Tim knew to be suspicious when Tony asked him to grab a drink after work. Anytime Tony was being nice to him it was cause for concern. It meant he either wanted something from Tim or was giving him pity.
Considering the circumstances, Tim could guess which one it was this time.
"Now that one," Tony said, pointing out a woman at the end of the bar who was wearing a black pantsuit and no make-up, "is probably a workaholic who hasn't had any in a while. That means she's desperate and will take anyone."
"Oh, gee, thanks," Tim muttered before he knocked back the rest of his White Russian. He didn't usually drink cocktails, especially not on a week night, but he'd been in the mood for something a bit harder than his usual white wine.
"That's not how I meant it, McGee."
"No, it's fine, Tony. Thanks for pointing me toward women who are so needy they'll even take me. But could you make sure they're not secretly assassins who are only using me to get information first?"
Tony sighed and shook his head. "McGee, come on. Don't be like that."
"What? Amanda or Juliet or whatever the hell her name was…she wasn't the first. It's like every woman I'm attracted to turns out to be a criminal. Amanda did, that woman who tried to blame Jethro for murder did, that woman who stole money from me did," he listed. "The only one who wasn't crazy was Erin, and you know how that ended."
"Do you think you're the only one who's had run-ins with crazies, McGee?" Tony asked with a roll of his eyes. "Maybe you don't remember, but I tongued Commander Voss, flirted with a psychotic and vengeful bartender, and had an affair with a woman who neglected to tell me she was married. And don't even get me started on the whole Jeanne mess."
Tim raised his eyebrows at that. Tony rarely brought up Jeanne. "I guess I hadn't thought anyone else had the same problems," he admitted.
"Sometimes you're going to have run-ins with the wrong kinds of women. Let's face it: our line of work isn't exactly conducive to budding romances."
"So I should just resign myself to a life of solitude?"
"Are you always this whiney, McPessimist?"
"Sorry; having my new girlfriend point a gun at me before getting shot by some crazy assassin tends to dampen my mood."
"Well, you're certainly not lacking sarcasm," Tony noted. "I'm sure there's some woman out there who's nice and normal; at least, normal by your standards," he jabbed slyly. "You'll meet her someday."
"Yeah, and with my luck it'll be you behind a computer screen."
"Hey! That was only one time!" Tony exclaimed. "How long are you going to keep bringing that up?"
Tim gave him a look. "Tony, you tried to trick me into believing you were a woman online. It's not something I plan to forget."
"Tried to trick you? As I recall I had you going until Ziva decided to be a blabbermouth."
That coaxed a hint of a smile out of Tim. "I suspected it was you. She just confirmed it."
Tony smirked. "Right," he intoned in a disbelieving tone. "Whatever you say, McGee."
It was growing late and the bar patrons were beginning to file out. Soon, Tim and Tony were among the remaining stragglers. They'd each had four cocktails and were feeling the effects at full force. No doubt they'd be sporting painful hangovers in the squad room the next morning.
"We can't drive, McGee," Tony groaned. His head was lying on the bar, eyes closed. Tim was sitting beside him with his elbows on the bar as he held an ice-filled glass against his forehead.
"I know," he agreed in a slurred voice. "Should we call Ziva for a ride?"
Tony responded with something that was a cross between a moan and a guffaw. "It's, like, 2:00am. If we call her she'll go all ninja on our asses."
Tim murmured his agreement. "Well, I don't think we can just stay here all night. They'll throw us out when they close up."
"We could…call a…um…cab…"
"Okay," Tim agreed. He pulled out his cell phone and looked at it, blinking as he tried to focus. "Tony, can you dial the number?"
"I've got to do everything," he muttered as he shakily sat up and snatched the phone. "What would you do without me, Probie?"
"Stop checking to make sure no one's put superglue on my keyboard?" he suggested cheekily.
Tony just scoffed as he clumsily dialed the number. When someone answered, all he managed to say was, "Need cab. Joe's Pub." Then he hung up.
As the two of them sat there, moaning and groaning and swearing to never have another Long Island Ice Tea as long as they lived, Tim turned to Tony, saying, "Thanks."
"For what? Getting you smashed?"
Tim leaned down and rested his head in his arms. "For being here for me tonight."
"Don't mention it." He groaned and rubbed his head. "Seriously, don't mention this to anyone. Wouldn't want them to think I'm getting soft."
The last thing Tim managed to mumble before his world went dizzy and black was, "Your secret's safe with me."