a/n - Now we learn something about McGee that Tony doesn't have a clue about. Are we having fun?

Tim could feel Kort's breath against his chest as the other man rested his head on Tim's shoulder. Ignoring the growing heat between his legs, Tim carefully washed Trent's body, paying close attention to the infected gash on his back. Once the warm water loosened the dried blood, the wound broke open. Twisting to see it better, Tim kept the water flowing as the infection drained. Once it was only fresh blood oozing from the injury, Tim put pressure against it, bracing himself to support Trent better.

Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped again, Tim turned off the water and gently dried Kort before leading him back to the bed. Despite his best intentions, he couldn't help but sneak a peek before Trent laid on his stomach. Tim watched for a few minutes to make sure the bleeding had completely stopped again before returning to the bathroom to grab their clothes. He used the bar of soap to wash out the blood as best he could from Trent's shirt and boxers. The wool pants were probably beyond saving, but at least they were dark enough to hide the blood stains. Once he had them wrung out and draped over the heat vent to dry, he turned his attention to his own clothes. Luckily, his head injury hadn't bled and the dark colors hid the grease stains from climbing in and out of box cars. Brushing off the dirt as best he could, Tim redressed and downed some more aspirin before heading out.

Not wanting to arouse suspicion, he left his SIG and holster tucked into his computer bag. He debated about his badge, but decided to keep it in his pocket. He'd seen a free clinic and a thrift store and hit them both. At the clinic he told of a friend that had cut his hand but refused to let a doctor look at it. He was careful not to mention any sort of pain killers and eventually he was given a sample strip of antibiotics, first aid supplies and a stern lecture to convince his friend to come in. Next he hit the thrift store. For three dollars and some change, he had two worn but serviceable shirts, one his size and one slightly larger for Kort.

Tim returned to the motel room and woke Kort, forcing the antibiotic and several aspirins down his throat before letting him go back to sleep. Next, he took stock of the cash they had between them. Besides the wad of small bills crammed into a pocket, Kort had about eighty dollars on him and a large amount of change. Tim had wiped out most of the cash in the main compartment of his wallet between the room and the shirts, but he still had his emergency hundred dollar bill stashed behind some photos. It was going to take more than that to keep them one step ahead of the men that were after them and give them a safe way to contact Gibbs.

Sure that Kort was down for the count, Tim gathered the cash and headed out. He'd mentioned MIT dozens of time to DiNozzo, but the Italian had never made the connection, never realized that his Probie had been part of the probabilities class that had taught them much more than theoretical math. It had been a few years, but when it came to numbers, Timothy McGee never forgot.

He started at a small casino near the motel. This far away from the strip, security was lax and it was easy for McGee to get back in the swing as he found his rhythm at the blackjack tables. He was careful as he counted, making sure to lose just enough and often enough to not raise suspicions. He knew how large of a winning he could have before the casino would require identification and have him fill out forms for the IRS. Once he'd get close to that, he'd cash out and move on to the next casino. He kept no more than two hundred dollars in his wallet, the rest hidden in his shoes and in the lining of his belt. There weren't too many casinos at this end of town, so he waited for the shift change and made the loop again.

Convinced that he'd gambled all he could for the day, Tim's next stop was a pawn shop. The one thing about Las Vegas was that there was always someone going for that last big score and willing to sell the shirt off their back to do it. Sure enough, along the back wall, the pawn shop had a rack of designer clothes that had been sacrificed for the shot at one last score. If they were going to hit the larger casinos, they'd need to look the part, so Tim carefully went through the rack. He found a black Hugo Boss suit in his size with a medium gray dress shirt. A silk tie, patterned in shades of gray and black was the finishing touch. He'd noted Kort's sizes when he'd picked up their clothes, and found a charcoal colored Armani suit that would fit him, along with a black shirt. Purchases made, Tim made two more stops for aspirin and food before going back to the motel room.

-NCIS-

Gibbs was seething. The possible sighting of McGee they'd had Abby fake proved just how seriously somebody wanted to get their hands on McGee and Kort. He stood and watched the firefighters battle the blaze as the safe house in West Virginia burned to the ground. The only good thing was that the agents Vance had hidden in the underbrush had managed to get trackers on the cars while the occupants were shooting up the old house. He wanted to take his rage out on someone, preferably the CIA agent assigned to work with them, but it was too soon to tip their hand.

