Rolling his eyes for the fifth time of the day at Tony's juvenile immaturity, Tim ground his teeth in irritation. He'd spent the entire day so far fending off third grader practical jokes and teasing remarks from the apparently "senior" field agent, and his patience was wearing thin.

Very thin.

It didn't help that he was already in foul humour, the fact of which was only fodder for Tony's non-stop onslaught of irritation.

When the teasing about his new haircut eventually died down, and silence mercifully resumed around the squad room, Tim took another scathing glance at the offending text message that now seemed to be burned into both his cell's and his own memory.

He only had himself to blame, he thought bitterly.

If he had kept his distance, as he knew he should have, it never would have happened.

But oh no, he had to allow himself to be pushed into a decision he wasn't sure he wanted to make, like he always was.

No-one could just respect his wishes.

Scratch that, no-one just respect him.

He tore his eyes from the cell, snapping it shut with a snarl, and looked up and around the bull pen.

As his eyes rested on Tony, he felt ire build up inside him once more.

He was so sick and tired of being the butt of his jokes.

Shooting a glance over at Ziva, he was slightly mollified.

She had yelled at Tony to leave him alone, and didn't laugh at the other man's stupid jokes or comments.

At least she was decent to him.

At least she didn't think he was there simply to be a source of amusement.

Scowling, he once again dropped his head down to glare at the text message that had started his day off so woefully. He was so engrossed in it and the feelings that stemmed from it, that he didn't notice Gibbs stride into the bull pen after a long day in MTAC.

He was so engrossed in it, that he didn't hear or feel the elder man come up behind him to check in on the progress of his work.

He only became aware of his boss' presence when the familiar sting suddenly lit across the back of his head.

Yelping in surprise, and rubbing his scalp furiously, he turned around in surprise.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded, completely uncaring as to the insolent tone of his voice.

Across the bull pen, Tony raised an eyebrow so high it was in danger of disappearing completely into his hairline forever. Across from him, Ziva gaped slightly.

Tony might get lippy at times…hell, so did she sometimes.

But…Tim?

He was always the pinnacle of respectful behaviour.

Gibbs too, arched an eyebrow in surprise at his junior agent's attitude.

"That, McGee" he growled, "was for getting about one hours work done in four hours. Keep up that attitude, and I'll give you something to have an attitude about. Got it?"

Paling slightly and checking himself, Tim nodded.

"Sorry boss" he murmured quietly, annoyed at himself for letting his emotions get the better of him.

Feeling DiNozzo's and Ziva's stares on him, the elder agent directed a fresh glare at the two of them.

"Do you two want the same, or do you want to get on with your work?"

A sandy brown head and a dark brown head instantly dropped down into their files in response.

Crouching down beside his junior agent on the pretext of checking another portion of his work, Gibbs studied the kid for a minute.

"You ok Tim?" he asked gently, the beginnings of a gut feeling that something was wrong with the boy playing around his stomach.

Looking up tentatively, the younger man nodded.

"Yes boss, just a bit distracted. I'll get it together, promise."

Sighing at the obvious misdirect, Gibbs pondered for a moment.

He knew enough of Tim to know that he could be outrageously stubborn when the mood took him, and pressing him to talk when he clearly wasn't ready wasn't going to get him any answers.

Quickly squeezing the young agent's arm, he nodded.

"Alright then McGee, but you know my doors open if you need anything? I mean, it's literally open."

Tim smiled his first genuine smile of the day at the long standing joke of the team's boss never locking his door, and nodded his understanding.

"I know boss" he said softly.

With another quick squeeze of the young man's arm, Gibbs set off towards Tony's desk to check on his progress.

With that, the day began to pass in a substantially calmer fashion as Gibbs' presence made any further teasing on Tony's part an impossibility, much to the junior agent's relief.

As he engrossed himself in what felt like the fiftieth file of the day, Tim vaguely heard their boss ordering Tony to accompany him to the conference room to interview a witness.

Being silently grateful that he didn't have to go and feign concern he could not feel in his current state, Tim continued to work diligently as the team leader and senior filed agent strode from the squad room.

He was grateful that Ziva seemed to correctly gauge his mood, and made no attempts to force him into to inane small chat in the absence of their team members.

