Chapter three

“Are you ready to go?”

“Hell yeah.”

Tony’s words are delivered with great emphasis, so that no one can mistake just how horrible he thinks his stay in the hospital has been. Tim holds back a smile at Tony’s theatrics.

“You know,” Tony says, “we really should do something ritualistic about my leaving this place. Set it on fire, or something.”

“I think that’d be illegal,” Tim points out.

“You’re probably right,” Tony says. “Still.”

Tony is required to be pushed in a wheelchair to the hospital entrance; his doctors don’t want him overexerting himself on their turf. Tony has already grumbled a great deal about it, but Tim thinks it’s a good thing that Tony isn’t walking – he looks rather like the living dead. Although there is now color in his cheeks, it doesn’t make up for the dark shadows around his eyes that make it look as though he hasn’t slept in weeks, when it is, in fact, what he’s done the most in the last eight days.

Nurse Emma pushes Tony out to the front doors. She grins at  Tony; they’ve become fast friends during his stay. Tim thinks she has a bit of a crush on Tony, and then he thinks that she’s not the only one – at which point, he backtracks quickly and ignores his own mind.

“Thank you, Nurse Emma,” Tony says, smiling brilliantly at her when they stop by the automatic doors. “I’ll take if from here.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks.

“Very,” Tony says.

He stands up, and it’s a bit unsteady. Tim has parked the car just outside, at the closest parking space he could find, and it seems like that was a particularly bright idea.

“Just don’t overexert yourself,” Emma says. “As much as we’ve enjoyed having you here, I’d rather not see you back, preferably ever.”

Tony grins. “Well, I haven’t enjoyed my stay much, so I’d rather not repeat the experience either. No offense.”

“None taken,” she smiles.

They hug, and Tim stands awkwardly at the side, Tony’s bag in one hand. It’s not very heavy – Tony has worn hospital gowns for the most part, and the nurses have washed and shaved him for the first four days, until he could stand up without doubling over into a coughing fit. After that, he’s used the antibacterial soaps of the hospital. The bag does hold a few magazines, a bunch of DVDs, Tony’s toothbrush, a black teddy bear in goth clothes from Abby, and a selection of get-well cards. There is also a wide range of medicines that Tony is supposed to take in the coming weeks.

Emma waves goodbye as she leaves, and Tony turns to Tim. “Let’s get out of here.”

Although Tim is not as enthusiastic about Tony leaving Bethesda – mostly because he thinks that Tony should have stayed there for  another two days, like the doctors wanted – he does enjoy the smile on Tony’s face as he steps outside.

“Ah,” Tony says. “Fresh air. I’m a free man at last.”

“You’ve been in the hospital, not in jail,” Tim says, rolling his eyes.

“The hospital is much worse,” Tony says, looking back at the building as they make the way – at a slower pace than usual – towards the car. He shudders as he speaks. “They have needles and machines and they poke and prod.”

Tim knows; he’s seen the nurses draw blood and get x-rays, and he figures there must have been worse things – Tony had a catheter, after all.

Tim opens the door on the passenger side for Tony, who looks at him.

“I’m not your date, Probie,” he says. “You don’t have to hold the door open for me.”

“Just get in,” Tim says, “before you fall down.”

“I’m not falling down,” Tony says. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You look like a raccoon,” Tim says.

“Hey! I’m sick,” Tony says. “Be nice to the sick.”

“You just said you were fine, Tony,” Tim says, smiling.

He starts the car, waits for Tony to sit down and fasten his seat belt, and then he’s driving out of there. Driving away from Bethesda, the plague suddenly feels like a bad dream – until he looks at Tony, still worse for wear.

It takes a little over twenty minutes to drive from the hospital to Tony’s home. In that time, Tony manages to fall asleep, his chin resting against his shoulder, lolling this way and that as the car turns. Tim drives carefully – he never drives like Gibbs does – and Tony doesn’t stir.

When they get to Tony’s apartment, Tim reaches out a hand and places it on Tony’s shoulder. Touching Tony has become slightly easier in the last week – there was the holding him up while he coughed, handing him water afterwards, and placing a hand of support on his shoulder when the nurses came to collect more blood.

“’m awake,” Tony mumbles.

“Good,” Tim says. “We’re home.”