-NCIS-

Kort woke and saw the note that told when his next dose of aspirin could be taken and gratefully swallowed them down. It took a few minutes to realize just how much time had passed and even longer to roll over and sit up. He was still contemplating how to get back on his feel when McGee returned, laden down with bags.

"Where in the hell have you been? Do you know how dangerous it could be?"

For years Tim had been yelled at by an expert, so Kort's rampage didn't even faze him. "We needed cash and supplies, you hungry?"

"What?" Kort took a closer look at him, noticing the different shirt. "What the hell did you do? Please tell me you didn't..."

"Didn't what?" Tim looked closely at Kort, seeing the fleeting raw fear on his face before the usual sardonic expression took over. "You thought I sold you out?"

"No, hell, no. You wouldn't know how to turn if your life depended on it."

Kort looked so uncomfortable that Tim decided to drop the subject for the time being. "I'm sure you read my file, so do you remember that I went to MIT?"

"Well, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Tim was grinning as he unpacked the food. "We're in Vegas, and I went to MIT... took a lot of math classes..." He waited to see if Kort would make the connection. It was obvious when the connection was made.

"You're not old enough."

"Just because the teams had been officially disbanded doesn't mean that everything stopped. The gambling clubs still exist, they just don't have the big money backing them on trips to Vegas anymore."

Kort started laughing. "You're a card counter, I should have known." Laughter turned to coughing and Kort grabbed at his back. "Damn, kid, don't make me laugh. Does DiNozzo know about this?"

"Tony goes to the casinos in New Jersey a couple of times a year and has never invited me along. Does that answer your question? Since I don't know the slang used for poker hands, it's never dawned on any of them that I play blackjack."

He'd finally caught his breath, so Kort just shook his head. "How much did you clear?"

In answer, Tim started pulling money out of every hiding place he had, piling it up on the center of the bed. "After buying food and clothes for us, I cleared about twenty-three hundred. Not bad for being a little rusty."

Grinning, Kort shook his head. "Not bad at all. So, now what?"

"They'll expect us to stick to the edges of whatever town we're in, right?" When Kort nodded, Tim continued, handing Trent the next dose of antibiotics, then some food. "Then we go further in to throw them off. Tomorrow we move to a better room, someplace further away from the tracks. You stay still, let the meds do their job, and I'll work the casinos just off the strip. That should give us enough cash to turn the tables on whoever is hunting us."

"You are full of surprises, kid." Kort stared at him, even as he started eating the soup.

Tim shrugged as he bit into a sandwich. "So, you never told me what you thought I did for the money."

Kort had seen enough of the younger man's stubborn streak to know he wasn't going to let it go. "You have no idea how intriguing some men would find you. How much they would pay for that sweet mouth of yours."

It took a minute for Tim to comprehend what Kort was suggesting. "You thought I was turning tricks? Me?"

"Don't sell yourself short. I guarantee you, there's men out there that would pay six figures to be your first client."

There was no mistaking the pink tint to McGee's ears. "If you say so, but I think I'll stick to blackjack. It's safer."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I just have to make sure to keep each winning small enough to not attract attention. A couple of hundred bucks and you can get it in cash, no questions asked."

"We need fake ID's, or to be more precise, fake ID that my agency doesn't know about." Remembering what he'd pulled off the dead bum before rolling his body into the river, Kort straightened up. "That's it."

"What?"

Kort was already reaching for his coat. Tim saw what he was after and handed it over. Kort dug around for a minute and came up with the grubby driver's license. "This was the man that jumped us. If I can peel it apart and swap out the picture, you'll have the paperwork for a larger winning."

Other than a sense of movement behind Kort when they jumped aboard, Tim didn't remember anything about their attacker. "What if he files..."

"He won't. You don't have to worry about him showing back up and causing problems."

Tim felt ill at the thought. "You mean that you..."

Kort shifted enough to cup Tim's cheek. "It was either him or us and I wasn't going to let him touch you."

Uncomfortable with the thought that Kort had killed a man to protect him, McGee began studying a map listing the various casinos in the city while Kort carefully peeled the license apart and replaced the picture with the one from McGee's driver's license. A careful application of heat from the in-room iron and the lamination was restored.

The day was quickly catching up with them and before long Tim joined Trent in the large bed. Kort was still naked, again laying on his stomach, which gave him the perfect view as McGee stripped down to his boxers and climbed into the bed. Just as McGee was drifting off, he felt strong, cool fingers wrap around his own. "I'm impressed, Tim, really impressed."

Tim sensed a warmth that had nothing to do with the thin blanket. "Thanks."