"Hello! Earth to Tim!"

McGee blinked and looked across the table at his teammates, who were both staring at him with equal parts exasperation and amusement. "Wha- what?"

"You kind of spaced out on us there, Probie," Tony smiled. "Again. Did you have a nice stroll down memory lane?"

McGee frowned. "What were we talking about?"

"Your dad's reaction to your name change," Tony reminded him.

"Oh, right," McGee said. "Well, he wasn't very happy about it. It was his name I was rejecting, after all. But I had Mom on my side and she helped convince him that this was just one more step towards removing Denny from our lives, which was all Dad really wanted. So he accepted it as part of our cover up."

"So why don't you have a middle name now?" Tony asked. "You could've kept John as a middle name. You know, like a peace offering?"

McGee fought the urge to roll his eyes. Tony really was like a dog with a bone about the name issue. But in truth, he didn't mind talking about it anymore. "You know, to most people, middle names don't mean that much, it's just something your mother uses to make a point when she's mad at you." McGee tried to explain. "To me, it made all the difference. I guess you already know what my middle name was?"

Tony nodded. "Wayne. John Wayne."

McGee waited for a heartbeat, but Tony didn't say anything else or comment on the name combination. He had simply answered a question. "That's right," McGee said. "So, as you can imagine, cowboy references just kept coming at me, wherever I went. I always thought it was really unfair, since it was Denny who was interested in the Wild West, and not me." He was quiet for a while, looking down at his own hands. "I wanted to keep John as a middle name. But Dad got really angry. He said that if his and his father's and his grandfather's name wasn't a good enough name to be called by, then I didn't deserve to have it at all. So I took it out."

"So who was Denny named after?" Tony asked. "It's usually the oldest son who gets saddled with Junior."

"Actually, I was never Junior," McGee said with a half-smile. "I was the fourth. John Langston the fourth. And Denny's named after my uncle, my Mom's older brother. He was killed in action in Vietnam. Besides, Denny's middle name is John, so he didn't get off scotch free either. Now, are there any other questions about my name, or could we perhaps talk about something else?"

Ziva smacked Tony on the arm. "Yes, Tony, enough already. Now pay the check and let's get going. It is getting late."

"Why am I paying?" Tony complained.

"Because you invited us out," Ziva demanded.

Tony grumbled some more for show, but pulled out his wallet and settled the bill.

xxx

McGee arrived home with a stomach full of pizza, feeling rather good. Tonight had been cathartic, and he hoped it would give him enough calm to get a good night's sleep. He parked in his assigned space in the parking lot behind his apartment building and locked the door behind him, but he hadn't even made it to his front door when his phone rang.

"McGee," he answered.

"McGee," Gibbs said. "A woman was assaulted in her home in Georgetown two hours ago."

McGee stopped dead in his tracks and felt his whole body go numb. A cold mass grew in his stomach and his hands started to tremble. There was a rushing sound in his ears and the walls of the hallway started to undulate and close in on him. He had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to keep from fainting right there. "Denny?" he asked hoarsely.

"Looks like it," Gibbs said. "The woman survived, but she's unconscious, so no one's been able to talk to her yet. Meet us at her house." He gave him the address.

McGee turned back and headed for his car again, walking in a trance, his mind whirling. This was what he had dreaded the most. Denny was active again, and many more lives would be ruined. He was glad that the woman had survived, but he knew that she had lived through a horrible ordeal, which would probably keep terrorizing her for a long time, perhaps giving her a life-long psychological trauma. Denny had screwed up another person's life and Tim hadn't been good enough or fast enough to stop it from happening.

He unlocked and opened the car door, sat down in the seat and was just about to stick the key into the ignition when he had a gut feeling that something was wrong. Panic started bubbling in him, but things moved so fast it never had time to fully emerge. For a fraction of a second he saw movement in the corner of his eye before a hand clamped over his mouth and a gun was pushed into his neck.

"Just stay still, Johnny, and everything will be all right," a calm voice said.

Tim didn't recognize the voice. How could he? They hadn't spoken for more than 20 years, and they had both been teenagers then. But there was no doubt in his mind as to who the voice belonged to. Who else would still call him Johnny?

When the hand over his mouth warily let go he simply said, "Denny." He tried to turn his head to look behind him, but the gun's prodding on his cheek reversed the motion.

"Have you missed me, little brother?" The tone of voice was so familiar that it made Tim's heart ache. He could actually hear Denny's crooked smile behind him.

"No," Tim lied. "And you didn't miss me either."

"I'm going to hand you a pair of handcuffs now," Denny said, without acknowledging Tim's statement. "I want you to cuff yourself to the steering wheel. And don't even think about reaching for your gun."

"You won't hurt me," Tim challenged him.

