Gibbs kept the team mostly at the yard during the day. Mostly because there wasn't much to do, there were no new leads, no sightings, nowhere to look. The FBI was doing most of the tedious footwork – door-knocking and talking to the crazies on the hot line and such – so NCIS was left with following paper trails and physical evidence, which there was very little of.

Tony grumbled of course, he missed the action. "I just hate sitting around."

"What do you want to do?" Ziva asked. "Just drive around and hope to spot him in a crowd?"

"Honestly?" Tony asked. "Yes! Maybe we'll get lucky."

But what they all knew, but didn't want to voice because of McGee, was that there were only two things that could help them find Denny right now. The first was sheer, dumb luck – like running into him at Starbucks – and the other was if he committed a crime and as such left them more evidence to investigate. But everyone knew that McGee's worst nightmare was that his brother would hurt someone, so they kept quiet.

Tony and Ziva were reading through the old case files, both the ones they had found in Denny's cell and the original files they had on record, to compare them and see what Denny had been focused on and if he'd made any notes, but McGee just couldn't stomach them. He couldn't look at the crime scene photos or read the autopsy protocols. He didn't want to know the gory details. The looks of anger on his teammates' faces and the furtive glances they kept shooting in his direction were enough.

He was, however, going through the court transcripts from Denny's trial. They were much more level headed and clinical than the reports frustrated cops wrote when they were in the midst of a tough case. It was still much more information than he'd ever wanted to know, though. His brother was a sadist; there was no other word for it. The things he had done – the things he had taken pleasure in doing – to these poor women were enough to make his stomach turn. He forewent lunch and settled for letting vending machine coffee burn a hole through his stomach lining. He suddenly felt a new sort of sympathy towards his father. His father had gone to the trial every single day. Tim couldn't even imagine what it must have felt like to sit there and have his son's crimes thrown in his face every single day. No wonder his dad had hardened the way he had.

When he read his own testimony, he was surprised by how coherent and factual he had been. He remembered going though that day with terrorizing anxiousness. But, as he compared it with the other testimonies, he realized that both the prosecutor and the defense lawyer had taken it very easy with him, only really asked him about the bare facts – and he had always been really good with facts.

He swallowed hard. It felt like he had been living with a lump in his throat and a burning hole in his gut for two days now. His blood pressure had to be skyrocketing. Just like Tony, he wanted to do something! It felt like time was wasting away and there was something important he should be doing, but he had forgotten what it was. There was a sense of urgency that he just couldn't meet, and it was stressing him out.

Fornell stopped by in the afternoon to share the FBI's meager results. He was visibly frustrated. Denny's method of escape was still unknown and there hadn't been a credible sighting since the mugging the day before. "He has to be somewhere!" Fornell complained. "How can a so sought after man be so completely invisible? He has to eat somehow, right? He must be hiding somewhere, holed up in an abandoned basement or something."

"Or he stole another car right after abandoning the first and is now driving around small country roads out of sight several states away," Gibbs pointed out.

Fornell looked at him with a pained expression. "Are you trying to give me an aneurysm? Give me some positive news, Gibbs! Have you figured out where he's heading yet?"

Gibbs sighed. "No. Ducky thinks that the only emotional ties he might have are either for his family or for the murder sites. We know he hasn't tried to contact his family, and the murder sites are on the other side of the country. If he's heading there it's going to be a while before we find out. Those are the only theories we have, besides fleeing the country or hiding."

Fornell left, unsatisfied. McGee knew how he felt.

When Gibbs felt that frustration was running high enough, he called it quits. "Let's pack it in," he said.