About half an hour elapsed before Tim realised he needed Gibbs' signature on a file. He sighed in frustration as he logically deduced that he could do no more work until the file he was working on was officially closed.

Damn protocols.

Heaving himself out of his chair with a weary sigh, he began to make his way towards the conference room, fighting the urge to sneak another look at the text that he already had memorised every vowel of.

Approaching the door, and glancing in the side glass panelled window, he saw that the witness had clearly just left, and that Tony and Gibbs were chatting amongst themselves. Tony appeared to be telling a wildly funny joke, and Tim was surprised to see that the team leader was laughing freely in response.

About to knock on the door, he cursed as he clumsily tripped over his own feet, accidentally hitting the wall mounted switch that allowed whatever acoustics were being played in the otherwise sound proofed conference room, to be heard in the secure clearance hall that lay outwards of it.

A creation born out of Vance's insistences, on the basis that it allowed a witness to be observed as though in interrogation, without feeling like they were in interrogation.

About to flick off the switch, and enter the room itself, he froze when he heard a name he recognised.

His name.

Tony's voice, full of laughter, was in full regale mode.

"He's still such a loser boss, honestly. Still the same snivelling mamma's boy. Did you see what he was wearing? I mean come on. It's like he's just asking for it. He still has to be the smartest person in the room, no matter what. I don't know how we put up with him for so long, we deserve a medal. The "survivor of Tim" medal."

At this, Gibbs let out an unmistakeable snort of laughter and nodded his head in agreement with the younger man's speech.

"I should get one of those sewn onto my old core hoodies" he laughed, leaning back in his chair, amusement evident on every line of his face.

Outside in the hall, the air seemed to suddenly be in scarce supply.

Tim paled a deathly pale, and the file in his hand shook under his now clammy grasp.

He couldn't believe what he had just heard.

With a limp hand, he quietly reached up and killed the voice relay switch.

Leaning against the wall, he tried valiantly to compose himself.

He readily conceded that he had never felt more betrayed than he felt in the current moment.

Tony's teasing, had always been just that, teasing.

The voice that had spoken the words that pierced his mind, was not a teasing voice.

It was a voice full of dislike, scathing and resentment.

Tony hated him.

Before he could even get his mind round this fact, the amused face of his boss flashed before his eyes and he bit his lip to try and stem the tidal flow of emotions that surged through him in response.

His boss had agreed.

The man he thought of as a father had laughed.

Gulping, Tim shook his head in misery and clamped a hand to his stomach in a futile attempt to try and stem the nausea that was beginning to ebb and flow there.

Gibbs thought he was a pain, that he was a know it all, that he deserved a medal for putting up with him.

That he was a mamma's boy.

With these thoughts ripping right through him, Tim jarred himself into action.

He couldn't be in the hall when his two tormentors exited it.

In fact, he couldn't be in the building.

Throwing the file he was carrying down on the floor, the junior agent stormed from the conference room corridor and headed directly towards the lift in a fit of sudden rage.

He was done with these people.

He was done with this stupid job.

He was just…done.

When the elevator doors pinged, he rummaged inside his pocket and whipped out his cell.

Glancing down at it, he resisted the urge to smash it into a thousand pieces.

Satisfying himself with violently turning it off, and breaking the "never be unreachable" rule with an almost savage feeling of angry glee.

It was only when the small confines of the silent and empty elevator enveloped him, that he allowed himself to fully feel the full force of his misery.

As hot, but unshed tears sprang up in his eyes, he leaned his head back against the cool metal in misery.

First his… father, and now this.

About thirty minutes later, and being completely unaware of the havoc that they had wreaked, Tony and Gibbs began to make their way out of the conference room and back to the bull pen.

"What was that assholes surname again DiNozzo?"

"Connery" Tony replied with a pout, "how does a deadbeat like that get to have Connery as a surname. Life really isn't fair."

Cross town, and with anger in his heart, McGee stormed into what would be the first of many bar's, and ordered the most potent sounding drink on the menu and sat alone in stony silence.

Placing the requested drink in front of the angry looking young man, the experienced bar tender looked at him in sympathy.

He knew a man in pain when he saw one. And a man ordering a drink like that, at three in the afternoon, was a man in pain.

"Life really isn't fair pal, is it?"

…

TBC

….