Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the typos.
Title: A Life Less Ordinary
Summary: After an accident, the universe grants Tony a rare glimpse into a life he could've had.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x24. Moderate violence in the first chapter. Adult language.
Author's Note: This story has been bothering me for a while now and I think it's time to start writing it. This is an AU based on Life Before His Eyes (NCIS 9x14), It's a Wonderful Life, and The Family Man (starring Nic Cage and Tea Leoni).
It will not be Tiva. I repeat, it will not be Tiva.
This is not a death-fic.
Everyone from the team should be, hopefully, be in the story somewhere. The main team focus, however, will be on Tim and Tony friendship as well as Tony's character growth.
I'm going to be writing this as a work in progress, so I'm not sure how long it will take. But it will be finished...eventually.
Please enjoy.
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Wednesday, August 5, 2015 - 3:33pm – 3467 Atherton St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –
"If you Navy bastards don't get lost," the voice behind the door warns, "I'm going to let my dog out!"
Tony DiNozzo leans deeper against the small rancher's vinyl siding, readjusts the grip on his Sig. On the opposite side of the front door, Tim McGee, mimics the motion, but his heart isn't in it. His lips are pressed in a tight line, all of his muscles poised to bolt as soon as Petty Officer Jackson Mulroney releases the hellhound.
"Easy, McGee," Tony whispers, "he's lying."
Half-nodding, Tim settles in his stance as though he accepts Tony's word for it. But the look in his eyes says, If there is a dog, I'm so out of here.
Making a face, Tony squints through the window, but the sun's molten rays reflect off the glass. He can't make out anything inside and almost gets blinded for the pleasure. For all he knows, Mulroney could have more dogs than the Queen of England. Or he could be bluffing.
Tony pounds on the door again. "Mulroney, come out with – "
"Yeah right, you Navy bastard!" Mulroney actually laughs. "Get the hell off my porch or I'll let Goliath loose."
Tim swallows audibly.
Goliath, he mouths, did you hear that?
Of course Tony heard that. The neighbors on the other side of the cul-de-sac, down the block, and the whole damned neighborhood heard it too. Everyone in DC is probably listening to Mulroney's verbal abuse and their attempts to coax him out of his freaking house.
Shaking his head, Tony flattens himself against the house again. He tries for another view of the interior, but he can only make out his own reflection staring back. Sallow-cheeked and tired eyes hiding behind his Aviator sunglasses. World weary on a good day, ready to jump ship on a bad one.
He just needs an easy case to finish the day out. And up until right now, right until this moment, their current case had been incredibly easy. Numerous provisions ordered for a naval destroyer didn't show up on time, Mulroney's signatures were on the orders, and a suspiciously empty storeroom was on base. Throw in a few thousand dollars that magically appeared in Mulroney's bank account after the order disappeared. Slam dunk, just the way he liked them.
But who the hell was he kidding?
Nothing had been easy since Gibbs caught that bullet in Iraq. Sometimes Tony wonders whether he might be to blame, whether he set himself up for failure, accidentally made thing difficult. But Tony did what he was supposed to do: accept the role of team leader as though it would be nothing more than temporary. Despite Gibbs' assertions that the change was permanent, a part of Tony still believes he holds the space until his boss come back from his retirement or trial retirement or bourbon and boat bonanza…or whatever the hell the brass calls the siesta this week.
The ease with which Tim and Ellie fell into their relative promotions still surprises Tony. They arrive early and stay late without so much as a sarcastic quip. With tight and pained smiles, they follow his lead like good little soldiers. Like he might've earned his new position on merit, not mistakes.
But the constant fear of screwing up again gnaws at him, keeps him up most nights, sends him back to the bottle. It hollowed him out like Swiss cheese until even a damned, routine arrest can't be easy. What he wouldn't give to change that.
He stares back at his reflection. Christ, he looks old.
Tim clears his throat.
Tony springs back to life. "Mulroney, open the door! We've got a warrant."
"Suck it, cop!"
He tries the door handle. Locked, of course, because that would be too easy.
At that moment, a dog barks like it wants to rip Tim and Tony apart and spit out their bones. Tony's blood runs cold, gooseflesh pricks to his arm despite the blistering heat.
Tim's face pales, his body rigid. "Tony, that's a Bull Mastiff."
Tony blinks. "How the hell do you know that?"
