Chapter Six
Abby & Tony
Abby has placed the roses she received from Gibbs on the living room table. They fit very well with the dark walls and heavy drapes, and the candles give them a lovely, golden edge amidst all the darkness. Looking at the flowers makes her smile, because although she never really doubted it, it’s another sign that Gibbs does still love her. She’s still special.
The doorbell sounds, and she wonders who it might be; it’s late Friday night and she’s not expecting anyone.
“Timmy,” she says when she opens the door to find him standing outside. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”
“I just—need to talk,” Tim says. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she says, holding the door open. As he enters, she assesses him – his hair looks as though it was once neatly fixed but has now been run through by a hand enough times to leave it a mess, and he’s dressed in clothes – a t-shirt and comfy pants – that suggest he wasn’t planning on leaving his apartment.
She takes a seat on her couch and motions for him to do the same, but he stays standing, pacing back and forth.
“I don’t know what to do about Tony,” he says.
Abby’s eyebrows rise. If Tim’s here at this late hour – it’s an hour until midnight – to talk about Tony, then his crush is even more serious than she first expected.
“What happened?” she asks, hungry for details. She can’t help it; the thought of Tony finding love in someone as steady, trustworthy and absolutely adorable as Tim is wonderful, and Tim needs someone forceful and full of energy as Tony.
“Nothing!” Tim says, frustration reeking from him. “I told him I’d take him home – because he came in with me this morning, since I went there—”
“You went there this morning?”
“Yeah,” Tim says. “Apparently, I just missed you. I, uh, bought coffee for him.”
“That’s so sweet,” Abby says, smiling widely at the thought. Tim must have been nervous and stammering, thinking a million times over what a bad idea it must be to go to Tony’s home in the early morning.
Tim shrugs. “I don’t know about that. But we drove to work together, so this afternoon when we were going home, I figured I’d drive him home.”
“Get a little one-on-one time with Mr. Anthony,” Abby says, grinning at him. “I like your plan.”
“Well, it didn’t work,” Tim says. “I must have done something to freak him out. He said he needed to be alone. God, what if he’s figured it out? What if he knows I’m—and he thinks it’s gross?”
Tim looks heartbroken at the thought, like a sad puppy. Abby feels instantly bad for him, even though she’s fairly certain that Tony’s professed need to be alone has nothing to do with him figuring out that Tim’s in love with him.
She stands up and hugs him. “I’m sure that’s not it.”
“What else could it be?” Tim asks, wrapping his arms around her. She always feels safe in his embrace, even now, long after their relationship has ended. She wonders if Tony will feel the same way in Tim’s arms, if the two ever admit their feelings to each other.
“You should talk to him,” Abby says gently.
“He thinks I’m gross,” he says. “He doesn’t even want to ride in the car with me.”
“Did he say that?”
Tim shakes his head, looking unhappy anyway.
“Then like I said, I’m sure that’s not it,” she says.
He looks like a petulant child. “I’m no good with words. I’m really, really bad with words.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Abby says. She’s fairly certain he will, although she only barely holds back a wince at how the conversation is likely to go until Tim actually spits out what it is he wants to say. “Just say it.”
“And if he is grossed out?” Tim asks.
“He’s not a homophobe,” Abby says, pursing her lips at him. Tony voices loud opinions about a lot of things, but she has can’t recall having ever heard him speak ill of gays. There was the incident with Voss, but that was a whole other situation, and Tony’s adverse reaction to having kissed him/her had very little to do with the fact that she was a man, and everything to do with the fact that he/she had gutted a coworker – he has told her as much, on a drunk night out.
“You really want me to risk my job for this?” Tim asks, looking down at her.
She pulls back, out of their embrace, and gives him a serious look. “No, not your job. I want you to risk your heart.”
He makes a face. “No pain, no gain.”
“Exactly.”
He sighs, shoulders slumping briefly. “Well, if I don’t get to work on Monday, you’ll know why.”
“Because you’re in bed with Tony?” Abby says, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at him.
He gives her an exasperated look. “No, because it turns out that Tony does think I’m gross after all, and has murdered me and dismembered me and spread my body parts in four different states.”
Abby giggles. “Now you’re being very silly. He wouldn’t do that. Way too much work – he’d just bury you in his backyard.”
“He doesn’t have a backyard,” Tim says, but he does smile slightly.
Abby shrugs, glad she’s able to make him happy. “Fine, then he’ll dump your body in the Potomac.”
“I’m glad you’re taking this so lightly,” he says.