"Correction. I don't want to hurt you," Denny said, "It's not really the same thing, is it?" He let a pair of cuffs dangle in front of Tim's eyes. Tim slowly reached up and took them, cuffing one link over his left wrist, and then – after a small amount of hesitation – threading the chain through the steering wheel before cuffing the other link over his right wrist.

"Good boy," Denny said and removed the gun from his brother's head. There were some ruffling sounds, and then Tim heard the car door open. Denny walked around the back of the car, opened the passenger side door and slipped into the seat next to Tim. Tim turned his head and under the harsh light of the street lights in the parking lot, he saw for the first time the man his brother had grown in to. He was rather handsome, always had been, with chiseled features, brown eyes and dark brown hair. He looked a lot like their father, Tim reflected.

Denny smiled warmly at him, the way he always had done. Tim swallowed hard. That smile had been such a natural part of his life when he was younger. A mark of approval, something he always sought after and yearned for. Comfort and love. Friendship. His brother had meant so much to him, as a child he could've walked through fire to have that smile directed at him. Now it felt wrong. His brother was an escaped convict, what did he have to smile about?

"You've changed, little brother," Denny said. "It's been a long time."

"Denny," Tim said with a calm he didn't really feel, glancing down at the gun that Denny now rested in his lap with no more than a casual grip. "I'm going to have to arrest you now."

Denny snorted a laugh. "You're not really in a position to do any arresting, now, are you? I couldn't believe it when I heard you'd become a cop," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I had hoped for so much better for you. You were always so smart, I always figured you'd grow up to be a rocket scientist or something."

"How did you even know I was a cop?" Tim said accusingly. "You never read any of Mom's letters, how did you even know my name? How did you know where I live?"

"My lawyer told me that you changed your name a long time ago," Denny told him, "and then I saw you on the news a couple of times. Never told anyone you were my brother, though. Didn't want that reputation, you know." He winked at him.

"What do you want, Denny?" Tim asked. "Why aren't you on a freight ship headed for Dubai or something?"

"Maybe I just wanted to see you," Denny said. "Is that so hard to believe?"

As much as Tim wanted to believe it, he just couldn't. "Yes," he said. "Had you wanted contact you could've had it a long time ago and without breaking out of prison. So what do you want?"

Denny turned very serious. "There is something that I need before I can leave. And I need your help to get it."

Tim shook his head. "I'm not going to help you with anything, unless you're asking for a ride back to prison."

Denny chuckled. "Dry wit! Nice. Did I teach you that?"

"You only had me for 12 years, Denny," Tim said dismissively. "I found other people to mold myself after after that."

"Snarky." Denny stuck his hand into Tim's pockets, one after the other, until he found his wallet. Opening it he helped himself to all the cash Tim carried – a crisp emergency hundred dollar bill, a couple of twenties and a whole lot of pennies. "You don't mind, do you little brother? After all, I've got to eat."

"The prison cafeteria will serve you for free," Tim said gruffly.

"But alas, they so seldom serve pecan pie," Denny grinned. "Do you remember Nana McGee's pecan pie? To die for, for sure."

Tim snorted an involuntary laugh and was suddenly struck with a sense of normalcy. Sitting here, trading jibs, memories and even smiles with Denny. Just like how it had always been between them. As if time had stood still. Except he was handcuffed to the steering wheel and Denny was holding a gun and 22 years and 13 murdered women had come between them.

"What is it you want, Denny?" he asked again, tiredly. "You didn't look me up to reminisce about Nana's pies."

Denny cocked his head and looked at him. "I want to know what happened to my stuff."

"What?" Tim frowned surprised. "What stuff?"

"My stuff, my possessions, my worldly goods, all the things I owned when I went away," Denny reiterated. "What did you do with it?"

"Good will mostly," Tim said, confused. He hadn't expected this. "We had to move out of the house pretty fast and to a pretty small apartment, so we just gave it away."

"But not all of it, right?" Denny said hopefully. "I know you never would have parted with my comic book collection."

Tim bit his lip. He had him there. "Well, sure, I kept the comic books and the baseball cards and some books. Maybe Mom kept photos and your yearbooks and things like that, I don't know, some keepsakes, in case Sarah or I would want it when we grew up. I don't really remember, Denny. It was a long time ago."

"Sure you remember," Denny said. "You always remembered everything."

Tim shook his head. "You can't know that. I was just a kid, you can't think you still know me. Things change. Our lives changed a lot after you went away. I changed a lot. But you never thought about that, did you? About what we did afterwards. You haven't even asked about the rest of the family. You haven't asked how Mom is doing, or Dad or Sarah. You haven't asked… You never thought about what effect the things you did would have on the rest of us. You never thought—"

"Some things never change," Denny interrupted him stubbornly. "You do know. Are you sure that only Mom and Sarah have my things? No one else?"

Suddenly Tim saw red. "Don't you dare touch Sarah! Don't even get close to her or I'll shoot you on the spot. Besides, she doesn't have anything. Not a single thing. She doesn't even remember you. So don't go anywhere near her!"

