The usual clientele collected around eight, he walked in at ten after and settled into his favorite booth. They were an eclectic mix, the regulars, an older man with a slightly British accent who sipped fine wines and better scotch, a slightly twitchy kid with bad shoes and a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth, a redhead with a sharp tongue and sharper hair cut. Sometimes they were joined a guy permanently attached to a wireless headset, and a woman who talked to herself Hebrew, the rest of them in accented English.

Something drew them to this quiet corner of the world, but damned if he could figure out what. Maybe they were all like him, and just had nowhere better to be. This was the closest thing to family he had in this city, strangers that kept each other at arm's length and knocked back beer after beer, pretending not to notice the others until after two or three rounds.

He was on his third, a vodka neat, when she sat down. She'd traded her normal pigtails for little coils, perched high on her head, and she sipped a coke through a bendy straw. He gave her a wary look, wondering what brought on this new familiarity.

"You look like a boy who just got his heart broken," she said, soft green eyes peering into his. "I can't let you drink alone if that's the case."

"You've got customers," he gestured toward the mostly empty bar with a mostly empty smile.

"They can take care of themselves, or Gibbs will. You got a name, darling?" she had traces of a southern accent. Georgia maybe, possibly Louisiana.

"Tony," he answered, although it had been years since anyone had called him that. It was Anthony now, or DiNozzo when his editors noticed a missed deadline. "You know, I've been coming here for months and you've never asked."

"I never cared, til now," she said as if that explained everything. "So, tell me, Tony. What's got you looking like your favorite dog died? Girl trouble or work? Cos it's always one or the other here."

"Neither, actually," he didn't know why he didn't just get up and leave. It's what he did, kept moving. Kept going, leaving was his specialty after all, but something about the way she looked at him pinned him there. "No girl, and before you say it, it's not a problem," he flashed her a grin and she believed him. No one who smiled like that could be alone except by choice, and not for long. "And I love my job. I write movie and restaurant reviews, couldn't ask for a better gig."

"So what's the problem?" she asked gently. He looked at her, taking in the spiked collar, the velvet corset, the black, black hair, and wondered why he was on the verge of spilling his guts to girl who looked like any sane person's nightmare.

"You ever wake up and wonder if you're living the wrong life?" he waited, expecting her to laugh. He'd watched her enough nights to know she rarely doubted anything, least of all herself. That's why he was surprised when she answered.

"All the time, Tony. All the time," she said, a tinge of sadness crossing her face so quickly he wasn't sure he'd really seen it. "Everyone wants to be someone else, wants a different life, sometime or another."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Look at this bunch," she waved her hand. "Ducky over there? He teaches at GW, been tenured since the dawn of time. He dreams of working at the Smithsonian, has a thing for turn of the century medical tools. The kid with him, Jimmy, plays in a garage band and thinks a contract is right around the corner. Until then, he's studying to be a nurse. You've talked to Jenny a time or two. Can't make a relationship work, and spends all her time banging her head against the glass ceiling of corporate law. She's been at the same firm for twelve years and passed over for partner four times at last count."

"How do you know all of this?" he asked, draining his drink.

"It's my job. You think you're the only one who's ever come in with a long face?" she touched the back of his hand. "Everybody's got a story, Tony, if you take the time to listen. McGee, the guy with all the electronics, writes a novel on Sundays. He's been working on it for four years, shows me pages sometimes. Ziva teaches at one of the middle schools and speaks five languages. She wants to start her own organization, working with abuse survivors but can't get it off the ground."

"What about you?"

"Me? I don't know," she shrugged. "Gibbs, though, he's building a boat in his basement. One morning he's going to wake up with the sea as his only company, salt air and all that."

"How's he going to get it out?" Tony asked. She laughed, and it was lovely. He realized how rarely he heard people laughing these days, how long since anyone had laughed with him.

"That, my dear, is the million dollar question. No one knows, but he says he'll figure out when it's time and I believe him," she smiled in the direction of the bar, and Tony noticed that the bartender gave her a soft wink as he slid another mug toward the one she called McGee. They sat for a long moment, trading glances, her hand still resting on his.

"I don't know if this is who I'm supposed to be," he said, breaking the companionable silence. "I've got a good job, great car, friends across the country, dates anytime I want them. I don't know. I think it's this place, you know, the quiet, too much time to think and too much alcohol," he looked toward his empty glass.

"Bars do that to people," she said. "Listen, hon, if you don't like where you are, you've got two choices. You can leave or you can work to change it. I'd bet you've been running for a long time, huh?"

"Too long," he admitted. Something in her face told him she knew what it was like to just keep going, nowhere far enough away.

"Until I met Gibbs, I didn't know what stillness could be. It's scary, Tony, but sometimes you find a place that feels like home and nothing else matters," she squeezed his hand now. "You asked about me, and the truth is, I wonder if I'm doing the right thing every day but then I have a conversation like this, and I know. I'm right where I'm supposed to be, except when I'm not."

"But is it where you want to be?"

"Honestly?" she got that wicked grin again. Tony nodded, not at all sure what he was agreeing to. "Wouldn't mind being outside having a snowball fight," she winked as she gathered their glasses and stood up.

He still wasn't sure why they gathered here, but now he knew why they came back.