McGee immediately looked like he wanted to protest, but Gibbs shot him down before he could speak. "Uh uh. He's been in prison since he was 18, so there's no bank account, no credit cards, no phone records or any other paper trails to follow. The only ones he's likely to contact are his family, which we know he hasn't done, one of his groupies who we are already keeping track of, or an unknown accomplice. But so far we haven't found a single tie between him and another living soul, so that seems highly unlikely. And even though his mug shot has been on TV at least once every 15 minutes the last two days, there have been no confirmed sightings, so there's nowhere to start looking. There's hardly any physical evidence, and what we have, we have finished analyzing already. So unless you want to spend the night sitting at the bus station, staring at the ticket line, there's literally nothing more we can do. So go home. Get some rest. Come up with some new ideas, and start fresh in the morning."

Tony shot up from his seat. "Come on, McGee," he said. "I'll buy you a drink."

"No thanks, Tony," McGee said, his eyes still on the computer screen.

"Aw, come on, Probie! It's early yet! We'll go have a drink, eat some peanuts, relax, wind down…"

"I don't want to drink right now," McGee said. "I'm not in the mood."

"Okay," Tony said. "Pizza then? Somewhere really family friendly."

"I could eat," Ziva piped up.

McGee sighed. "No offence, guys, but I'm really not looking for company tonight."

"I know," Tony said, exchanging a look with Ziva. "But I think you should anyway."

"As much as it pains me to utter the words," Ziva said. "Tony is right. Sitting home alone, brooding, is not what you need right now. Come out with us."

So they went to a brightly lit, music-filled, teenager-managed pizzeria where they placed their orders at the counter and then went to find a table. McGee had been very quiet during the car ride, and was now spacing out on them again. He was fiddling with a plastic covered toothpick from a bowl on the table, his thoughts miles away as he stared sightlessly through the window. Ziva exchanged a worried look with Tony, who nodded at her. A distraction was needed.

"How are your parents holding up?" Ziva asked.

McGee flinched a little as he returned to reality. "Mom's anxious and nervous. Mostly for my sake, I think. She keeps expecting Denny to show up on her doorstep, but that's just wishful thinking on her part, I'm sure. As strange as it might sound, she really wants to see him, she always has. She never really got to see him after he was arrested. She hardly ever made it to the trial, she had to stay with Sarah, as Dad was at the trial every day. I think the last time she spoke to him was the day he came to the hospital to donate the bone marrow to Sarah."

"So you got to go through with the transplant even though he had been arrested?" Ziva asked.

"Yes," McGee looked a little surprised at the question. The fact that Sarah was still alive should've answered that for them. "Dad got a lawyer who found a sympathetic judge. I wasn't there, but Mom told me years later that he was brought there in chains with several guards. She sat with him during the prep for procedure, but he wouldn't talk to her. It really hurt her that he wouldn't even acknowledge her and she's been trying ever since to get him to answer her. So I think she's hoping he's going to want some kind of reunion, but I just don't see that happening. He's never wanted anything to do with us."

"Isn't that a good thing, though?" Tony asked. "I can't imagine why any of you would want to see him again, not after what he did."

"Do not listen to him," Ziva said, reaching across the table to put a hand on McGee's arm. "He is an only child. He does not know."

Ziva and McGee shared a knowing look, sharing memories of siblings lost, in one way or another.

"You're right," McGee said. "He doesn't know." He turned to Tony. "I don't think you understand how conflicted I was back then, Tony. It was like Denny was two personas and I couldn't figure out how to marry them together. On the one hand there was the Cowboy, who was a monster who did unimaginably cruel things to women and on the other hand there was Denny, my brother who I loved and missed so much that it physically hurt. I wanted the Cowboy in prison where he couldn't hurt anyone else, but I wanted my brother to come home. Denny was the guy who taught me how to ride a bike and throw a curve ball. How could he be the same guy who murdered my best friend's sister? It took me years to come to terms with it and Mom's still struggling with it. Because we never got any answers. We never got to hear Denny's side of the story. He went from being our son and brother to being a cold blooded murderer overnight, and we never got an explanation. If it was someone you loved, if it was your dad who suddenly turned out to be something so unexpected, wouldn't you want answers too? Want closure?"