"I dated a girl from Jethro's obedience class who had one." His upper lip curls at the bad memories. "The dog used to bark like that at Jethro all the time."
"Is that why you broke up, McDogWhisperer?" Tony asks, not really interested.
Tim looks away. "The crazy dog was saner than she was."
As if on cue, the dog inside barks again, louder and more aggressive this time. For a second, Tony imagines the animal sucking him up like spaghetti. He follows his Tim's lead and takes a full step back.
"Tony, we – "
"I'm already calling for back-up, McGee," Tony says, pulling out his cell phone.
Nodding, Tim turns his attention to the door. "Petty Officer Mulroney, come out of the house! Now!"
"Fat chance, douch – "
"Hey! That's uncalled for!" Indignation runs rampant on Tim's face.
Tony chuckles at how shocked his partner is that their suspect would use an expletive. Maybe it is time for the dirtbags to take social etiquette classes. So they could say please and thank you, you know, right before they blow your brains out. Maybe if Mulroney had just asked nicely, Tony and Tim would already be on their way back to the Yard while he hightailed it to Florida.
"Takes one to know one," Tony calls back.
Tim shoots him an appreciative smile until Mulroney hurls a particularly colorful string of expletives about where they can stuff their warrant.
Rolling his eyes, Tony dials the main number for the NCIS dispatch. While the phone rings, he keeps his eyes on the door to make sure Mulroney doesn't release the Hound of Baskerville.
Another bark, another step towards the car. Somehow, Tim is already off the porch.
"NCIS dispatch," a pleasant, distantly familiar voice chirps.
Cringing inwardly, Tony pinches the bridge of his nose.
Oh shit, I should probably remember her.
Was her name Carrie? Or Kara? Or Mariah? Or Jane?
Okay, so maybe he can't recall a tiny, unimportant detail like her name, but he does remember how she was his first conquest when he started at NCIS. The relationship went along happily for months until they hit a point break when she tried to make them exclusive…like he actually knew the definition of the word back then. Of course, she went completely crazy when he told her that it wasn't her, it was him – because what rejected woman doesn't? – and ended up leaving NCIS to float around the primordial alphabet soup before, obviously, returning at the opportune moment to make his life miserable again.
"Hey there, - " he licks his lips, takes a shot in the dark " – Tara. Agent McGee and I are trying to serve a warrant, but we've got a situation. The suspect is currently threatening us with a dog and – "
"A Bull Mastiff," Tim interjects.
Tony shoots him a look. "A dog and we need back-up."
"Ah, Agent DiNozzo." The ice in her voice should be refreshing in the oppressive heat. "I'll put Agent Barrows and his team on stand-by. You and Agent McGee should maintain a safe distance while I connect you to Animal Control. And by the way, Tony, my name is Alicia."
"Shit," he murmurs.
But she's already gone, leaving cheery hold music in her wake. He grinds his teeth when a tinny, soft-jazz version of The BeeGee's "Stayin' Alive" starts up in his ear.
"You've got to be kidding," Tony grouses.
"What?" But Tim sounds like he's a block away.
Tony squints against the sun to find his partner in the middle of the flagstone walkway, already on his way to the car. Rolling his eyes, Tony moves to the very edge of the porch. For every mistake he has made since Gibbs got hurt, he isn't about to bungle this arrest.
One more try, and then I'll wait in the car with McGee.
"Mulroney, come out! Now!" he bellows.
"Or what?" Mulroney calls, taunting, laughing.
Tony's hand tightens around his holstered Sig. "Just open the damn door."
"Are you sure that's what you want?"
He rolls his eyes. "For the love of G-d, yes!"
And in that moment, he realizes he forgot about that damned dog. The bark is more like a sonic boom that rattles the windows. Tony takes a step off the porch, just as the door flings open.
"Sic 'em Goliath!" Mulroney yells.
Barking and howling reverberates through the porch, attacks Tony's ears, sends the blood pounding through his veins. Motion blurs towards him and he bolts, phone forgotten. It hits the ground and explodes into a million pieces. He trips down the porch steps, shoes smacking against the flagstone.
"Run, McGee! Run!" Tony yelps, bolting for the car.
Tim doesn't need to be told twice. Without waiting for Tony, the younger man sprints for cover with the speed of a gazelle. For the life of him, Tony had no idea Tim could move that fast.
