Disclaimer : I own nothing, but the typos. Oh and the OCs.

Warnings : Rated T for language.

Author's Note : Thanks to everyone who read, favorited and followed so far. And extra thanks to everyone who left a review.

To momcat: You are absolutely right. Most people won't walk around days after being in a coma. I took some artistic license because I knew Tony needed to get Ziva shipped off and he wouldn't want to wait too long. And you're right about Tony rushing Tim into making a decision. I just think he didn't want Tim to have a chance to think about going back to Gibbs. Because I think Tony knows that if he tries to go back to Team Gibbs, he wouldn't be able to keep him safe. Tony's got a soft spot for his Probie!

To Phoenix Red Lion: I agree with you about Gibbs holding Tony and Tim back! I often wished we had a chance to see them live up to their full potential. But I guess that's why we have fanfic! And I apologize for the inconsistencies. I haven't been watching the show religiously anymore and I've been writing AU's for a while now. So pretty much, anything goes!

Enjoy the epilogue!

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Exactly one month after the event, Tony receives the first post card. It's a beach scene where the ocean stretches out to meet the sky with the sun dipping lower towards the water. In the foreground, a sea turtle starts its trek to meet the sun. The words Cancun are emblazoned on the bottom.

On the back in Gibbs' block, militaristic script is a message.

Knew what you were going to do before you did, DiNozzo. Knew there was no stopping you, so got out of your way. Time to retire anyway. Rules 1 and 5. You made me proud, kid. Keep it up. Stay on McGee's six. Good luck.

Even though he heard from Fornell that Gibbs retired shortly after the event, the post card still comes like a punch to the gut. Seeing it here is confirmation that Ziva's act ripped their lives apart, not just his and Tim's. He puts it on his coffee table and hits his liquor cabinet. He grabs the Bourbon that Gibbs left him—hell, he thinks Gibbs left it. Because who else would leave a bottle of Bourbon and a tiny wooden boat on his welcome mat in the middle of the night?

Tony collapses into the couch, cracks it open. Sure, it's a snowy Tuesday, the perfect kind of day to hunker down in his basement lair with Tim and dig through those cardboard boxes. But the weather is also perfect to search for the clarity that comes at the bottom of a bottle.

He pours himself a glass, swills it around. Then he pulls out his cell phone.

Tim answers on the first ring. "Tony, you're never going to believe – "

"I'm not coming in today, McGee," Tony says.

"What?" There's a long pause. "Why?"

"I totally forgot I've got a dentist appointment today. They're putting my final bridge in." He runs his tongue over the spot where the missing tooth was. "I gotta get myself looking good again so I can finally score a date. This dry spell is a new record for me."

Tim huffs like a month without a date is perfectly normal. "I thought you saw your dentist last week."

"Yeah, but it didn't fit. They had to send it back."

"Then why did you show it to me and asked me to guess which tooth was the fake one? Like I didn't know which– "

"Look, McGee, I have to go to the dentist."

Tim makes a clucking noise, telling Tony that he doesn't believe the lie. Thankfully, he stops pressing. "Okay. Then I'll see what I turn up on the Patterson case and run down – "

"Stay put and do your computer voodoo. We'll run down the leads together when I'm feeling better."

The rustling on the other line sounds like Tim is flipping through a file. "But I just found that the victim's girlfriend was – "

"Rule 7."

Another long pause. "Gibbs or DiNozzo?"

Tony swigs his drink. "DiNozzo."

"Never make a move without someone on your six." He hears the smile in Tim's voice because it's the one Tony made to protect his partner, his friend. "I read you loud and clear, Tony. I'll see what I can come up with on my own today. Then we'll tackle it when you get back."

"Good. I'll check in with you tomorrow, McGee. Have a good day."

Tim waits a long moment before he says: "I got a post card from Gibbs too."

Tony pounds back his drink. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Tim."

And before Tim has a chance to speak, Tony hangs up on him. Over the next few days, he kills the bottle of Bourbon and whatever else he has left in his liquor cabinet. He spends his nights passed out on the couch, his days hunched over a piece of loose-leaf with a pen. He starts a letter to Gibbs over and over again, but he never makes it past the first line. When he emerges from his apartment mid-week, he has a letter in his desk that is sealed in an envelope, but will never be sent.