"If it were my dad…" Tony said thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I understand. You're right. Dad has kept secrets from me my whole life and all I've ever wanted were answers. And it really sucks that he never tells me anything. I would want to know, too."

Ziva smiled at him, quickly forgiving his thoughtlessness. "Fathers will always treat us like children, no matter how old we get," she said. "They always think they know best."

"What about your dad, McGee?" Tony asked. "How's he handling all of this?"

"He's just fine, apparently," Tim said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Tony's face scrunched up in surprise at Tim's tone of voice. "Apparently?"

"I haven't spoken to him since yesterday morning. Mom tells me that he's been going to work as usual, which for him means leaving home at 6 a.m. and not coming home until 10 p.m. at the earliest. He's acting as if nothing is happening, keeping up the front that nothing's wrong. I'm actually disappointed with him, though I don't know why. I shouldn't be surprised. He's always put work first. I guess I just thought that this, at least, would affect him a little. I thought that he would be man enough to stay by my mother's side at a time that is difficult for her. But as usual, I was just kidding myself." He looked up and saw that Tony had a very puzzled look on his face. "What?"

"Well, I guess I'm just a bit surprised," Tony said. "I always thought you had a pretty good relationship with you dad."

McGee snorted. "Whatever gave you that idea? I hardly ever mention him."

"I know," Tony said. "It's just, once a few years ago you said something… you said that you could tell you dad everything or that you told your dad everything, or something like that. I guess I just thought that that sounded nice."

McGee smiled mirthlessly. "Tell him everything? Of course, I did. I didn't have much choice. He demanded complete honesty. Lying or even omitting the truth just wasn't allowed. He wanted to know everything. When he gave you that look… I guess, after Denny, he just wanted control. He didn't want to be sidelined by his family again. But it was pretty tough to live with."

"Your dad was really that tough?" Ziva asked with a frown.

"Not at first," Tim said wistfully. "Not before Denny happened. Denny pretty much ruined dad for the rest of us. He was so ashamed of being the father of the Cowboy, so ashamed of having raised a murderer, that he could never be a real father again. At least not to me. It was easier with Sarah, she was always his little girl, still is. But I think Dad was actually the one who had the hardest time after we found out. He felt like a failure. He stayed with us only as long as he had too, until Sarah was well again. As soon as he had us settled in Virginia, he started a long stretch of one overseas or ship bound tour after another, always volunteering for extended tours. It felt like we hardly ever saw him after that. He rose up in rank right quick, but the qualities that makes him a great Admiral, are the same qualities that makes him a bad father. Always expecting to be obeyed and always punishing when he isn't."

Ziva was frowning. "I don't understand why he could stay fatherly to your sister but not to you? Is it because you reminded him about your brother?"

McGee grimaced. "I've thought a lot about that over the years. I have to admit that I was pretty jealous of Sarah when I was younger because of it. But I think it was easier for him to be a father to Sarah in part because she was so little when everything happened that she didn't remember how much he'd screwed up with Denny, and in part because she's a girl, he didn't have the same expectations on her to honor the family traditions and carry on our proud name. He had no problems showing her affection, he could hug and kiss her all he wanted, because he didn't have to worry about her growing up to become a weak man. Now, don't look at me like that, Ziva," he said, noticing her sour look. "I know full well that women can do anything men can do. I'm not agreeing with him, I'm just trying to explain his mindset to you. He grew up with a career driven, military father, and he became just like grandpa. Had Sarah decided to go into the Navy, Dad would've been elated, but he would never dream of trying to push her in that direction. She has always been free to do whatever she wants."

He was interrupted as their pizzas were delivered, and he paused to take a bite from a slice. He was hungrier than he had expected.

"Did he want you to go into the Navy?" Tony asked, knowing quite a lot about fathers' expectations.