Tony looks up, blinking and taking in his surroundings. A grin spreads. “Home!”

He doesn’t skip out, although Tim’s fairly certain he would if he had the energy. Tim grabs the bag, locks the car, and heads after Tony.

Tony’s apartment is dark but clean. Gibbs has been there to get some of the things currently in the bag, and Tony’s cleaning lady has obviously done her job. Gibbs must have paid.

“Home, sweet home,” Tony says. He doesn’t get any farther than the couch, though, and he drops down unceremoniously. “Ahh.”

Tim stands in the doorway, feeling uncertain. Tony stretches like a content cat on the couch, and despite the racoonish look and the fact that he’s lost weight in the last week, he looks ridiculously good. Tim could spend weeks in the gym and he still wouldn’t look as good as Tony does, a week after having the plague.

Tim places the bag on the floor and heads into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he finds the shelves well-stacked with containers of ready-made food, fresh vegetables, milk, and other necessities. Abby and Kate have obviously upheld their promise on stocking up.

“Want something to eat?” Tim asks, walking back to the living room.

Tony looks at him from his position on the couch, and it’s very reminiscent of the way he’s looked at Bethesda.

“Pizza,” he says, and there’s a light in his eyes.

Tim chuckles. “Pizza it is.”

Tim hasn’t eaten the hospital food they’ve served Tony, but he’s smelled and seen it, and that is enough.

Tony gets almost every topping on the list for his pizza. Tim orders a Hawaii.

Tony lies down again, making himself comfortable until the pizza is delivered. Because he’s gotten used to trying to make Tony as comfortable as possible, Tim grabs a blanket and covers Tony.

“You really are a McMommy, you know that?” Tony asks, without opening his eyes.

Tim’s cheeks heat up. “Well, you’re, uh, a bratty DiNozzo baby, so that’s what you get.”

Tony snorts and looks at him. “Wasn’t bratty. I had stuff, but I was never a brat. Daddy dearest saw to that.”

There is more to Tony’s words than he’s saying. Tim has tried to fit the pieces of the Tony puzzle together for a while, but his past is hard to figure out, especially when Tony might be playing some things up – and other things down.

“You were born with a silver spoon and golden diapers,” Tim says, instead of trying to delve deeper. He knows Tony will open up only when he decides he wants to.

“’twas just a golden trim on the diapers,” Tony says, smirking.

“Right,” Tim says.

There’s a beat of silence before Tony asks, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Family,” Tony says. “You a brat?”

“I, uh, I don’t think I was,” Tim says. “I think my little sister’s more of a brat than me. But then, most siblings probably say that about the other.”

Tony smiles slightly. “Never had a sibling.”

Tim knows this, and it never surprised him. Being an only child fits Tony’s character very well.

“Don’t think my parents even really wanted me,” Tony says, cocking his head to the side and looking at something beyond Tim. “They just wanted an heir. An accessory to show off. Preferably in a sailor’s outfit. I don’t think I really fit the bill for what they ordered.”

Tim swallows, and wonders what he’s supposed to say to that.

Tony shakes his head. “Sorry, Probie. That was a little off track.”

“Uh, no problem,” Tim says.

The doorbell rings at that moment, saving him from having to figure out what to say next. Tim pays the delivery guy and carries the pizzas inside. They smell good, of course. Tony struggles to sit up from his horizontal position, and Tim only just manages to stop himself from helping. Tony is not a child and he won’t appreciate being coddled.

“I’ll get some plates,” he says instead. “Do you want a soda?”

“I guess a beer is pushing it?” Tony asks.

“Um, Gibbs and Doctor Pitt’ll have my head if I let you have anything alcoholic,” Tim says.

“’s what I thought,” Tony says. “Soda it is.”

They eat in silence. Tim watches Tony, noting that the man who can usually down a whole pizza in under ten minutes is struggling after a third of it.

“Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” Tony says finally, putting the pizza down. He’s frowning.

“You’ve eaten pudding for a week,” Tim says. “It makes sense that you can’t eat as much now.”

Tony looks at him. “A third of a pizza, McGee. I feel like a girl.”

Tim can’t help it; he snorts.

Tony glares at him.

