Chapter Five
Tony
Tony wonders if Abby and Tim have made up some sort of schedule; Tim arrives less than ten minutes after she’s left. Tony’s a bit surprised that they failed to run into each other – but happy that they didn’t, because then it will be a while longer before Abby shares with Tim what a mess Tony was the night before.
He remembers Abby’s words about talking to someone – talking to Tim – about stuff, and he wonders as he sips his coffee in the car on the way to work, glancing over at Tim who’s driving, if Tim would listen or simply laugh Tony’s problems off. Tim has never had problems like the things Ziva and Gibbs have faced, but he might still think that Tony’s thoughts are silly, the thoughts of a playboy.
The ride to work is silent, which is unusual for him. He can’t find it in himself to care. He nearly died last night – again – and it still has him rattled. It happened so fast, not like the Plauge which was a dragged out process of getting continuously worse, having to gasp for every breath, and it wasn’t like seeing his car get blown up, where he wasn’t ever in any danger, since he wasn’t in the car. This time, for stretched out seconds, his life depended on the strength of his fingers and then, on the strength and speed of Tim.
He stays in the car when it stops, suppressing a shudder at the smells and the feeling of the garage; it’s the same as the garage the day before.
Tim places a hand on his shoulder, warm and safe, apparently thinking Tony’s unaware of where they are. He meets Tim’s gaze before he has had time to guard himself, and Tim looks back, startled. When Tim frowns, Tony realizes he must look like hell, and he forces himself to be cheerful, a grin pushed onto his face.
“Ready for a day of hard labor, McProbie?” he asks as he gets out of the car.
Tim’s frown disappears in a yawn. “How can you be excited so early in the morning?”
Tony wonders what Tim will say if Tony says he’s not, that it’s all just a façade, and that today, all he really wanted was to stay in bed.
“Caffeine, my dear friend,” he says instead. “Caffeine.”
They head upstairs, the teasing continuing. Getting out of the elevator, they find the bullpen in the same state of early morning semi-business that it usually is. Ziva is already by her desk, writing away at what is likely to be the report of the previous day’s activities. Gibbs is nowhere in sight, although Tony doesn’t doubt that he’s in the building. It is, after all, well past seven in the morning.
When Abby walks into the bullpen carrying a large bouquet of flowers, Tony’s heart sinks. Black roses – there is no doubt who has bought them for Abby.
“Where’s Gibbs?” she asks, confirming Tony’s suspicion.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Tim says unhelpfully. Tony wonders when he’s started to think that stammering is cute.
“Is that what you get for turning down the job offer?” Ziva asks.
Abby gives a small shake of her head. “No. For solving the case.”
Tony expects this, but a protest still escapes him before he has the presence of mind to reign it in. “What? I believe those are for me then, because I solved the case.”
He knows he’s in for it now – those words are like opening a can of worms. Ziva and Tim will both think he needs to be taken down a few notches.
“But Abby ran the photo recognition that id’d Lt. Arnett,” Tim says, moving to stand beside Abby, to show even more clearly that he is on her side, not Tony’s. Just like Gibbs, Tim will always choose Abby.
“I risked my life hanging off a wall,” Tony says, wondering all the while why he’s even trying.
Ziva chimes in, “She discovered the drug interaction that made Arnett suicidal.”
“I suggested we run the wife’s DNA,” he says, trying his best to hide his dejection. He has contributed to this case, and yet as usual, Abby is the only one who gets appreciation. He forces his face into a mask that shows no reaction to the rejection he feels, from Gibbs and from Abby, but perhaps mostly from Tim, who he thinks should be on his side, even though Tony has never given him a reason to be.
“Against the national database of felons,” Tim says. “Dead end. Abby went the extra step and compared it to the Interpol database.”
“I don’t believe this,” Tony says, truthfully.
“Give it up, Tony,” Tim says, turning away and heading towards his desk.
“She’ll always be the favorite, Tony,” Ziva adds, as though she has to twist the knife another few degrees through his heart.
“He still loves me,” Abby says, and Tony wants to snap at her that, of course Gibbs loves you, he’s always loved you. He doesn’t say anything, because it would serve no purpose. It’s not her fault everyone loves her. Abby spent the night with him, holding him and being nice, and paying her back by snapping at her will do no good. She does deserve the flowers – it’s just that sometimes, Tony wants appreciation too. Head slaps aren’t really a good way to show approval.
Abby comes up to stand right in front of Tony. She picks out one of the black roses in the bunch and holds it out.