Boss,

I made my own set of rules. I think you'd like DiNozzo Rule 12: Stick by those who stick by you. I didn't figure out where we stood until after you left. I know you tried to protect me and McGee.

Thanks for the opportunity…and the Bourbon.

Tony.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

At Tony DiNozzo's suggestion, Arthur Haskell is offered a life in witness protection for him and his daughter in exchange for testimony against Marissa Jackson and whomever else is involved in their domestic terrorist cell. He jumps at the opportunity and tells the US Marshals everything he knows. Due to his testimony—Marissa Jackson is sentenced to life in prison for attempted murder of two federal agents—and what NCIS uncovers in Marissa Jackson's house leads them to bust over a hundred people across the country that were involved in black market arms' deals.

It ends up being the largest domestic terrorist bust in NCIS history.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

SIX MONTHS LATER

When he first started on Gibbs' team, Tim listened to Tony extol the benefits of a two-man team. After all, Tony had played the right-hand man to Gibbs long before Kate showed up…long before Tim showed up. It was, Tony said, efficient, uncomplicated and drama-free. You fell into a routine with your partner, playing to the other's strengths and weaknesses and anticipated their actions before even they did. Tim would often laugh and shake his head, certain that it would be too much work with not enough help.

After they defected to the FBI together, Tim learned just how wrong he was.

He and Tony fell into breathtakingly easy routine in their basement lair.

Grab a cold case box. Review the files and the evidence.

If there were any discrepancies—or if Tony's spidey senses tingled—they would start over with fresh eyes until they hunted their dirt bag down. They days were long and the nights longer. But so far, they'd closed six murders, five missing persons cases, a couple of a sexual assaults, and a burglary—though that one was mostly an accident.

Tim finds the new job rewarding, almost addictive. Giving families closure grants Tim a near high—he knows it's just serotonin from a job well done—that leaves him floating around the basement of the Hoover Building for days. It reignites his passion for law enforcement, gives him the energy to keep going, lights a yearning to rip open another box and start it all over again.

For the first time in his career, he is satisfied, accomplished, appreciated. Dare he say, happy.

Tim couldn't imagine doing the job with anyone other than Tony.

He hazards a glance at his partner, who's busy driving them to pick up their latest dirt bag. A twenty-something gangbanger that murdered a convenience store clerk a few years ago. It's the kind of case that didn't rank very high on the FBI list to solve at the time, but will earn Tim and Tony a hug and a smile and a hearty thank you from the young woman's family.

Tony has his jaw clenched, his game face on.

Ever since their adventures in Royal Woods, Tony always gets so serious when they get ready to make a bust. Tim thinks he left his sense of humor and that child-like joy in Marissa Jackson's basement. Now, he's always so serious in the field, playing the straight man to Tim's jokes. Tony is all business and on high alert unless they're in their basement office, toiling away. That's the only time the Tony DiNozzo that Tim recognizes from NCIS ever makes an appearance.

Resting his head against the passenger seat of the SUV, Tim watches the rundown rowhouses of Columbia Heights whiz past. He allows himself a small smile as he psyches himself up to arrest another murdering bastard that doesn't know what's coming.

From the driver's seat, Tony clears his throat. "Hey McGee, what are you thinking about over there? You're awfully quiet today. It's creeping me out."

Tim shrugs. "Just life."

"Did you ask that girl down in the armory out yet?" When Tim shakes his head, Tony tilts his. "If you don't do it soon, I'm going to do it for you." A short pause. "Then what is it? Did you get another post card from Gibbs? You always get weird when he sends one."

"No, but I take it you did." Tony nods, so Tim asks: "Where is he now?"

"Nassau."

"That's not a bad place to end up for the summer."

Tony half-smiles. "Like you'd expect him to be anywhere else."

