Hey guys! I'm back. Anyways, I actually have an excuse this time! I'll tell you more about it at the end of the chapter. For now, enjoy reading!

Oh, this chapter focuses on the team, starting the night Gibbs gets back after meeting with McGee and Malloy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of NCIS, including characters mentioned in the following story.

x.x.x.x.x

Tuesday Evening

Whatever conversation had been going on between the figures huddled around Tim's empty desk was cut short as Gibbs walked into the room. He ignored his team, plus Ducky, and sat down at his desk. He pulled out his badge and gun and laid them in their designated drawer. He continued to ignore the others, even as the silence from the near empty squad room pressed down on him. Gibbs pulled the case file that had been left out for him over and began to read. He waited to see who would break first.

A soft rustle as someone shifted, but no other sounds. Someone, most likely Ducky, cleared his throat. Still Gibbs didn't look up. A grunt of impatience signaled that Tony had reached his limit.

"So?" Tony asked, his voice sounding irritated.

Gibbs glanced up at the expectant faces. "What?"

Tony looked as if he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "So, how did everything go? How's McSpy doing?"

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, face expressionless. "He's fine."

Ziva stepped closer to his desk. "Where is he? He did not return with you last night."

"You were there. Tony was watching. You know what happened."

"Where is he now?" Ziva asked curtly.

"With Malloy." Gibbs replied to each of her questions with the same amount of shortness.

"So everything went fine?" Tony asked, the smallest hint of relief playing at the corners of his lips.

Ducky, however, noticed the strain on Gibbs' face. "Jethro," he said gently. "What happened?"

"Nothing: Malloy signed the contract, she's taking McGee back to the plantation tomorrow, and we've got this assignment underway."

"Jethro…" Ducky pressed gently.

Gibbs sighed. Ziva, Tony, and Ducky exchanged alarmed looks. "Unless McGee gets this case wrapped up quick, he could spend up to a year with Malloy."

Ducky looked concerned, Ziva's expression relaxed, but Tony's jaw dropped. "A year," the younger man croaked. "A whole year? You're… you're kidding, right?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow, but Tony plowed on. "Boss, are you sure about that? I mean, did you let McGee make that decision?"

The Senior Agent frowned and stood. "Of course it was his decision. He wanted the chance, I let him."

"But-"

"We did what we could," Gibbs stated firmly. "It was either let him do it or call off the whole thing. McGee said he could do it, so we're gonna let him. We clear?"

"But-"

A smack resounded through the office, leaving Tony's head stinging. Gibbs eyed him steadily. "I said: Are we clear?"

"Crystal, Boss," Tony grumbled.

"Good." He glared at the others. Ducky was giving him a look that said he wanted to speak with him, but Ziva still said nothing. Gibbs shook his head and headed out to get a coffee. "Go home. We can't do anything else tonight."

Once he was out of sight, Tony raised his hand to rub his head. "Man, that one hurt," he moaned. He glared in the direction Gibbs had left. "Anyone else get the feeling Boss doesn't like this whole thing anymore than I do?"

"Something is troubling him," Ducky admitted. "But I doubt that we are going to get any more out of him tonight. Therefore, I bid you both goodnight." He nodded to the agents and headed towards the elevator, a troubled look still present on his countenance.

Tony rolled his eyes, but Ziva merely shrugged. "Gibbs is right. We have much work to do. McGee will need as much help from us as he can get if he is to survive this."

The Italian man shook his head. "Oh, but according to Gibbs, McGee is just fine!" he grumbled. Whether Ziva chose to ignore him, or she agreed with his sentiment, Tony couldn't tell.

.-.-.

Wednesday

They were taunting him. Just sitting there, so innocently. Tony's hands itched, wanting to pick them up, but he resisted. He knew they would do him absolutely no good. If anything, they would just get him in trouble. As he glanced at them again, however, his resolve cracked. He reached into his drawer, grabbed a paper ball, and hurled it across the room.

Ziva, instead of catching it, simply swatted it and sent it flying back into its owners face. Tony let out an unmanly squeak as the ball unexpectedly bounced off his forehead. He sighed. "You're no fun."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I can be 'fun' when I wish to be, Tony," she explained. "However, at the moment I am trying to work."

"So am I!" Tony cried, his hand inching towards another projectile. "I'm 'working' on perfecting my aim from this angle." He launched another ball at the Israeli, but she merely tilted her head to the side, allowing the paper wad to pass her harmlessly. Tony pouted at her as she smirked.

