The two agents arrived at the pub that they regularly frequented. The waitress knew them by sight and thought nothing of them coming in together without the rest of the team.

After placing their order they made small talk, both of them aware that although they were comfortable with one another, it was still slightly awkward to be out alone together after hours.

Midway through the meal, they hit their stride.

"Those plot lines were recycled! I've only watched it a handful of times, but I swear it's like the same episode over and over again."

"You have got to be kidding me. Magnum, P.I. is a classic. Every episode has its own nuance. I'm going to rise above your mockery, McNoTaste, because I am just a better person."

Later, after having exhausted the merits of the holiday movies being released (Tim's pick had been Invictus, while Tony was all about Ninja Assassinbecause come on it had ninja in the title!), Tony ventured into more personal territory.

"O.K., I have to ask. It's been bugging me for a while. Why are still working for NCIS?"

Tim looked insulted at the question. "Tony, if you're insinuating that I'm not…"

Tony interrupted him to clarify. "It's nothing against your skills as an agent. You've manned up admirably. I probably shouldn't call you Probie anymore, but let's face it, I'm not going to stop anytime soon."

Tim smiled.

"I meant, with the big bucks you made on your books, which thanks again for infringing on our rights and writing all about us without our consent…"

"Work of fiction, Tony."

"You keep telling yourself that, McGee, and maybe it will actually be true. As I was saying, what with you rolling in the credits why not just write full-time?"

"Yeah, about that," Tim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You see, hmm…"

Tony saw the flush rising from below Tim's collar "Lost it all, huh?"

Tim heard the seriousness of the tone and nodded. "Well, not all of it," he amended. "But a good chunk of it. Crashed hedge fund. It was supposed to be safe."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, the economy was definitely unkind to a lot of people."

Tim raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You lost, too?"

"A little bit. My dad lost more, though." Tony's smile was thin as a blade.

Tim cleared his throat. Tony noticed his discomfort and said, "I probably shouldn't go there. Unresolved daddy issues."

"Seems to be a common theme," Tim muttered.

Now it was Tony's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Et tu?"

"Let's just say my dad's a naval officer and when I was a kid, I would get queasy just looking at a boat."

Tony laughed. "Fair enough."

The meal progressed, their conversation free flowing, and the awkwardness at the beginning of the evening long forgotten. Tony polished off the last of his dessert and Tim nursed his third beer as their talk turned to Tim's first year on the NCIS team.

"You super-glued my fingers to the keyboard."

"It was hilarious."

"My fingers. Super-glue. I lost several layers of skin thank you very much. My fingertips are still desensitized!"

"I couldn't resist."

"Yeah, right. Pick on the geek. Typical jock." The insult lacked the bitterness the Tim of years ago once held.

"Go Buckeyes!"

"What is with you and your alma mater?"

"If I have to explain it, you won't get it. It's a jock thing." Tony said his voice filled with laughter.

"Whatever, Tony. Talk to me when you can explain how a mass spectrometer works. And it's cheating if you ask Abby to write it down for you."

"Fine, point for you. You know, Tim, all the hazing…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. All fun and games, I know."

"It was just, you were so damn nervous all of the time! Kate and I had a lot of fun at your expense. Probably another thing I should apologize for, but again, that's not going to happen anytime soon."

Instead of the laughter or good-natured comeback Tony expected, he watched as Tim slowly and meticulously peeled the label off of his bottle.

"Something on your mind?"

"I miss her."

By the sad look on his face, Tony didn't need to ask whom he was talking about. Several minutes passed as the two men sat silently, their thoughts filled with memories of their lost friend.

Tony stared off into the distance before he confessed in a soft whisper.

"You know, I go back every year. To the roof top where it happened."

He paused, taking a pull of his beer.

"I can still hear the shot fired, see the blood spattering, trying to catch her as she fell. I don't think I'll ever forget it."

Tony stared hard at a point above Tim's head and his jaw tightened convulsively as he fought off the rolling waves of sadness and memory.

In commiseration, Tim reached for the hand that was sitting on the table. He cradled it for a moment, and once both men were no longer blinking back tears, he gently released it.

Neither commented on it.