A/N: I would like to give everyone out there who reads this story a hug. And to those who review: Thank you! :) So sorry I can't respond to them individually but I'm trying (college is a pain in the butt) and thanks for reading!

BTW, a quick word on Tuesday's episode *stop readying if you don't want to read some spoilers*...so Tony goes to a therapist? What kind? Hmmm...Oh, and that lawyer chick...who else wished Gibbs had shot her upon entering his house? lol juuust kidding....

Chapter Three

"What happened to this shirt?" Natalie peaked into Tim's study, the shirt in hand.

"I ripped it tackling a suspect today," Tim said quickly, trying to appear consumed in his work.

"Uhuh," Natalie responded, lifting an eyebrow, "I'm assuming Ziva and Wilson will corroborate that story?"

Tim turned, facing his wife. She had an expectant expression on her face and Tim bit his lower lip. How could she tell when he was lying?

"I tripped," Tim finally said, "My shoe got caught on a bump in the sidewalk and my shirt got caught on something. And please don't call Wilson to confirm my story. It took all day for Wilson to look at me and not burst into laughter."

Natalie smiled at Tim, "Very Special Agent Timothy McGee taken out by a bump? I could see where Dwayne would find that a bit comical."

"Wilson finds everything comical," Tim pouted, turning to stop facing his wife and instead looking back at his type writer, "Most the time though, he keeps it to himself."

Laughing at him as he pouted, Natalie smacked him good naturedly on the shoulder before walking out, leaving her husband to his writing.

Letting out a deep breath slowly, Tim twiddled his thumbs, figuratively, trying to find some inspiration. His fans were waiting for the next book in his Deep Six series but even veiled threats on his answering machine left by his agent hadn't helped him any.

He just didn't have anything to say anymore. Sure, he could come up with tons of stories and take his characters through plot line after plot line, but in the end it didn't matter because he would hate himself for writing something that he didn't particularly want to say.

Picking up another rough draft and sending it through the shredder, Tim jumped when he suddenly felt a cold wet nose touching his exposed calf.

"Probie," Tim said, giving his beloved German Shepherd a nice rub down, "I didn't even hear you walk in."

Licking his hand in return for the rub, Probie placed his chin on Tim's thigh, looking up at his master with deep brown soulful eyes. Tim laughed at him.

"Fine," Tim said finally, never have been able to resist that puppy dog look, "Go get your leash."

Doing a quick about face and hurrying out of the office, Probie disappeared down the hall and into the laundry room, no doubt getting his leash from the hook.

Tim walked to his room and put on a pair of sweats followed by his tennis shoes.

Maybe a run was exactly what he needed to help clear his mind and inspire him to write something worth saying.

"Special Agent McGee?"

"Oh," Tim said, smiling, setting down the files he had brought up from Abby's lab on his desk, "I'm sorry for leaving so quickly. I meant to look for you when we got back from the crime scene but we were never properly introduced."

"My name is Morgan Smith from the PR department," the woman, who Tim know knew was Morgan Smith, smiled, "And I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner. We've been a bit swamped and Julie just went on maternity leave and her fill in is proving to be more of a harm than a help…"

"Was there something you needed to tell me?" Tim cut in as politely as he could. This Ms. Smith could be long winded at times and McGee wondered if she was at all related to Ducky…

"Ah yes," Ms. Smith said, coming back to herself, "Sorry about that. I tend to get a bit sidetracked sometimes."

"No problem," Tim smiled.

Morgan Smith smiled before biting her lips slightly and glancing at a paper in her hand, "Anyway, about three weeks ago, which was just around I started here actually, I took some messages that was suppose to be forwarded to you but because you were currently on a vacation and because the phone systems were down that day, I took hard copy messages."

Tim looked from the papers to Ms. Smith expectantly, silently hopping she would finish what she had to say before Gibbs came back from Vance's office. When he did, he was pretty sure Ms. Smith wouldn't be allowed another word in edgewise.

