Special Agent Timothy McGee felt an unaccustomed confidence as he strode to his desk in the squad room at the Navy Yard. He was wearing a new non-iron puppy tooth dress shirt in a, for him, daring pale green; but he was not afraid.

The reason for this unusual courage was that he and the rest of the MCRT, plus a tearful Abby, had waved Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo off on a week-long vacation the previous day. Usually McGee had to brace himself to wear something new to work. DiNozzo had an unerring eye for every detail of his colleagues' attire and a corresponding knowledge of the maker of each garment, its price and where it had been bought. McGee sometimes thought that if the US Navy could harness Tony's analytical skills for other uses, the defence budget could be halved.

Tony did not limit himself to an instant appraisal of clothing's price and designer credentials but was apt to give his honest opinion about the suitability of the garment for its wearer. In practice the only person who ever 'benefitted' from his knowledge was Tim as Special Agent Gibbs rarely wore anything new and, even more rarely, welcomed a DiNozzo sartorial appraisal.

Tim suspected that the green shirt would have languished at the back of his closet for months if it had not been for Tony's absence. He thought that Tony would have teased him for buying non-iron; known that it had been half-price and insinuated that the sales assistant had been wrong to suggest that the colour would bring out Tim's eyes.

"It reminds me of when we were on the USS Chimera. Matches the colour of your face when you were making street pizza! Nice one, McNauseous." Tim could hear him say.

Tim shook his head to rid himself of the phantom voice and smoothed the front of the shirt which showed worrying signs of wrinkling. He switched his computer on and then boldly took his jacket off deciding he didn't care if the world saw the glories of the shirt. As he stretched his hands out to greet his keyboard he looked at the sleeves,

"Did you look at it in daylight, McThrifty?" He seemed to hear a voice saying. Tim resolutely put his password in. "Bold colour choice for a young agent making their way in the federal world. What statement do you think it makes with the orange walls …" Tim frowned, "Shut up!"

"Tim?" asked Ellie as she walked to her desk.

"Not you," said Tim apologetically, "Tony."

"Tony? I thought he was on his way to California. Did it get cancelled?"

"No. No," said Tim, "no. I was just thinking of something he said to me."

"Oh. When?"

"Well, actually, never," admitted the ever truthful McGee. "Nice one, McGeorgeWashington," he seemed to hear a familiar voice whisper.

"I see," said Bishop, "uh. No. I don't see."

Tim opened his mouth to attempt an explanation but at that moment Gibbs walked in with his customary cup of coffee,

"Bishop. McGee," he said. As he sat down, he looked across at McGee, "new shirt, Tim?" he asked.

McGee did a brief impersonation of a goldfish as he came to terms with Gibbs not only noticing what he was wearing but also making a comment about it. "Yes, Boss," he managed eventually.

"Huh," was Gibbs' only comment but it had the same devastating effect as one of Tony's ten minute monologues on the subject. Tim sighed as he once again received proof of how much alike Gibbs and DiNozzo could be.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Probably more quietly than any day since Tony had been exiled as agent afloat. Tim went home with a headache.

NCISNCIS

Tim wore one of his nondescript grey shirts the next day but this didn't mean that his period of rebellion was over. McGee might have retreated to his customary shirt shell but the paper bag he clutched in his hand contained, not a besprinkled donut, but a banana nut muffin. Tim had been thinking for some time that he wanted to move away from donuts but had been unable to brace himself for the DiNquisition which would ensue the moment a non-donut appeared on Tim's desk.

"Going bananas? Or is nuts?" came the now familiar phantom voice.

"Is that the best you can do?" asked McGee crossly.

"That wasn't me, that was you, McCranky," came an offended Tony voice, "I have standards, you know."

McGee dropped his head into his hands and moaned softly. He was completely bewildered. Bishop made another of her ill-timed entries.

"Got given a muffin instead of a donut, did you?" she said sympathetically as she worked out the cause of Tim's troubles.

McGee looked up at her with woebegone eyes and tried to think how to explain. As the seconds passed and she looked more and more concerned, McGee panicked and said, "Yes."