"What happened to all that talent you boast of?"

Tony snorted. "Even the best player will miss a shot if he's not prepared. You're a new target, and I need to practice!" A third ball made the journey across the room.

This time, Ziva caught it. She glared at him. "Next time you make an attempt, I will retaliate." Tony eyed the multitude of office objects on her desk and wisely dumped the rest of the paper into the trash. "Very good."

Tony sighed and leaned back in his chair, linking his hand behind his head to stare at the ceiling. "But now I'm bored!"

Ziva rolled her eyes as he swung his legs up onto his desk. "If you would shut up and help me locate information on Kyle Parks, perhaps you would not be so bored?"

"But that's what McG-" Tony cut off abruptly as his eyes slid over to the empty desk beside him. His face darkened for a moment, but when he turned back to Ziva, a forced smile was on his lips. "Why can't we just call up another geek to do some techno-magic for us?"

His partner raised her eyebrows at him. "Techno-magic?"

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, like McGeek does. Puts in the information and pops out an answer. I'm sure plenty of guys downstairs can do it. No sense in us wasting time doing the searching when we could actually be tracking this guy down."

The room was silent for a moment. With Ziva staring at him levelly, Tony shifted uncomfortably. In spite of himself, he glanced over once again to Tim's desk. "Is that what you think of McGee's abilities? That he is just another, as you put it, geek?"

"What?" Tony's eyes snapped back to her.

"I do not think I need to repeat myself," Ziva spoke coolly.

"How… How could you think I'd think that?" Tony asked, affronted.

"You seem to think he is replaceable."

Her partner gaped at her for a full five seconds before sputtering out a reply. "Get off it Ziva! McGoo's my bud! The Robin to my Batman, the Trapper to my Hawkeye, the Spock to my Captain Kirk, the… the T.C to my Magnum! Like you could replace that!"

Ziva narrowed her eyes at him. "You have not answered my question."

Tony glared at her, his legs sliding from the desk as he sat up straight. "Alright, Miss Da-vid. No, I don't think McGee's just another computer nerd. No, I don't think he's replaceable. Fact is, when it comes to working with computers, he's better than anyone in this damn building. Okay?"

"But how do you view the rest of him, outside the geekiness?" Ziva pressed. "In every one of your analogies – even though I did not understand all of them – you seemed to place McGee as the lower of the two partners. The… oh, something about kicking them?"

"You mean sidekicks?"

"Yes! Exactly! You consider him your sidekick, do you not?"

Tony pondered this for a moment. "Well, what person doesn't cast themselves as the hero in their own life story?"

"Perhaps, with the way you treat him, McGee also identifies himself as the 'sidekick'," she told him evenly.

"Are you sayin' that-"

"She'd better be saying she found me info on our want-to-be-Seal turned bodyguard," Gibbs growled as he strolled into the bullpen.

"But Boss-"

"Gibbs I-"

"Finish acting like four-year-olds later. Find me something!" The old Marine glared at the two agents. "Now!"

Ziva sent Tony a look before turning back to her computer. The Italian stared at her for a few moments, a dark look shading his features. He only hoped his anger at her hid the seeds of guilt he could feel growing in his chest.

"DiNozzo!"

"Working, Boss."

.-.-.

Thursday

Gibbs sipped his coffee irritably as he watched the elevator closely. Every time the doors opened and revealed another NCIS worker his mood darkened. Finally the man he wanted to see stepped out of the car behind several agents.

"Bout damn time you got here," Gibbs growled.

"Nice to see you too, Jethro," Fornell said as he rolled his eyes as he followed Gibbs back to his desk. "Who pissed in your coffee this morning?"

Gibbs merely snorted and glared. He didn't say anything until he was seated behind his desk, frowning as Fornell sat on the corner. "I've got more important things to do than be talking to you," he said lowly.

"Not my fault," the FBI agent argued. "My director is a bit touchy about your man's assignment and he's wants to know how yesterday went."

"It went," Gibbs replied. "What more do you need to know."

"Grumpy today, are we?" Fornell chuckled. "Maybe someone really *did* piss in your coffee."

"Get off it Tobias," Gibbs snapped.

Fornell was quiet a moment, studying his old friend. With a sigh he stood up and walked back to elevator. Gibbs followed without a word. Once they were between floors the switch was flipped. Fornell sipped his own coffee and gave Gibbs a sidelong glance. "What happened?"

"Nothing, everything went fine. Perfect even," Gibbs admitted with a sigh.