Huffing and puffing, Tony desperately hopes he reaches the vehicle before he ends up as the behemoth's lunch. Something snaps at his ankle, jerking on his pant leg, but he yanks himself free. He digs deeper, tries to ignore the pound in his left knee that kicks up.
He can't bear to look back.
Tim reaches the car first, dives into the driver's seat and scrambles onto the passenger's side. He leaves the door open for Tony. He swivels back with his Sig raised and ready. Surprise flashes across his face.
Oh shit, the monster's right behind me.
Another growl, farther away this time, sends white-hot terror burning through him. Tony throws himself into the driver's seat and slams the door. As he collapses back in the seat, his breaths come in ragged, gasping pants. He revels in the fact that he is still alive, still has all his limbs, that nothing took a chunk out of his ass.
"Are you okay, McGee?" he wheezes.
Tim nods tightly. "Yeah, fine. How about you, Tony?"
He gives a flagging thumbs up. With a grim nod, Tim glances back at Mulroney's house. Instantly, his face twists with disgust, his cheeks blazing red. His shaking hands fumble for the door handle before he sucks in what's supposed to be a calming breath. Too bad it doesn't work. Tony follows his partner's gaze, fully expecting a giant dog to be strutting around, protecting its turf.
But his mouth gapes at the sight.
In the front yard, a dark brown dachshund prowls through the yard, its hard barely visible above the overgrown grass. Doubled over with laughter, Mulroney stands on his porch clutching a cell phone. The sound of the barking dog still booms from the device.
Tony grinds his teeth.
That bastard.
"Did we just get chased by that dog?" Tim asks.
"It sounded bigger," Tony offers sheepishly.
"I could've sworn that dog was huge." Tim rubs the back of his neck, the anger deepening on his face. "Bishop doesn't need to find out about this, right?"
"I won't tell, if you won't."
Tim laughs humorlessly. "My lips are sealed."
The dachshund chooses that moment to saunter over to the Charger and show the agents what it thinks about NCIS. Scowling, Tony reaches for his Sig and wonders whether he can throw that mutt in the pound for destruction of Navy property. He shakes his head, decides to save the punishment for Mulroney.
"Good," Tony says. "Now, let's go arrest that idiot. You go through the front and I'll head him off in case he makes a run for it."
"On it, boss."
The ease with which Tim says the works makes Tony flinch. No matter how many times Tim or Ellie call him that, he doubts he'll ever get used to it. Not that he wants to.
Tim tilts his head. "You still don't like that, do you?"
"Save it for Gibbs, McGee."
"Sure." He shoots Tony a grin. "Let's go make an arrest, El Jefe."
Before Tony has a chance to tell him that he hates that nickname even more, Tim climbs out. Tony follows and instantly, the sweat starts down his face. As soon as their feet hit the asphalt, Mulroney freezes, his eyes going wide and his face paling. He back back into the house.
Tim darts across the yard with the dachshund, yipping and snarling, on his heels.
Clutching his Sig tightly to his chest, Tony rounds to the back.
He isn't even halfway there when he hears a car engine rev. Tires squeal and Tim yells something inaudible. Panic bubbles in Tony's throat, sending shockwaves through his body.
"Tim!" Tony yells.
He sprints back to the front yard, the high grass whipping at his ankles. When the Honda Civic at the edge of the cul-de-sac comes into view, Tony holds his breath. Mulroney inches the car closer to freedom while Tim stands in its path with his gun raised and that dachshund pulling on his pant leg.
Tim's expression is murderous. "Turn off the vehicle and put your hands on the wheel!"
The engine revs again.
"Do it!" Tim yells.
"Agent McGee, you stand down!" Tony shouts.
But Mulroney revving his car drowns Tony out. Mulroney is about to make his getaway, regardless of who – or what – is in the way. Tony just reacts, darting towards them. Just as Tony reaches his partner, Mulroney guns the engine. Tires squeal.
"Tim! Move!"
At that moment, the world slows to a crawl.
Forward momentum sends Tony careening full-force into Tim. He pushes Tim out of the way with everything he left and Tony catches his friend's wide eyes, his pinwheeling arms, the sick slap of flesh meeting pavement.
Tony turns back to the car just time for the world to catch up.
He doesn't even get a chance to close his eyes.
