A brief, and silly, return to Milsom Bay on the North Carolina coast where Tony has a beach cabin and where his friend Millie runs a café.

Tony DiNozzo stretched luxuriously as he lay in bed and realised he could stay there all day if he wanted. He looked at the early morning sunshine coming softly through the linen effect roll-up shades he had fitted on his last visit. He listened to the waves gently lapping on the beach a couple hundred yards from his bedroom. He considered the luxury of three days away from NCIS demands. Yes, he thought, life doesn't get much better than this. He looked at his clock: 06.05, he would normally be up and out for a run but, he reasoned, he'd had a long drive down the night before, he'd worked hard all week, he deserved a lie-in and, most importantly, Millie's café wouldn't be open for another hour or so. He plumped up his pillow and, with a happy sigh, settled back down to sleep.

Just as his head hit the pillow:

Bang, bang!

Tony lay there stunned for a moment, wondering when his head had become so heavy and the pillow so hard that a collision between the two made such a noise. His investigative skills, and common sense, soon cut through his sleepiness and he realised that someone was banging on his door. At 06.05! On a Saturday! On the first day of a well-deserved weekend break! Tony groaned and hid his head under the pillow and waited. Silence fell once more and Tony began to picture someone tiptoeing away in embarrassment at a social faux pas; he managed a small smug smile when he realised what a forgiving sort of guy he was. His eyes closed once more as slumber welcomed him back.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Perhaps not so forgiving after all. Tony found himself standing at the door to his cabin without totally understanding how he got there. He took a moment to be grateful that the slight chill of his beach shack caused him to wear a tee and sweatpants in bed and then he flung the door open.

"What …?" he began before grinding to a halt at the unexpected sight before him, "McGee? What are you doing here?" Bizarre scenarios raced through his mind: Gibbs was injured, Abby was injured, everyone was injured. His apartment had blown up. The goldfish were sick. The Director was sending him to be Agent Afloat again, and then he managed to calm down enough to look at Tim who was standing on the doorstep with a happy smile on his face and an unfocussed look in his eyes. Unless Tim had been celebrating the untimely demise of the MCRT, reasoned Tony, there probably had not been any major catastrophe although something was clearly amiss in McGeeland.

Tony remembered that he was an experienced law enforcement officer and that McGee (sometimes looked up to him as a mentor … if nobody else was available) and so he should remain calm and collected. He took a deep breath, and then he took another.

"McGee," he said gently, "what are you doing here?"

Tim looked round in puzzlement and then shook his head. That didn't seem to be a good idea as his upper body began to wobble and weave. Tony reached forward and grabbed the nearest arm to prevent Tim falling to the ground.

Tim gazed solemnly at Tony's hand clasping his bicep, peered towards Tony's face and said in a confidential tone,

"Something's not quite right."

"You're not an investigator for nothing," observed Tony testily.

"No, I'm not," said Tim firmly as he tried to stand upright but then he sagged as he said mournfully, "though that's what my Dad thought."

A pang of regret sliced through Tony when he saw the expression on Tim's face. He and Tim didn't go in for heart to heart discussions about inadequate relationships with fathers but that didn't mean that they didn't understand each other's issues and Tony had no wish to bring them up again.

"What's not right, Tim?" he asked.

"I don't know," said McGee, "but I thought I'd check with you."

"Why didn't you phone?"

"Oh," said McGee blankly.

"And why did you come to me?"

"You're nearer than Gibbs," said McGee.

Tony wondered for a wild moment where Gibbs had gone,

"Yes," he said, "if I was in my apartment."

Tim looked around again, "This isn't your apartment?"

Tony sighed and turned Tim round towards the ocean, "That look like the Potomac to you?"

"Oh," said Tim again.

"Come in," said Tony, tugging at the arm he still had hold of, "you can tell me what's 'not right'".

He sat Tim down at his kitchen table and considered what to give him. If Tim was drunk then coffee would be the answer but Tony had never known Tim drink enough to get to a silly stage; he tended to fall asleep before his inhibitions crumbled. It seemed equally unlikely that Tim had been taking drugs: despite his assertion all those years ago that, 'yes, he had inhaled', neither Tony nor Kate had ever believed him.

"Did you hit your head, Tim?" he asked, wondering if a concussion was the cause of this off kilter version of McGee.

Tim felt his head cautiously and thoroughly, "No," he said eventually, "but thank you for asking."

"Then what's not right?" Tony asked.

"Who said anything was wrong?" asked Tim anxiously.