"Too perfect?"

"Not quite," Gibbs shook his head. "Malloy asked for Tim for a year."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Fornell asked. "Gives him, and us, more time to nail whoever is running the show."

"Something doesn't feel right about it," was all Gibbs could really say.

"What? Jealous your boy gets to spend "quality time" with such a gorgeous red-head," Fornell snickered into his coffee.

"Tobias…" Gibbs warned.

"I know what you're feeling," Fornell said as he held his hand palm up in defense. "He's the kid, the least experienced. This is his first big assignment out on his own, and you're worried that tripling the length of the original plan will get to his head, freak him out a bit. He'll do fine Jethro."

"He's not just some rookie," Gibbs argued. "He's been with me for seven years."

"No," Fornell conceded, "but he's *your* rookie. I've heard the stories; know 'em better than anyone else outside your team. You hand picked him: pushed his transfer through within a week, had him on your team working cases within another. It's thanks to you that McGee is one of the strongest agents in your agency. I think that because he's one of the best, you're more nervous about this op than any other assignment you've given him. You're just as worried as he is about this mission going haywire. He thinks that if he messes up, you'll never give him another chance. You, on the other hand, think that he'll never *take* another chance. But let me tell you," Fornell said slowly, "and you should know this, but if you try to hover over him, he *will* choke. Give him space, and let him do this. I think you'll be surprised what McGee can turn out."

Gibbs smirked. "He's been on the job less than a week and he's already on task."

Fornell raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Wordlessly Gibbs handed over the file he had been carrying. Fornell took it with a curious look at Gibbs. He flipped it opened and studied the picture of the broad shouldered man in uniform. "Mean looking one, isn't he?"

"Kyle Peter Parks," Gibbs said, watching as Fornell flipped through the papers. "Navy SEAL recruit, failed to pass the Combat Swimmer skillset and was dropped from the program."

"Think he holds a grudge?" Fornell asked. "That's a bit extreme if he does. Those boys go in knowing the SEAL dropout rate is ninety percent."

"His grandfather was one of the first SEALs in Vietnam," Gibbs explained. "Seems his family's been grooming him since birth to follow in the man's footsteps."

"Those are some big boots to fill," Fornell commented. "Guessing he didn't take it too well when he found out he didn't make the cut?"

"He had to be escorted off the compound after punching out one of the instructors," Gibbs said dryly. "My team finally turned up some this morning. DiNozzo and David are headed down to Chesapeake to speak with his family."

"Hope it turns up something," Fornell said, closing the folder. "I'm guessing it's all just speculation at this point?"

"Nothing concrete," the NCIS agent confirmed. Silence fell between the two agents. Both sipped their coffee, waiting for the other to speak.

Finally Fornell broke the quiet. "He'll be fine, Jethro."

"You seem pretty confident," Gibbs said with a glance. "How do you know?"

Fornell shrugged and started the elevator again. Once it reached the ground floor, he turned and gave his friend a small smirk. "He's one of yours."

.-.-.

Friday Morning

Tony stared at the snack machine. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry, but he just had to get away from the bullpen. The air in the squad room was tense today. Yesterday hadn't gone well, as Tony and Ziva's visit to Parks' family hadn't turned up much other than the fact that his parents hadn't been in contact with their son since he was dropped from the SEAL program. Both Tony and Ziva had searched for any sign of Parks, but it seemed as if he had dropped off the world after he left the SEALs, not to be seen or heard from until he was hired by the Malloys. Neither agent had relished telling Gibbs they had turned up nothing. Their failure obviously annoyed Gibbs, so both agents were trying their hardest to lay low.

Unconsciously, Tony pressed a button on the machine and waited for his snack to drop down. Almost without thinking, he grabbed the plastic package and sat down in one of the many chairs scattered around the break room. He tore open the packaging and took a bite of one of the cookies inside. His eyebrows rose as he tasted peanut butter. With a surprised glance he studied the cookie: a half-eaten Nutter-Butter lay innocently in his palm. He grinned as he popped the rest of the snack in his mouth.

His thoughts turned to Tim as he enjoyed his snack. Was the younger man ok? How was he adjusting to life as an escort? Was he missing the team yet? Tony swallowed thickly at his next though: would Tim even miss him at all?

Tony had been in shock Tuesday when Gibbs had returned from his meeting with Malloy and informed the team that Tim might be gone for a year. A whole year. It would be the longest they had ever gone without seeing each other, without even communicating. Even when Tony was an agent afloat they had been able to talk once or twice over video, and a handful of other times through email. Now the most contact Tony could have with his partner of seven years was a few words passed through Gibbs.