Tim nodded. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a gulp of soda before continuing. "Yeah, sure he did. The thing is, though, he never pushed me towards it. He didn't even mention it, but then he never talked to me at all about possible career choices. After what happened with Denny, I think he lost a lot of confidence in his own parental role. He knew that he had pushed Denny a lot, and probably felt guilty about it and I think he was afraid to do it to me. He never once tried to steer me towards the Navy, but somewhere deep inside he expected me to choose it anyway, on my own. After all, of all his children, I was the sensible one. I think he had convinced himself that the reason Denny had been so adamant against it was because there was something wrong in his head, but since I was completely normal, I should have come to that decision on my own."

Seeing Tony eyeing his plate McGee stopped again to eat, not wanting to risk his food ending up in the wrong mouth. His teammates were suspiciously quiet and unquestioning, letting him set the pace. He was surprised at how good it felt to talk about this part of his life and how easily the words came.

"In a way, him not trying to persuade me, put even more pressure on me," he continued. "I always knew he wanted me in the Navy, even though he didn't say anything. I knew that he expected me to make up for Denny's failures. To put aside my own plans and interests to restore the family honor. I was supposed to replace Denny and take his place in the family. I was supposed to live up to all the expectations Dad had had for Denny. Had Denny not been a murderer, if Denny had gone into the Navy like Dad wanted, then I don't think he would've cared about what profession I chose.

"When it became clear to him that I wasn't going to go for the Navy, I think he felt horribly betrayed. I was breaking a century-old tradition. But after a while he changed his focus. In his mind, I was free do whatever I wanted, as long as I was the best at it and made a real career out of it. So he couldn't understand why I went to John Hopkins if I wasn't getting an MD. He couldn't understand why I went to MIT when I wasn't planning to be the new Bill Gates. He couldn't understand why I stopped after my masters, why I didn't go for a Ph.D. When I started NCIS he expected me to make a rocket career. Considering how long I've been with the agency, he expected me to have set my sights on Vance's chair by now, and at the very least be sitting on Gibbs'. He doesn't understand how to measure success except by climbing the ladder and he doesn't understand that I'm happy where I am. That I am successful. He doesn't want me to have a job, he wants me to have a career and I have failed to live up to that."

"If he was that hung up on traditions, what did he say when you changed your name?" Tony asked.

McGee felt a smile tug at his lips. Tony's obsession about his name change was for some reason starting to amuse him. To Tim, it honestly wasn't a big deal anymore. It had felt so natural to shed his old name and step into a new one, one he thought fit his personality much better, anyway. He remembered when he had first broached the subject with his parents. He had started with his mother, knowing he'd find a much more sympathetic ear there. It had been the night Agent Harlan had taken him to the hospital and yelled at his parents. To his surprise, it was his mother who had taken him home, leaving his dad at the hospital overnight. Alone-time with his mom was a rare treat, it had hardly happened once after Sarah's diagnosis. But that night they had sat across from each other at the kitchen table, drunken hot cocoa and talked.

"You're such an old 12-year-old," his mother said. "Always acting so mature, always so responsible. You have to stop that." She smiled at him, to show she didn't mean anything bad by it. "You have to let yourself be a kid sometimes. I'm very proud of you and how you have handled everything these past few weeks. But everything isn't your responsibility. Yes, Sarah is very sick and we need to spend a lot of time with her and with the things concerning her care. And, yes, this mess that Denny has put us in is costing us a lot of pain and grief and time and money. But you are important too. You have to be brave enough to stand up to your father and me when we drop the ball. I wish I could promise you that everything will be better, that we won't forget about you again, but with the situation being what it is, the only thing I can promise is that I will do my very best not to let it happen again. But if I fail, you have to speak up. I won't allow you to feel abandoned like this again. You have to feel like you can be honest with us about anything, even if it's something bad about us. We won't be mad at you. You have the right to demand our attention. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

"Okay," his mother said. "Good. Is there something you want to talk about now?"

He looked down, swirling his cocoa around in his cup, wondering if this was a good time to bring up the things he had thought about lately. He didn't want to risk hurting her feelings.

"Come on," his mom cajoled. "There's no need to shy in front of me."