"However," Ms. Smith continued, "I had to take many messages that day and I have been trying to pass them out in the order in which they were received, not an easy task mind you, because many people are never in the place that the directory says they should be."

Tim smiled. The PR secretaries were always busy, having to deal with almost all the calls that were received by NCIS. They had the job of weeding through the important and the not so important while also making sure to direct calls to their appropriate places and apparently, taking messages when the phone system went out.

"Anyway," Ms. Smith's voice brought Tim's focus back to the conversation, or more appropriately Ms. Smith's monologue, "Here you go. You received four messages from that time and here they are."

Accepting the small pink papers with a thanks and a nod, Tim said his goodbyes to the somewhat odd secretary before looking down at the papers in his hand.

"McGee," Gibbs' voice rang out as he walked down the stairs, "Grab Wilson and head on over to the victim's house. Make sure you talk to his CO before you leave the base."

Folding the pink message papers in half and placing them in the top drawer of his desk for later, Tim grabbed his badge and his weapon.

"Um Boss?" Tim asked, looking around the bull pen.

"Yeah McGee?" Gibbs lifted an eyebrow and looked above his reading glasses at his Senior Field Agent, "Is there a problem?"

Tim paused momentarily, glancing around the bull pen, "Where's Wilson?" Tim asked.

"Check Abby's lab," Gibbs responded, before looking back at his papers, signaling that the conversation was over.

Tim nodded his thanks, knowing that somehow Gibbs would see it even if he wasn't directly looking at him, before taking the stairs to Abby's lab.

"Wilson," Tim called out into Abby's seemingly empty lab, "Wilson!"

"McGee," Wilson said, coming out of his hiding spot from behind Abby's desk, "Thank heavens it's you. For a second, I thought it was Abby coming back from Ducky's."

"What the heck are you doing on the floor?" McGee asked, peering around to see just why his junior agent was crouched on his knees.

"I was trying to hide Abby's birthday present," Wilson said quickly, "I hide it, she finds it, I've been doing it since her first birthday that I was on the team."

"Uhuh," Tim nodded, "Still doesn't explain-"

Tim paused, midsentence when he got a closer look at what exactly Wilson was working so hard to pick up.

"What," Tim tried to speak but was caught off guard by the emotion that quickly spread through him, "Is that-"

"I didn't mean to," Wilson said, working all that more frantically to pick up the pictures, "I mean, I've never hidden anything in here before and she's never said anything about it so I didn't think there was a problem until I opened the box and bam, all this stuff spills out."

Bending down on one knee, Tim quickly, and carefully, helped Wilson pick up the last of the pictures before putting them back in the box.

"Don't touch these again Wilson," Tim said, standing and helping the younger man up on his feet, "I don't...I…Just don't mess with them again."

His eyes big, Wilson nodded before hurrying out of the lab, "I'll get the car!"

Tim sighed, looking back at the closed drawer, before he too walked out of the lab. He hadn't known Abby had kept track but if McGee was honest with himself, he wouldn't have expected anything less.

Hurrying up the stairs, Tim tried to figure out just why exactly his eyes had burned and his heart had momentarily stopped back in Abby's lab.

It hadn't been the photos, because Abby still had a few of pictures of Tony around the lab, though with each passing year Tim had noticed that one by one each one disappeared only to be placed into what Tim now knew was the box in the bottom drawer of one of Abby's desks.

No, Tim shook his head, it hadn't been the pictures that had made these emotions rise in him. It had been the number that had been written on the eraser board on the very top of the box.

One thousand, nine hundred and sixty seven days.

That's how long it had been since they had last seen Tony.

Opening the door to the parking lot and looking for the black Charger that had Wilson behind the wheel, Tim tried to shake off the number that was haunting his brain and instead focus on the case at hand.

A/N: I'm not going to tell you how many years/months that is. Use those brains people! (Or a calculator, which ever is more convient for you, especially if you have one on your computer...)

Hopefully, the next chapter will be up Tuesday. :)