"Oh, well," she said cheerfully and greedily, "I love banana muffins. I'll have it."

NCISNCIS

The day passed quietly. Tim had never realised that silence could be so loud or that someone's absence could make a room so crowded. Towards the end of the day he decided on an experiment. Was it really possible for a room to be so quiet that you could hear a pin drop? He tried it but didn't hear anything. Tim tried again and again but heard nothing until Gibbs roared across the squad room,

"Cut it out, McGee! Can't hear myself think with all that noise!"

Tim couldn't hear the pins dropping but he could have sworn he could hear an unsympathetic snort of laughter from a certain empty desk.

McGee went home with another headache that night.

NCISNCIS

McGee came to work the next day wearing a pale blue shirt and bringing a donut for his morning snack. He realised that he couldn't fight the unseen presence in his life. The team had begun another eerily quiet day when Abby arrived for a visit.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs! Bishop, Bishop, Bishop! Tim, Timiny, Tim!"

"Tim, Timiny, Tim?" asked McGee, anxious that another nickname had been added to the list and a little peeved that it wasn't one devised by the mcmaster.

"Don't you like it?" asked Abby, "I thought it was sweet."

McGee sighed. Great. Another sweet name. When was he going to get a manly one?

"What's up, Abs?" asked Gibbs, deciding to forestall any long debate. He was a little worried about McGee who didn't seem to be coping well without DiNozzo to keep him in line.

"Tony sent me a picture," said Abby, "look!" and she produced her tablet.

Ellie and McGee went to stand at Gibbs' desk to look at the photo. It showed Tony sitting by a swimming pool with two small girls sitting next to him with their heads on his shoulders.

"They're a bit young for him, aren't they?" asked Ellie.

"They're his god children," said Gibbs drily.

"Mat and Nat," said Abby.

"Extraordinary," said Ducky who had heard about the photo and had come for a visit. "Why would parents name a child after an insect? And not even a pleasant one. I could understand naming a child Butterfly or Bumble-bee …"

"Could you?" asked Gibbs.

"No, not really, Jethro but at least they have the virtue of being either beautiful or productive. But gnat?"

"It's Matilda and Natalie," said McGee.

"What are?" asked Ducky.

"Their names," said Abby, "Mat and Nat are short for Matilda and Natalie."

"I see. And these are the children of the couple whose wedding Tony has gone to attend?"

"Yep," said Gibbs.

"I suppose they must live what Mother would once have called a Bohemian way of life," sighed Ducky.

"Ducky?" queried McGee.

"You know, Timothy. Living a life unconstrained by society's expectations and rules. Oh, I suppose you might not know."

An ethereal laugh wafted across the squad room, "Ducky's nailed your essence there, McPrude."

Abby ignored these finer shades, "he looks well, doesn't he?"

Ducky was always ready with an opinion, "Indeed. The Californian climate is probably good for his lungs. In another age, he would have been recommended to go to live in such a warm dry place."

Abby made a little moue of protest at the thought of losing Tony so Ducky hurried on, "but of course, that benefit would have to be weighed against the danger of earthquakes."

Abby hugged the tablet to her chest in sudden anxiety about Tony's wellbeing.

"But he's not staying there, is he?" asked McGee in his own sudden anxiety at the thought of only having imaginary Tony for company.

"Not if he knows what's good for him," barked Gibbs, signalling an end to the social gathering around his desk.

As he felt the beginning of another headache, Tim tried to work out why he was finding it more difficult to concentrate in the blissful peace of a DiNozzo free environment. He should have known better.

"It's obvious, McBraniac. You're using 100% of your brain power to do your thinking stuff."

Tim was learning; he managed to keep the conversation silent, "How do you figure that?"

"Usually about 23.8% of your brain power would be diverted to dealing with me."

"Only 23.8%?" said McGee sarcastically, "and why is not having 23.8% of my brain diverted a bad thing?"

"McGoo," came a plaintive response, "your brain isn't used to concentrating 100%. That's why it's hurting."

"That's ridiculous," said McGee.

"Don't blame me."

"Why not?"

"You really think I came up with a figure of 23.8%? Sounds more like you than me, McGee. It even rhymes."