"You did."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Oh," McGee gave this careful consideration, "something wasn't right."

Tony suppressed a sigh.

"So I came to ask you what you thought." Tony opened his mouth to ask, yet again, what wasn't right, when McGee finally managed to find new words to say, "I was really excited."

"About what?"

Tim thought about this for a few moments, "Everything. Everything was just really … really …"

"Exciting," finished Tony for him.

"Yes!" said McGee in a tone of wonder, "you see. I knew that you would know."

"But I don't, Tim," pointed out Tony, "I still don't know anything."

"Oh," said Tim in a disappointed voice. Tony had never realised what an expressive word 'oh' could be.

"Why don't you tell me what you did last evening?" suggested Tony.

"I went to see Sarah," said Tim.

"Your sister Sarah?" asked Tony, wanting to be sure they were both talking about the same Sarah out of the multitude who crossed the MCRT path.

"Yes," said Tim confidently, "my mother's daughter. And my father's."

"Good," said Tony, "and what did you do?"

"We went to see a band playing. At a club."

"Good," said Tony again.

"No, it wasn't," said Tim sadly.

"The band wasn't good?"

"The band was brilliant," said Tim enthusiastically, "Abby would love them. Well, she would if they were a bit louder."

"So what wasn't good?"

This question seemed a bit too complicated for Tim to respond immediately and he gave it careful thought, "Victor," he said darkly after a few moments.

"Victor?" probed Tony.

"Sarah's friend," said Tim, "he's a chemist."

"He works in a pharmacy?" said Tony.

"No," said Tim scornfully, "he's a grad student in biochemistry."

"And that's a bad thing?" asked Tony.

Again that curious pause to think, "He doesn't think that a biomedical degree from Johns Hopkins means much. We disagreed on the …"

It was early in the morning and Tony was still a bit sleepy and he was accustomed to tuning out McGee's technobabble so he didn't listen very closely as he tried to work out what was wrong with Tim. As Tim became louder and louder he heard something like 'halogen ice cubes' and decided it was time to stop the flow,

"Yeah, yeah, so you don't like Sarah's new boyfriend."

"He was scientifically unsound," said McGee indignantly, "he claimed that he'd developed a way of administering drugs via a new vapour delivery system."

"And that's impossible?" asked Tony, thinking that it sounded quite feasible to him.

"Not impossible," said McGee grudgingly, "but it would be very inaccurate. He suggested that he could give a measured dose of a painkiller simply by squirting at someone."

"Sounds great," said the needle phobic Tony.

Tim went off on another techno-rant which Tony efficiently tuned out while he thought.

"You didn't get on the bad side of a chemist, did you?" he asked eventually in a worried voice.

"What if I did?" asked McGee.

"Oh, Timmy," said Tony, "never, ever get on the bad side of a chemist. They have all those … chemicals … that can do things to you."

Tim seemed momentarily more alert, "did you ever get on the bad side of a chemist?"

"That is a story for another day," said Tony loftily, "possibly. Let's just say that green hair and purple eyebrows are not a good look on DiNozzos. But to return to your 'not rightness'. What happened?"

"Sarah gave me this care package that Mom had sent for me," he paused, took a Transformers lunch box out of his backpack and clutched to his chest, "and then we went off to the club … with Victor."

"And?"

"And he insisted on spraying this 'man cologne' over me," said McGee, "said that he didn't like the smell of my Johns Hopkins essence."

"Is that a real thing?" asked Tony, momentarily distracted by the thought that there might be a cologne he could use for the occasions he was trying to project a thoughtful, academic persona.

"No," said Tim, as if it was obvious, "but there is a cool M.I.T. aftershave you can get in the gift shop on campus."

"And when did you start feeling 'excited'," said Tony, returning to the matter at hand, "after the spraying episode?"

"Yes!" said Tim, "yes! That b … b… biochemist!"

"Come on, McVictim," said Tony, "I'm going to get dressed and then we're going to call Gibbs."

"Wow," said Tim, "I didn't realise you don't like talking to Gibbs in your pajamas. How do you manage when he calls you in the middle of the night?"

"What?" said Tony, "what you talking about?"

"You needing to be dressed before you'll speak to the Boss. What's that about? I've spoken to Gibbs wearing just my boxers lots of times."

Tony paused to consider this but Tim hurried on, "d'you mean I wasn't meant to do that? Is it in the handbook that you have to be fully dressed before you talk to your supervisor? But how do they know? Oh, no!" he wailed, "I once answered Director Vance's call when I'd just got into the shower!" McGee put his face in his hands as he contemplated the horror of what he had done in a state of undress.