“Tony, you’re not a girl just because you can’t eat a ton of pizza and drink beer right now,” Tim says, rather exasperated. “You’ve had the plague. Give yourself a break.”

Tony looks at him with unreadable eyes. Before the plague, Tim thought he was getting better at reading Tony, but the week in Bethesda has made him re-evaluate that idea. Looks like the kind Tony is giving Tim now – which hold darkness and something akin to despair, and anger and sadness all in a incoherent mess – are new, and Tim doesn’t know what to say or do to them.

But then Tony pulls back, sinking into the couch. He sighs. “You should go, Probie. It’ll be a few days before cheery ole DiNozzo is back.”

It’s Tim’s turn to frown. “Uh, if you don’t mind me saying it – I’m kind of appreciating the DiNozzo who isn’t—uh, you know, reminding me that I’m the probie every other minute?”

“I like that DiNozzo,” Tony says, making a face.

They’re both silent for a few moments.

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” Tim says.

Tony shrugs, looking away. “Do as you’d like.”

“What do you want?”

Tony refuses to look at him. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be asleep in a little while, because that’s all I seem to be able to do these days – and although I’m sure watching me sleep is great fun, maybe there’s something more productive you could be doing.”

He doesn’t breathe through his tired, sarcastic monologue, and Tim worries that he’ll start coughing because of it. But Tony takes a few calming breaths, and doesn’t start coughing, and that makes Tim release his own breath.

Tim worries his lip with his teeth, trying to decide on what to say. Tony’s quiet, obviously waiting for Tim’s response – or perhaps waiting for him to leave.

“Perhaps,” Tim says quietly, “if you’ll let me decide what’s fun and what’s a productive way to spend my time—uh, maybe that’ll be easier for all of us? And then you can just, you know, sleep, like you need to get back to your old, annoying self?”

Tony turns his head slowly to look at Tim. “You like watching me sleep, Probie?”

Tim’s ears become red, and he hopes Tony doesn’t notice his discomfort.

“N-no,” he stammers.

“The Probster is lying,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes, smiling slightly. “Why’s that?”

“Tony—”

“Trying to get back to my old, annoying self,” Tony says. “Why do you like watching me sleep?”

“I don’t,” Tim snaps.

“Yes, you do,” Tony says. “Come on, McGee.”

Tim glares, and decides to give Tony one of the reasons why he likes watching Tony sleep – because he does.

“I just like to make sure that you’re still breathing and haven’t just—died,” he says, quickly and rather quietly.

His words stop Tony short, and he finds himself under intense scrutiny once again. Tim can’t meet Tony’s eyes for fear that Tony will see other things – things Tim doesn’t even admit to himself – in his eyes. There are other reasons to like watching Tony sleep, but he will not voice them, preferably not ever if he wants to keep his job.

Tony’s face softens. “Thanks, I guess.”

“What?”

“Thanks,” Tony says again. “For having my six.”

“You—uh, you’re welcome,” Tim says, frowning.

Then Tony gives him a quick grin. “Even though it seems like a waste of time at the hospital, considering all the machines I was hooked up to—”

Tim knows this; he knew it even when he was watching the heart monitor’s line doing tops and dips. He knew there were machines that could tell if Tony was in danger far better than Tim ever could – and yet he still wanted to be there, still wanted to keep track.

Something in Tim’s face makes Tony fall silent. Tim is grateful.

“You should sleep,” he tells Tony.

Tony makes a face, but nods. “Yeah. Think I’ll stay here, though. Long way to the bed.”

Tim nods. “Okay.”

When Tony lays down, Tim grabs the blanket, which is all bunched up on the floor after their dinner. He stands as Tony stretches out on the couch, and places the blanket back over him.

“McMommy,” Tony says sleepily.

“Brat baby DiNozzo,” Tim replies calmly.

“You staying?” Tony asks.

Tim shakes his head. “After our conversation, how could I not?”

Tony smiles softly, and Tim knows he’s already falling asleep. “Good,” he says, echoing what he said almost a week ago at the hospital. “Don’t want to wake up dead.”

His words make Tim smile. Then he hesitates for a second before leaning over and pushing a few strands of hair out of Tony’s face. It’s a risky move, but Tony doesn’t react.

Tim straightens, and takes the left over pizza out to the kitchen.

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