They look at each other. They don’t need words these days to understand each other – they communicate with the ease of two people who were once in love, and once that flame died out, became the best of friends. She can’t imagine a better best friend than him – even though he is, despite all the MIT-smartness, slightly dim sometimes.
“Risk your heart,” she says. “Kiss him.”
He looks shocked at the suggestion, much more so than he did at her earlier suggestion of the two together in bed, perhaps because this is a risky action completely by his initiation if it is to happen.
He finally schools his face into a determined expression and he nods. He kisses her cheek.
“Thanks, Abs.”
She smiles. “Anytime.”
He has tried watching a movie, but even the classic Bond movies hold no interest to him at the moment. The popcorn sits in the bowl on the living room table, untouched, just like the bottle of soda next to it.
He feels empty.
Tony flashes back to the night before; it’s now over twenty-four hours since his last near death experience. He wonders how many more he has before the Grim Reaper will finally come and grab him – and he wonders if a part of him is waiting for it.
He loves his job, he thinks, but even a job as wonderful as the one at NCIS can’t be his sole reason to exist. He has great colleagues and a great boss – but he doubts they think he’s all that fabulous.
Tony knows they always tease each other. Still, the day’s teasing has left him longing for a kind word from Gibbs, or an appreciative smile from Ziva, or – perhaps most of all – any kind of token from Tim. Abby’s rose sits on the kitchen counter, a sign of her pity for him, rather than her appreciation. He didn’t solve the case – she did. Everything he does, the others can do better.
He heads into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of brandy out of his booze cupboard. He doesn’t drink often, at least not when he’s home alone, but he has a good selection of alcohol for the occasions when he does want to drink.
He pours himself a generous amount, swallows it down – it feels hot down his throat and lands heavily in his stomach – and pours another glass.
Tony returns to the living room and he thinks that it looks awfully pathetic. The TV flickers soundlessly, the movie still on but not nearly interesting enough for him to watch. It sheds an eerie glow over the room.
He’s startled by a knock on the door. He frowns; it can’t be one of his neighbors coming to complain about the noise from his surround system – for once, his apartment is silent.
His heart nearly stops when he opens the door to find Tim standing outside, looking very nervous for some inexplicable reason. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and Tony wonders briefly if Tim is sick.
“Probster,” Tony says. “What can I do for you?”
He has already schooled his expression into one that hopefully isn’t as emptily despairing as the one he must have worn just a few seconds ago.
“Uh—I—uh,” Tim says ineloquently, licking his lips and looking for all the world like he doesn’t want to be there. And then, very fast, he says, “Can I come in?”
Tony shrugs and hopes it looks like he doesn’t care either way; in reality, his heart is beating hard enough that he thinks Tim should be able to hear it.
They stand in the small hallway, Tony with his glass of brandy in his hand and Tim shifting his weight fretfully from one side to the other. He hangs his coat on the hanger and Tony sees that he’s wearing a white t-shirt and pants that he’s never worn to work; they are loose and there’s a hole just below the left knee.
“So—” Tony says, attempting the nonchalant approach. “You decided to stop by at midnight because—”
“I wanted—uh—I wanted to see you,” Tim says.
Tony’s eyebrows rise.
“You, uh—” Tim says, appearing to have an unusually hard time to get the words out, even for him. “You didn’t seem—ah, happy, this afternoon.”
Tony wonders where Tim’s going. Visiting at midnight could either be a very good thing – which Tony doubts, because good things rarely happen to him – or a very bad thing. What has Tim figured out?
“I’m fine and dandy now,” Tony says, faking an overly chipper tone. “Got a movie and popcorn and everything.”
There’s no need to tell Tim that the popcorn were made three hours ago and are still un-eaten.
“Oh,” says Tim.
They stand in silence, Tim looking wide-eyed and almost scared. He fidgets, meeting Tony’s gaze for a second at a time and then looking away, studying the floor and the ceiling and the walls, until he dares look at Tony again.
Tony is about to ask what Tim’s doing there again, when Tim suddenly moves, and Tony finds himself pinned against the wall, Tim’s body pressed against him – and the press of warm, soft lips against his own.
Tony’s brain fails completely at the sudden turn of events. He stands limply, pressed against the wall, and he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to close his eyes and respond to the kiss, even though this is something he’s dreamed of for months and maybe even years. Tim’s lips are full and hot, simply pressed to his.
Tim pulls back, and they both gasp, simultaneously, for breath. Tim’s eyes are wide and fearful still, and he looks at Tony as though he thinks Tony will beat the crap out of him. Tony still feels dazed enough that he doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak – and then, before he has had time to recuperate from the shock, Tim backpedals to the door, rips it open, and runs.
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