"Relax, Johnny," Denny tried to pacify him. "I just want my things. I wasn't going to hurt her. She's my sister, for god's sake!"

But Tim was still angry and couldn't keep it inside. "Well, Elena was Oliver's sister, so I know you don't spare women just because they're somebody's sister. Do you remember Elena and Oliver? My best friend Oliver? Do you remember the 4th of July party we had in their backyard? Do you rememb—"

"DON'T!" Denny suddenly shouted, his hand gripping Tim's arm hard. "Don't talk about them. She's not yours to talk about."

"She's not yours either!" Tim shouted back, shaking his arm, trying to dislodge his brother. "She never was, but you took her anyway, didn't you? She was a wonderful young woman who you brutally murdered, sending her family into a grief that stripped them of their future, their belief in good and security. You gave them permanent nightmares and a long life forever marred with the knowledge that someone very important to them will never come back to them again. Do you know how many lives you have ruined? Do you even care?"

"You always had such strong convictions, Johnny," Denny said between clenched teeth. "Even when you were little. Right and wrong, black and white. No gray zones in your world."

"This has nothing to do with my world views," Tim hissed angrily. "You raped and murdered 13 women. Some were friends of our family. You killed my best friend's sister! That's wrong to everyone, not just me. Even you must know that that's wrong."

"Yeah," Denny sighed dejectedly. "Yeah, Johnny, that's what they all tell me. Thing is, it always felt so right."

McGee gulped. "That doesn't matter. It's still wrong. How have you… What have you been thinking about all these years? Do you ever think back on it? Wonder what really happened? Wonder what possessed you? Regret anything?"

Denny sighed again and then he reached out and cupped Tim's neck. He leaned in and rested his forehead against Tim's temple. "Stop caring, Johnny. You're never going to get the answer you want."

"You don't think you owe me an explanation?" Tim asked.

"I don't owe anyone anything," Denny stated.

"But you're my brother," Tim all but pleaded.

Denny turned his head away. "That's just a word. It doesn't mean anything."

"It means something to me," Tim said, twisting in his brother's grip. "In fact, it means a whole lot to me. And it does to you too. Otherwise you wouldn't care whether I cared or not."

Denny pulled back, then he kissed Tim on the forehead and released the hold on his neck. "You shouldn't think so much, Johnny. It'll just give you grief. I doubt we'll ever meet again. I just need to find my stuff, then I'll disappear forever."

Tim panicked and tried to stall. "If you tell me exactly what you are looking for, then maybe I could tell you what happened to it. The comic books are up in my apartment."

"I didn't break out of jail to read 30 year old copies of The Hulk, Johnny," Denny said tiredly. "Your comics are safe from me. Besides, I've already been in your apartment, I didn't find anything."

"Why did you break out then?" Tim asked. "To kill more women? Like that woman in Georgetown?"

Denny looked genuinely puzzled. "What woman in Georgetown?"

Tim frowned. "That wasn't you?"

Denny shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then what have you been doing?" Tim wanted to know. "Where have you been hiding? Where did you get the gun? The clothes? Why are you here? Why did you break out?"

"Why?" Denny asked. "You've never been to prison, have you, Johnny?"

"Not as an inmate, no."

"Then you will never understand." Denny put his hand in Tim's jacket pocket and extracted Tim's phone. "Here." He put it in Tim's hand. "Call someone to come free you. Good bye."

"No, Denny! Wait!" Tim cringed at the sound of his own voice. It wasn't the sturdy voice of a special agent detaining a suspect, it was the voice of a little brother with abandonment issues. "You left me." He hadn't meant to say that, but it had slipped out before he could stop himself.

Denny stopped, halfway out of the car, listening.

"You didn't care. You just left me behind and didn't even look back." His voice waivered. "How could you do that to me?"

Denny didn't even turn around. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Johnny," he said. "You were always the better man. The better brother…" Then he stepped out of the car and shut the door, leaving the key for the cuffs in plain sight on the passenger seat.

McGee turned on the speaker function on his phone and found the Gibbs' number without even looking. He kept his eyes on the rearview mirrors, tracking his brother. But Denny hurriedly walked away without looking back before turning the corner and disappearing from view.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered the phone.

"Boss, I just saw Denny," McGee said. "He's on foot, I think, heading west on Chestnut Street."

"Are you all right?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm fine," McGee assured him. "But I think he's going after my parents next. You have to protect them, Boss!"

"We will," Gibbs assured him. "Where are you?"

"At home," McGee said. "In the parking lot behind my house. But… I need some help. Denny cuffed me to my steering wheel; someone has to come let me loose. But go after Denny first!"

"We can do both," Gibbs said gruffly. "Sit tight." Then he hung up.

xxx

TBC…