His body slams against the car hood, flipping him ass over head as though he weighs nothing all. Something deep inside his leg snaps. The world around him blends into a disgusting Tilt-a-Whirl of sky, asphalt, and car until he lands on the sun-baked asphalt. The sound of fleshing smashing against pavement floods his ears, brings bile to his tongue. For a split second, he feels like he's floating over his body, watching this all happen to someone else.
Then the pain crashes over him like a tidal wave. Every neuron screams in agony, every inch of his body pounds with its own heartbeat. He presses his hand against his chest, tries to make sure nothing's broken. But it's too much of a mess, slick with blood and sweat and tiny rocks.
Now, he knows what it means to be roadkill.
I'll never run over a squirrel again.
Darkness reaches after him, but he doesn't have the energy to fight it. He watches the clouds swirl together overhead as it tries to whisk him away.
Somewhere far off, the crack of a gunshot resounds. Tony perks up.
It sounds almost…beautiful. Like the music he used to compose at the gun range after Gibbs took that bullet. Maybe getting run over by a car is karmic payback for imaging that kid's head exploding every time he pulled the trigger. But he wouldn't have it any other way.
Slowly, the pain ebbs away and Tony feels himself slipping away. The world greys around the edges like a particularly vivid dream. Overhead, the clouds swirl and dance into a divine carousel. He feels, oddly, peaceful despite the yelling and squealing tires around him. None of this matters now.
This must be what dying feels like.
Out of nowhere, Tim's head interrupts Tony's pristine view of the sky. The right side of his face is covered in scratches, the beginning stages of bruises pop up on his ruddy cheeks. His lips move, but no sound comes out.
Tony's eyes close.
Something taps on his cheeks, shakes him awake. Tony lets his eyes flutter open, stares up at his friend.
"Wha-what?" he moans.
"Don't pass out on me again, Tony." He sounds like he carries the weight of the world. "Just stay with me." More shaking. "Stay here. Please…"
Tony struggles to smile at his friend. "The dream's over, Probie."
Tim's eyes go wide. "Tony? What do you mean?"
"Time for me to wake up."
"I don't…" Tim blinks the tears away "…understand."
Tony wants to tell him that he doesn't either.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Unknown time, Unknown Place –
Tony always pictured dying to be spectacular. Something where the heaven opened up and angels descended with their giant wings and trumpets. Kind of like those Renaissance paintings he used to spend hours studying at the Philly Museum of Art that he visited on his days off.
But there isn't anything like that here, just darkness and a soft comfortable place to lie on. He's a tad forsaken that someone forgot to hand out wings and a harp when he arrived. At least, nothing hurts and that's probably a good thing after the accident. He wonders how Tim is making out.
Poor McGee, all of that paperwork will be a bitch…
Somewhere far away, spastic, mechanical music that sounds like something out of a circus kicks up. When the accompanying vocals join in, they're like the Chipmunks on a steady diet of speed and helium. Seconds later, a tiny voice - a cross between an off-key Munchkin and a squeaky mouse - jumps in, but it gets the lyrics completely wrong.
Tony rubs his hand over his face.
Oh G-d, did I end up in hell?
He hazards a slit-eyed view, fully expecting demons and dancing devils and some guy with a pitchfork and a hipster beard. But instead of brimstone and fire, he finds what appears to be a modest living room. There are crisp white walls, a black leather sectional, a dark wood coffee table, and a huge flat-screen TV with a caped, cartooned mouse flying across an animated sky.
He scrubs his hands over his face again.
Where am I?
It takes a few beats for the piles and piles of toys to blur into focus. Baby dolls with blonde curls, Barbie dolls, baby dolls in diapers and clothes and in strollers – how could anyone ever need so many dolls? - cover every inch of the floor. A hideous pink, play kitchen peeks out of the corner, its cupboard doors are open to spill plastic food and utensils all over the place.
Tony bolts upright.
At that moment, a little girl seemingly appears out of thin air. All dark-brown braided pigtails and broad smiles with fruit-juice stained teeth, she reeks of Elmer's glue. The little girl stops inches from his nose, grinning. He reels backwards, head bouncing off the sofa cushion.
"Daddy," she cheers, "you're finally awake!"
What the fuck?
His eyes widen. When they lock gazes, her tiny brow knits in thought as she studies him. The expression sucks his breath away, sends his heart leaping into his throat. He twists the sofa cushions around his fingers, unable to look away from the little girl.
Oh my G-d, she looks just like me…