Chapter two

He has a hard time believing that while struggling to breathe, Tony is still better at spotting details and making logical leaps than Tim and Kate. But the sweater found shoved away in the Lyndon’s closet turns out to have both DNA – the wife’s, and the murdered Lieutenant’s – and minute traces of blood on it.

“They didn’t know DNA back in the eighties the way we do now,” Abby tells Tim.

“But it’s definitely the wife’s DNA, and the husband’s blood?” Tim asks, to be sure.

“Yep, definitely.”

He talks to the daughter, and secrets are brought into the harsh light of day. The daughter is in college, but willing to meet with Tim, and when he is in the car on the way back, he phones Gibbs.

“The wife was having an affair,” he says. “And she’s now married to the man, has been for the last ten years. The daughter didn’t realize when she was six, and when she did, no one was around to ask questions anymore.”

Gibbs doesn’t tell him it’s a good job, and Tim doesn’t mind – he’s not acting on his own ideas. He heads to Bethesda instead of to the office, because he hasn’t been there yet today.

Tony looks better now. His skin has regained some of it’s healthy, pink tinge again and the shadows around his eyes are less pronounced. There’s still an oxygen cannula running beneath his nose, and an IV drip in his arm, but his eyes are alert when Tim enters.

“Probie!” he says.

“Hey, Tony.”

Tony gives him a once-over. “You’ve been out playing a real detective, haven’t you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tim says. “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” Tony says. “About what?”

Tim smiles slightly and sits down. “The Lyndon case. There was both DNA and blood on the sweater, and the daughter told me her mom was having an affair at the time of the murder.”

“So the wife killed him so that she could be with the other guy?” Tony asks.

“That’s the assumption I’m working on now,” Tim says. “And the life insurance the Lieutenant had.”

“Well, you’re lucky to have me, aren’t you?”

Tony smiles, rather brightly, although it’s an almost grotesque imitation of the smile he usually charms the ladies with. He looks healthier, not healthy. Still, it’s nice to see him smile, Tim thinks, especially when they weren’t certain they’d ever get to see the DiNozzo smile again at all, just days ago.

But he can’t say any of those things to Tony, no matter how true. Instead, he gives a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, so lucky.”

Silence spreads for two beats, and then Tony asks, “So, nothing else new?”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“It’s all I do here, McWorry,” Tony says, making a face. “I’m so rested, I could stay up for a week without trouble.”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Tony relents. “Maybe not a week.”

“How about you manage to stay awake for a whole day, and then I’ll start bringing cases for real?” Tim says.

Tony is about to reply when he gets that look on his face that Tim has learned to recognize by now – the look of fear and pain that precedes a coughing attack. Tony sits up straight, knees curling up, and Tim winces as he coughs.

His breathing is wheezy and fast when it ends. Tim doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, but finally asks, “Do you want some water?”

Tony nods wordlessly. Tim pours water into a plastic cup and hands it to Tony. He holds onto the cup until he’s certain Tony has a good grip with his shaking hands. Tony takes small, slow sips.

“I’m so tired of this,” Tony mutters.

“I can’t even imagine,” Tim says honestly.

Tony looks at him, a sideways look from his still hunched over position. There is exhaustion in his eyes – but also determination and even some anger. Tim is fairly certain the latter isn’t directed at him; it’s at the plague itself and the cause of it, Hanna Lowell.

“Didn’t think I was gonna make it,” Tony says, his voice quiet and low. He’s looking at his hands, studying the now empty plastic cup.

Tim swallows – he doesn’t want to know what the world would be like without Tony in it. He may be annoying and he may tease Tim to the ends of the earth, but there is just so much more to him. So much more that Tim wants to know, so much more that they haven’t explored. There are things Tim is sure Tony will teach him, things about the job, and about life. He wants to have the chance to learn those things, to get to know Tony.

“It felt like I was drowning,” Tony says. “But I was on dry land, and it was all just—inside. I couldn’t get away.”

Tony’s soft words make Tim’s heart ache. He reaches out, grabbing Tony’s hand, just to reassure himself that Tony’s still there – and perhaps to reassure Tony, too, that he’s still there. Tony looks at him with surprise. Tim drops his hand, and looks away.

Tony speaks again. “Gibbs told me I wouldn’t die. He even slapped me. And I just knew – I had to fight.”

