cost was not so high. "About the posting to San Diego .."