"Mom?"

"Go ahead."

"I—I don't want to live here anymore," he said quickly.

His mother nodded thoughtfully. Seeing the state of the house when they came home had been both a shock and an eye opener for her. "Here in this house or here on base?" she asked gently.

"Both," he said. "I don't want to stay here at all. Everyone has turned against me, I don't have any friends left. And people keep staring at me, wherever I go. I hate it."

"I hear you," his mother said. "And I understand. I don't want to stay here any longer either. We'll never be part of this community again. But we're going to have to wait a while. We can't leave for good until Sarah is well enough to travel. And we will have to stay in town until after Denny's trial. You understand that, right?"

"Yes, Mom, I already knew that," he assured her, grateful that she seemed to be on his side.

"But maybe we don't have to stay in the house," his mother continued. "I think we're done with the base, don't you? We could move off the base and get an apartment. Maybe somewhere close to the hospital, so Dad and I can be home more. How about that?"

"I'd like that," he said. "But what about school? Do I have to go back to school? The doctors said I'm well enough to go back." He ran a hand over his scalp and the red scar where he had had the sutures taken out just a few days ago.

"Do you want to go back?" His mother looked at him searchingly.

"No." He shook his head vehemently. "Everybody hates me there. I was thinking maybe I could be home schooled for a while? I'm smart enough. I know I could do it."

His mom sighed. "I know you could do it too, and I wish there was a way to do it, but neither your dad nor I will be able to stay at home with you to teach you."

"Mom, I'm really scared to go back to school," he said baring his soul. "I've been doing all my homework by myself while I've been home sick, why can't I just continue doing that?"

"We'll see, honey. I will talk to the principal, maybe we can work something out. Get you a tutor, maybe. He knows how advanced you are. It won't hurt you to miss a little school. And as soon as we move, you can change schools. We'll look into other opportunities for you."

"Okay," he said, a little disappointed that it hadn't been solved right there. He really hoped he wouldn't have to go back to his school again. But he still had the most difficult thing left to ask. Feeling his heart beat triple time he carefully said, "Mom... There's one more thing."

"Okay."

He looked down at his hands, not wanting to see the disappointment in his mother's eyes. "I— I don't think I want to be Johnny anymore."

"What do you mean?" His mother sounded confused.

He forced himself to look her in the eyes. "I want to change my name, Mom."

"Change your name?" Her eyes popped open in surprise. "But honey! We picked your names very carefully. You are named after both you grandfathers. Two very brave men who love you very much.

"I know. But it's the combination, Mom! I don't want to be John Wayne anymore. People have been calling me cowboy and other Wild West nicknames ever since I was a baby. And now they are calling Denny 'the Cowboy'. And all the kids at school know my name is John Wayne and now, whenever I meet any of them, they call me little cowboy or cowboy junior and I hate it. It's not who I am! And even if we move, it's a given nickname for me, whenever someone hears my full name. I don't want anyone to ever call me that again. I want another name."

His mother was quiet for a while. "Alright," she finally said. "I guess I can understand that. I suppose it's going to take a while for your father and me to get used to calling you something else, but it's your decision, I won't fight you on it. We can ease into it, maybe change it at the same time as we move? Maybe when you start your new school? Have you given any thought about what you might like to be called?"

He felt relief flood over him. She wasn't upset! She wasn't hurt! "I was thinking… maybe… maybe Timothy?"

"Timothy?" she seemed surprised again. "Like Agent Harlan?"

He nodded.

"Timothy." His mother appeared to be tasting the name. "Timothy. Tim. This is my son, Tim. Yes, I think I will like that. Let's try it out for a while, see if it feels right for you." She smiled at him. "And I will talk to your dad for you. Come here." She held her arms open to him and he walked to the other side of the table and sat in her lap, even though he was really too tall to fit comfortably, and let himself be a child again, gaining strength and comfort from his mother's hugs.

xxx

TBC…