He shook his head of his depressing thoughts. Tony DiNozzo did *not* do depressed unless he had indulged in copious amounts of alcohol. He shoved another cookie into his mouth, and promptly chocked on it as a hand clapped his shoulder.

"There you are," Jimmy said lightly, oblivious to Tony's coughing. "I've been looking for you."

"Palmer!" Tony gasped. "Don' do that or you might be seeing me on a table in your dungeon downstairs!"

Jimmy gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry Tony. Didn't mean to startle you. And hopefully it's a long time before you end up in the morgue. Although," he said, suddenly looking thoughtful, "I would be fascinated to examine your lungs after you die. Few doctors have witnessed lungs damaged by y-pestis. I suppose the scars would be similar to the damaged produce by severe pneumonia, seeing as the y-pestis developed into pneumonia, but it would be interesting to-" he trailed off at the look on Tony's face. "Uh… sorry…"

"You are so weird," Tony said with an apprehensive look at the younger man. "So, what did you need?"

"Well, you and McGee were so busy arguing last week when you brought Dr. Mallard some paperwork that you forgot to sign some stuff. Since McGee isn't here, I need your signatures."

"Sign on the dotted line?" Tony asked with a smile, taking the stack of papers.

"Actually I think they're solid lines." Ton raised his eyebrow. Jimmy coughed uncomfortably. "Just sign them, please."

"Alright." Tony took the pen he was offered and silently began to put his name on the documents. Five pages later he was done. He lifted his head and hand to return the papers. He frowned at the look the autopsy assistant was giving him. "Something catch your eye, Gremlin?"

Jimmy frowned right back. "You feeling ok, Tony?"

"Peachy…" Tony sighed. "Why?"

"You look… stressed."

"So?"

Jimmy swallowed and nearly took a step back at the tone Tony used. "Uh… it's just…" He swallowed again and seemed to harden his resolve. "I've seen you tense when a case is tough, I've seen you nervous when Agent Gibbs is in a mood, and I've even seen you sad and upset when Agents have died, but… I've never seen you look *stressed* before." He gave Tony a sympathetic look. "What's up?"

Tony sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Nothing. I'm just being an idiot."

Jimmy grabbed another chair and straddled it, facing the older man. "Tell me about it."

Tony scoffed. "No thanks." When Jimmy didn't move, just stared, he sighed. "Fine. I'm not stressed. I'm just… concerned."

"About what?" Jimmy asked patiently. Tony opened his mouth, but quickly bit his lip. Jimmy smiled. "Let me guess. It's McGee, isn't it?"

"No," Tony said tartly. Jimmy merely adjusted his glasses and gazed over the rims, much like Ducky was prone to do. Tony let out a little huff of air. "Fine. Yes. It's Tim. So? I'm just worried. Just a bit, ya know?"

Jimmy nodded sagely. "What's there to be worried about? He's a good agent. You know that: probably better than anyone else knows. I mean," the medical assistant chuckled, "he's Gibbs picked and DiNozzo trained."

"I didn't have anything to do with it," Tony mumbled, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. His eyes lowered again when he heard a snort. He was greeted with the sight of a grinning Jimmy. "What?" he asked irritably.

"A modest DiNozzo," he joked. "Wish I had a camera." He merely chuckled when he received a glare. "Don't be so… well, un-Tony. Take pride in what you've done for McGee. From what I hear, Gibbs may have picked him, but you're the one that took him under your wing."

"But what if he doesn't get that, Jimmy?" Tony said, suddenly sitting up and leaning on his elbows towards Jimmy. "What if Ziva's right, and Tim sees all the crap I put him through as me just looking down on him?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Wow… ok, um… let me try to explain this. When Gibbs smacks you, do you take it as a personal insult?"

Tony blinked. "Uh… no?"

"Right. When you and Tim correct Ziva, does she get mad?"

"Well, not really angry, just annoyed."

"And when everyone makes fun of me for my driving," Jimmy said with a knowing smile, "I don't really get upset. Do you get what I'm saying?" Tony just looked at him. "I mean: McGee gets that you don't mean it, because that's how you work. Give him some credit. Trust me, if McGee wasn't ok with you teasing him, do you really think he'd just take it?"