“I still love you,” she says.
Tony’s hand shakes just a little bit when he takes the flower from her. He doesn’t say thank you, but he’s fairly certain she can see it in his eyes.
“Back to work,” she says then, as she turns on her heel and heads out of the bullpen.
Tony stares after her swishing pigtails, and he wishes he could have the same spring in his step that she does. He tries to remember how long ago it was that he was really, genuinely happy.
Tim looks up at him just then, and their gazes meet. There’s that deer-caught-in-headlights look that Tim often sports, but it turns into a gentle smile after a moment. Tony imagines admiration and appreciation in Tim’s bright eyes.
It makes Tony want to go over and kiss Tim, right then and there. It would surely cost him his job, but a part of him thinks that it might be worth it.
Then again, he’s probably just imagining things.
He heads back to his desk, knowing that he has some filing to do before the case can be claimed to be closed. He starts to write, but finds that his thoughts take him far, far away from the report he’s supposed to be writing – he might even go so far as to call it a daydream. He thinks of Tim, and imagines himself and Tim in a fairytale. Because of the events of the day before, he finds himself in the role of damsel in distress, which is not a role he takes on willingly, but Tim does need to rescue him, and he succeeds.
He imagines them living together, styles meshing and mismatching but being wonderful anyway. He thinks they’ll fight, but they’ll still be good together.
He steals glances of Tim, sitting by his computer, typing furiously. Tim’s eyebrows are knitted together in concentration. Tony wonders what it would be like to be under that level of scrutiny from Tim; to be studied in such minute detail.
The day passes this way, and by the time the clock strikes three and they still haven’t caught a case, Gibbs tells them to take off.
“Seriously, boss?” Tony asks before he can stop himself – he does know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he hasn’t learned to self-censor all that well yet.
Ziva and Tim both send him glares.
“Do I look like I’m not being serious?” Gibbs asks.
Tony isn’t sure what he’ll do at home – other than grab a bite to eat, because he’s starving – but if all else fails, his bed is calling for him. The usual need to catch up on sleep after a tough case is even worse this time, because of the added stress of hanging of a garage wall.
“Want a ride home?” Tim asks, standing beside Tony suddenly.
He looks slightly nervous.
Tony suddenly recalls that he has no car at NCIS today. He is slightly annoyed by the fact, but it’s quickly quelled by Tim’s offer; Tony will get to spend more alone-time with Tim.
“Yeah, sure, Probie. You got me here, you get to get me home.”
Tim nods, and after bidding goodbye to Ziva and Gibbs – the latter grunting a reply – they head towards the elevators.
Tony has no idea what to say or do. Tim fidgets as he usually does, his body language showing Tony with unwanted clarity how uncomfortable he is. He would probably much rather spend his time with Abby, rather than playing chauffeur to Tony.
A sudden need to be alone, to be away from Tim and everything he can’t have, strikes him.
“You know—I can take a cab,” he says. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“Uh, not really,” Tim says. “It’s no problem.”
“Well, I’m sure you’d prefer Abby’s company over mine,” Tony says as the doors to the garage slide open. He heads out, long strides taking him quickly away from Tim.
He hears Tim jog up to him. “I said I’d take you home. It’s no problem.”
He speaks rather slowly, as though Tony is a child having a hard time understanding. He grabs Tony’s arm, the touch strong and warm even through the jacket Tony’s wearing. He wonders what it’d be like to be embraced by those arms. As quickly as the thought is introduced, it is pushed away; he’s not supposed to have such thoughts.
“Look, I’d like to be alone,” he says, too quietly for it to be within the personality he’s supposed to show Tim. He’s tired – exhausted even, and he needs to leave before he says something he’ll regret.
Tim still holds onto his arm, fingers lingering hesitantly. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
Tony nods, and meets Tim’s gaze. He seems to have done this on more occasions in the last two days than he has in the last few months. It doesn’t mean he can understand what he sees there, though – he thinks there’s concern and compassion, but he can’t be certain.
“Call me if you need anything,” Tim says, echoing the offer he made the night before.
Tony nods shortly, not trusting his own voice at this point. He might blurt out something hugely embarrassing if he tries to talk; he can’t risk it.
Tim’s hand drops to his side. “Have a good night, Tony.”
And then he turns, heads to his car, and before Tony has made another move, the engine starts and then Tim is gone. Tony stares at the exit where Tim disappeared, long after the car is out of sight. He pretends it’s the way he wants it to be.
He’s really good at pretending.
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