"McGee!" said Tony sharply, "I'm going to get dressed because we're going to go down to Millie's for breakfast and I'll call Gibbs on her landline. Cell reception's not good here."

"Oh," said McGee in a relieved tone which showed once again his versatility in the use of the word 'oh'.

Tony took the precaution of locking the front door while he had a quick shower and he also gave McGee a tourist brochure about Milsom Bay hoping that the pictures would keep him happy. Tony cut his usual routine to the bone and was out in twenty five minutes but he discovered that the picture book had failed to snag his visitor's interest for long. McGee seemed to have passed the time by emptying all the kitchen cabinets and was engaged in creating an odd tower out of Tony's china, saucepans and kitchen gadgets.

Tony refrained from comment and simply directed Tim outside. There was a momentary hold up while Tim hurried back for his Transformer lunch box and another when Tony forgot he had locked the door but they were soon on their way. Tony decided it would be best to walk the half mile or so down to Millie's; although Tim still seemed to be a bit unsteady on his feet he thought the fresh air would do him good.

Millie gave Tony her customary placid welcome and took the extra visitor in her stride. The Milsom Bay folk were used to the unexpected when Tony was in residence.

"Millie," said Tony, "do you mind if I use your phone? I need to call Gibbs … and Ducky. And would you mind keeping an eye on Tim? You remember Tim, don't you? He's a bit … er … not himself at the moment."

Millie nodded calmly and looked at McGee who had something of the look her young grandson Joe got when he was overexcited but about to crash from exhaustion.

"Sure," she said, "and I'll get you some breakfast. Your usual, Tony? And what would you like, Tim?"

"Um," said Tim thoughtfully.

"He'll have the same as me, Millie," said Tony feeling he couldn't live through another epic decision making process from McGee. He held his breath for a moment wondering if Tim would object but Tim seemed to be winding down and not to have the energy for his traditional argument with Tony over what was the best thing to have for breakfast.

Tony went into Millie's kitchen where the phone was, "Boss," said Tony, when he got through, "we've got a problem."

Gibbs' sigh said all there was to say about Tony's propensity to find trouble at every opportunity.

"It's Tim," continued Tony.

Gibbs' second sigh showed his recognition of the disasters likely to occur when Tim and Tony got together.

"Hey, it's not my fault," said Tony, as he effortlessly translated the meaning of the sighs.

"Go on," said Gibbs wearily and warily.

"Tim showed up here. At the crack of dawn. He said something wasn't right."

"Why'd he come all the way down to you?" asked Gibbs.

"You think I didn't ask him?" said Tony, "he said I was nearer."

"But …"

"I know, Boss, but logic isn't being Tim's friend at the moment. Something to do with halogen ice cubes."

"DiNozzo!" barked Gibbs in a voice which suggested he'd only had two cups of coffee so far that day.

"OK. Short version. I think Tim was sprayed with some of crazy drug thing cooked up by Victor."

"Uh, I think that was a bit too short," said Gibbs.

"Tim and Sarah went to this club with Sarah's boyfriend. He's a biochemist. Got into a geek argument with McScientist. Victor, the boyfriend, said he could spray drugs on to people. McGeek disagreed. Victor sprays McGee. McGee got excited, then he got worried, then he drove six hours down to me."

"Uh."

"I think that's a pretty good summation, considering," said Tony defensively, "I've had an exciting morning, woken up by a deranged Probie who's tried to make a replica of the Eiffel tower in my kitchen … and I haven't had my breakfast yet," he finished with a whine.

"OK," said Gibbs soothingly, "you go back to McGee. I'll get in touch with Ducky and with Sarah. We'll get hold of this Victor and see if he did anything. You sit tight."

"Yes, Boss. Sorry, Boss. Thank you, Boss," said Tony in a calmer voice. He went back to the café where he could smell the enticing aroma of bacon and scrambled eggs but lurched to a halt when he realised that McGee was missing. A picture flashed into his head of him having to explain to a desolate Delilah and aghast Abby that he had lost Tim and then he heard an unlikely sound. He followed the noise and found Tim in the yard shooting hoops with an uncharacteristic accuracy.

"Come on, McMichaelJordan," he said, "time for your trial with the Washington Wizards later."

"No, I want to play for Knicks," said Tim even as he allowed himself to be led away.