Tony was quiet. An echo of Tim's voice rang through his mind. Within his head, Tony once again listened as Tim calmly ordered the mechanics to get his car fixed on time and underprice. He smiled. "Probie doesn't let anyone push him around… not anymore."

Jimmy smiled. "Now you're getting it."

Tony grinned at the younger man. "Thanks Palmer," he said as he stood, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed.

"No problem," Jimmy replied to the retreating agent. He shook his head fondly and returned to his own work.

.-.-.

Friday afternoon

Tony had disappeared several minutes ago and Gibbs was nowhere to be found. Ziva was glad for the quiet: the tension resonating from Gibbs' team had had everyone in the squad room on their toes. After a quick glance around, Ziva returned to her work with a contented sigh.

Another minute passed in silence. Ziva shifted uncomfortably. She stretched in her chair and tried to focus back on her work. The clacking of her keyboard was the only sound inside the bullpen, but the quiet hum of the office outside the bullpen pulled her attention away. Ziva shook her head in frustration. Normally these things did not bother her. Once again she forced herself to study her computer screen, willing her mind to concentrate on the task at hand. The silence continued undisturbed.

Ziva pushed away from her desk with a growl. She couldn't focus! No matter how hard she tried to get back to work, she couldn't concentrate. Something was off and it was keeping her from thinking. She glared around the room, letting her eyes sweep over the three empty desks. After a moment they slid back to the middle desk, the only desk that was completely clear.

Now she realized what was wrong. The silence was too great to ignore. Normally jokes, casual conversations, and laughter echoed around the bullpen. Even when the team was deeply engrossed in their work, the slightest sounds from her teammates reached Ziva's ears. There once was a time that Ziva relished any bit of silence she could get, but now it was just too foreign. The chatter of her partners was something she had gotten accustomed to, and now it was obvious how much she had taken it for granted. The banter back and forth between the agents was, in her opinion, the physical representation of the balance of the team. With Tim gone, that balance was no longer there.

Ziva wearily stood from her chair. Perhaps a cup of tea would help her finish her work. She glanced once again at the empty desks. If this void was what Tim's absence caused, perhaps it would not be as easy to survive these next few months as she once thought.

.-.-.

Friday Evening

There was music, but it was softer than normal. The beat was as fast as always and the bass rung out just as powerful as normal. The volume was merely turned down to a more normal volume. But whenever Abby Sciuto did anything normally it was a signal something was wrong.

Abby stared her computer, willing it to produce answers she knew would only come after hours of processing. The evidence she had been given only half an hour ago was from Agent Balboa, not her special A-team. Gibbs had not come to speak to her since the previous week. Neither had Tony or Ziva. Her eyes began to tear up as she thought of one more Very Special Agent she hadn't seen in over a week. One that she wouldn't see for the next several months.

With a weary sigh she pushed away from her workspace, spinning in her chair to face the wall. Tacked to the wall, where shrines to her musketeers and Gibbs had once hung, was a picture of Tim. It wasn't his formal NCIS ID photo, though she had considered using it. Instead she chose a candid photo one of the agents (most likely Tony) had snapped off at a crime scene. Tim was facing the camera, but his gaze was fixed on a point beyond the photographer. His shoulders were relaxed but squared, accentuating his height and lithe frame. His eyes shone with a confidence he rarely showed, and a small smirk played on his lips. This confident agent, a young man who was content with his place in the world, was a rare side of Tim. Abby sighed nostalgically, wondering what happened to the terrified kid who stuttered as he asked her to dinner.

Surrounding the picture were four sticky notes, each with a number and a message: "Please be okay." "I miss you." "Come home soon." "Stay Safe."

Abby grabbed a pink note off the pad and scribbled on it with a sharpie. She slid off her chair and walked over to the display. After giving the note a quick kiss, she pinned the note to the ever growing collage. A single tear rolled down her cheek. With a swipe of her hand she knocked it away. She spun on her heel, her swinging lab coat causing a breeze to ruffle the new note.

"Day 5: I'm sorry."

x.x.x.x.x

So… what do you think? I'm not satisfied with Ziva's bit, but I'm discovering that she is really hard to write for.

Anyways, I mentioned before that I actually have an excuse. My boyfriend recently learned of my writing hobby and has requested my help on a project. You see, he's a Dungeon Master (he's such a nerd!) and has asked me to convert his DnD group's gaming campaign into a full-blown story. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be, and it's taking up most of my writing time. I mean, they're not even half-way through the game yet! It's going to take forever to finish.

Until next time, my beloved readers! Please review?