And if Tony bothered to ask him, Tim would probably say that he thought Gibbs would be anywhere else. After they quit the agency, Gibbs ended up retiring to a little casa—Gibbs had said it was Spanish for shack—on a Mexican beach where he spent his days big beer hunting. When he grew bored of that, he took to sailing around the Caribbean on one of the boats he built. Gibbs would often go weeks without any word before sending one of them a cryptic post card from some exotic location they'll never get the chance to visit. The last one Tim received was a month back from St. Thomas that said simply Beer is cold. Fish are biting. Hope you are well.

Tim looks back out the window. "What did this one say?"

"He's heading west to see if he can make it home again."

"Ah," is Tim all says.

"I have no idea what it means either." Shrugging, Tony laughs. "I think he's happy."

Tim smiles. "I'd like to think that too."

They ride in silence until Tim double-checks their destination on his phone and tells Tony to take a left.

Eventually, Tony says carefully: "Did you ever hear back from your dad's friend? That Admiral?"

Tim's cheeks flush.

As it turned out, his father's reach—the same one he spent most of his adult life trying to escape—went further than he could ever imagine. Admiral Coulter, the man who crashed Tony's meeting with Vance, had roomed with Tim's dad back when they were ensigns on their first sea tour. As time dragged on and tours took them all over the world, the men stayed in touch. First as colleagues, later as friends. After he'd witnessed the conversation between Tony and Vance, Admiral Coulter put in a call to his old friend SecNav to get the ball rolling to remove Vance from NCIS.

"Yeah," Tim says, voice bordering on a whisper. "He called the other day to check in. I think he's trying to keep tabs on me for my dad. It's driving me crazy."

"Then why not just call your dad? He came to the hospital, right?"

"It's a long story that I'm not getting into." Thankfully, Tony just leaves it at that. "He wanted to update me on what happened to Director…well, I guess former Director Vance."

Tony takes his eyes off the road. "And?"

"Associate director at the NSA."

"Lucky them," Tony says darkly.

Tim laughs. "Tell me about it." He lets the silence stretch for a few minutes before he says: "While we're talking about that day, did Ziva ever try to e-mail you again?"

Tony grips the wheel hard enough for his knuckles to go stark white. "Yeah, she sent another one trying to apologize. Like if she keeps saying she's sorry, it'll change anything that happened." He dramatically rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure she wants me to ask Homeland Security to lift the ban on her passport so she can get back in the States."

"That'll be the day."

"Over my dead body," Tony says, giving Tim a sidelined eye. "Has you reached out to you?"

"Maybe. Probably. Who knows?" Tim shrugs. "I blocked her e-mail address so she goes straight to my spam folder. I can't really deal with it anymore."

Tony purses his lips. "You'll have to teach me how to do that."

"Sure, we can do it as soon as we get back."

But Tim knows no matter how many times he offers, Tony will never ask for his help. For some reason, it's like Tony can't let go of that last connection to Ziva. Just like he can't let go of Gibbs either. Tony hoards Gibbs' postcards, using them to decorate his half of their make-shift office alongside the half-finished wood projects they collected from Gibbs' house after he high-tailed it for the Mexican border. Maybe they are Tony's way of remembering what he had once—that naivety, that innocence, that makeshift family—before only he and Tim were left. Mementos of a life once lived, a shared past that neither can completely leave behind.

And Tim often doubts Tony wants to forget it. NCIS is too much a part of Tony for him to let it go. Hell, it's too much a part of both of them to leave it behind. And Tim doesn't want to forget it either.

Moments later, they pull up to the curb a few blocks away from the row home where their murderer lives. Tony puts the car in park. They check their weapons, back-up clips, and set their earwigs.

Bemused, Tony turns to Tim. "What's our distress word today?"

"Kumquats." Because the fruit distress words drive Tony crazy.

Tony makes a face. "Fine, but today is the last time you get to pick the word."

Tim laughs because they'll be having this conversation at the next bust.

Tony is already climbing out of the car. "Come on, McGee. Let's go catch ourselves a dirt bag."

Tim grins. "On your six, boss."

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Author's Note 2.0: And that's a wrap! Thanks for taking the journey with me.

161/75/142