"Going to see Ducky," McGee announced as he stood up.

"Uh," said Gibbs in an affirmative way.

Ellie's eyes followed him to the elevator, "He really misses Tony, doesn't he?"

"Uh," said Gibbs with a shrug.

As McGee entered Autopsy he heard Palmer in conversation with Ducky.

"So I heard that Agent Maquez is going to be retiring soon."

"And where did you hear that, Mr Palmer?"

"From Eddie in the Evidence Garage. He heard it from Liza in Legal."

"Indeed," said Ducky, "I heard it from the Director's secretary."

"So it might be true?" said Jimmy.

"Who's Agent Maquez?" asked Tim.

"Agent Maquez is the Special Agent in Charge at the San Diego Office," said Ducky.

"Do you think Agent DiNozzo is going to apply for the job?" asked Jimmy.

"Well," said Ducky judiciously, "he did seem to be very happy in that photograph. He obviously has good friends in San Diego."

"He has," agreed the annoying phantom voice.

"But," said Tim.

"And it would be good for his health," said Palmer.

"Absolutely."

"Ducky!" said Tim a little too loudly.

"Yes, my boy?"

"May I speak with you? Alone."

"You mean you don't want me?" said the ghostly Tony.

"Of course," said Ducky, "Mr Palmer, would you mind leaving us? I am sure there is something that Abigail would like to distract you with."

When they were alone, Ducky signalled for Tim to sit down, "Now, what can I assist you with, Timothy?"

"Ducky, do you think it's odd that I can … that I can … that … Ducky. I keep hearing Tony in my head!"

"Hey! Perhaps it's like baby birds!"

"What?" said Tim silently.

"You know. Some baby birds. Like geese. They sort of impress themselves on the first creature they see when they hatch. It should be mommy bird but sometimes it's not."

"What you talking about?"

"When our little Probie bird was hatched, the first thing it saw was me. You've attached yourself to me."

"So you're my mom?"

"Er, Timothy," said Ducky anxiously, "do you realise you've been talking to yourself? Unless you think I am your mother?"

"No, it's Tony."

"You think Anthony is your mother?"

"No! He thinks I think he is. But it might be me that thinks he thinks I think he is. I think."

"Why don't I make us a nice cup of tea and you can explain it all to me," said Ducky soothingly.

So Tim explained to Ducky that he had tried to live an independent life while Tony was away but that he was so attuned to Tony's way of thinking that he couldn't get the Senior Field Agent out of his head.

"It was probably too bold an experiment, Timothy," said Ducky, "you should have stuck to your normal routine while Anthony was away and waited for his return before embarking on any changes. You are, after all, more than capable of arguing with Anthony."

"I am?"

"Yes. In fact, I believe you both enjoy it. I would surmise that is why you continued to argue with him in your head."

"You would?"

"I would."

"So I don't need to worry?"

"No," said Ducky, wondering if it was unethical for him to cross his fingers while talking to a patient.

"So you don't think I'm a goose?"

"What?"

"Oh. I forgot. You didn't hear that bit."

"Timothy, you and Anthony work closely together and have learned to anticipate one another. I think you may just be taking it a little too far."

"Oh. So I'm not going insane?"

"No more insane than the other members of Jethro's team," said Ducky, unaware that his words might not be completely reassuring. "Now, take some Advil for your headache and go back to work."

"Yes, Ducky, Thank you, Ducky."

Ducky waited till Tim had gone and then made a phone call.

"Dr Cranston? Donald Mallard here. I wonder if you might be free to come and do some therapy with a member of the MCRT? No, it's not Anthony. The repeated head trauma does not seem to have resulted in any of the problems you anticipate. No, it's not Jethro, although I agree that his continuing delusion that he builds boats in his basement is cause for concern. No, it's Timothy who is displaying some odd behaviour. As far as I can gather, he thinks he is a bird. No, I can assure you, it is not I who is suffering from delusions. You will help? Excellent."

Ducky sighed as he put the phone down. "I fear even a cup of tea may not be sufficient to solve this problem."

AN: obviously not mine. I've returned them to their boxes almost undamaged!