“Glad you did,” Tim says, speaking as quietly as Tony.

“Yeah, well,” Tony says, glancing at him, “I couldn’t leave and let Kate become the Senior Field Agent, now could I?”

His words are joking, but his voice is not.

He lies back, the movements slow and precise. Tim knows it’s so that he won’t have another coughing attack, and he wants to tell Tony to take it very, very easy, because Tim doesn’t want to have to listen to him hacking up a lung again. The sound makes Tim’s gut twist, it sounds so painful.

“She’s coming by later,” Tim says. “Gibbs is having her interrogate Lyndon’s wife again.”

Tony gives Tim a long look. It’s like they both know that what Tony just said is just the tip of the iceberg, but he’s glad that they are changing the subject to something more neutral and happy.

Tony gazes at the empty, white opposite wall.

“Bet she misses me,” he says.

“Yeah, she does, I think,” Tim says. When asked, Kate had answered with, ‘yeah, like one misses an STD’, but there had been no force behind the words. Kate’s and Tony’s juvenile teasing might be borderline abusive at times, but they do like each other, of that, Tim is fairly certain.

Tony’s eyelids are half-shut, but he’s smiling, perhaps replaying some conversation with Kate.

“You know,” he says, “she told me she’d been infected with the plague too.”

Tim knows this; Kate admitted it to Abby, and Abby told Tim. Tim hasn’t asked Kate about it, but he can understand her thought process. He thinks – and hopes – he would have done the same thing.

“I didn’t figure out that she wasn’t until I was coughing blood and she was still standing up,” Tony says, sounding almost wistful.

“You were feverish and sick,” Tim says. “No one expected your brain cell to work.”

He throws in the joke for good measure; Tony seems to need it. It provokes the response he wants: Tony glares at him.

“Just because I’m not part of the MIT geek squad,” he mutters. “Besides, at the end of the day, I get the women, and you get to stay at home and hang out with your computer.”

Tim wants to tell Tony that he’s not particularly keen on getting women, but he knows such a statement will lead to unpleasant questions that he definitely can’t answer.

“Jock,” he says instead, by way of short retribution. It’s not a very good comeback.

“Nerd.”

“Playboy.”

“Virgin.” Tony grins.

And just like that, things feel normal. The two half-glare, half-grin at each other, and if it hadn’t been for the hospital setting and the general sick look of Tony, it could have been any day of the week at work.

Tim’s phone rings.

“Shouldn’t that be turned off in here?” Tony asks, although it’s more of a pointed statement.

“Rather the wrath of the nurses, than the wrath of Gibbs,” Tim mutters, and answers. “McGee.”

Tony looks at him expectantly.

“Gibbs?” he mouths, and Tim nods.

He listens while Gibbs talks, and then relates to Tony, “Kate broke Lyndon’s wife in interrogation. She confessed to murdering him.”

“What about the alibi?” Tony asks, and Tim gives the question to Gibbs.

“Fabricated,” Tim says. “Here, he wants to talk to you.”

He holds out the phone to Tony, who takes it. Tim notes the shaking hand and decides that once the call is over, he’ll leave so that Tony can get some rest.

“Yeah, boss?” Tony says. It takes a few seconds, but then Tony smiles brilliantly. “Thanks, boss.” Another pause, and then, “Yeah, I know.”

He ends the call and hands Tim back the phone.

“What did he say?” Tim asks.

“Good job,” Tony grins. “And that if I magically get a hold of another cold case while still on leave, both me and the enabler will be sparring with him without protection.”

Tim swallows. “Good to know.”

He stands up, and it feels all wrong, because it means he’s suddenly looking down at Tony. It makes Tony look small, which he really isn’t.

“I should go,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Solving a fourteen year old cold case will only keep Gibbs happy for about twenty-three seconds. You should get back.”

Still, Tim hesitates. He likes being here, likes hanging out with Tony. And he still doesn’t like that Tony looks a bit too close for comfort to death.

“Probie, go,” Tony says. “I’ve got all these hot nurses poking and prodding me.”

Tim nods. “I’ll be by later, or tomorrow.”

“Mother hen,” Tony says, but Tim thinks he hears affection in his voice.

“You had a medieval illness,” Tim says. “It’s somewhat allowed.”

Then he grabs his coat and heads out, ears only slightly red.

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