Icicle Wars
by channeld
written as: a Secret Santa fic exchange gift on the NFA
rating: K plus
genre: drama
The given prompt: "I would love a Tim/Tony, or Tim/Jimmy friendship fic (NOT slash, not even a hint) using the following lyrics as a prompt:
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He will not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
From He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell.
Other comments: This doesn't have to be a song fic, in fact I'd prefer it wasn't, but I do want the sentiment expressed by the lyrics to be the prompt for the story, and naturally if there was a little Tim whumping involved that would be entirely acceptable."
With that, I've chosen to do a drama featuring Tim and Tony.
setting: Washington DC in December. The time is the present. No spoilers involved.
disclaimer: I still own nothing of NCIS.…
Chapter 1
Tim didn't react at all. His attacker had moved up on him silently as he stood at his desk, dusting it. Sound wasn't the only sense working for Tim, however. He sensed that someone was there by the sudden change in temperature near his neck. There was no door or window near Tim to let in a December chill, so therefore, someone was…
Before the attack could commence, Tim had grabbed the attacker's arm and thrown him over in a neat judo flip.
"Ow!" said Tony, rolling on the floor and pressing a hand on his impacted head while Ziva, from her desk, gave a small cheer. "Why'd you go and do that?"
"Why were you about to attack me?" Tim challenged, calmly.
"I was only going to put this ice cube down your neck, Mc…McOverreacting!"
Gibbs gave him a glare. "Stop dripping in the squad room, DiNozzo. Take your pet ice cube outside, or throw it into the sink."
"But…" Tony glanced out at the cold, early winter day, and decided that the sink was the better choice.
"What was that all about?" asked Ziva.
"Icicle Wars," Tim explained. "It's the hot new game on Facebook. Players, called 'iciclists', plot novel ways of killing their opponents with icicles. Haven't you played it?"
"No, I do not play many online games. But what does this have to do with you and Tony?"
"We both got interested in it, unbeknownst to each other. We wound up by chance as opponents two days ago. Ever since then…"
"I will get you, McGoo," Tony snarled, and attempted to squeeze a water-logged wad of paper towels over Tim's head. Tim didn't dodge quite fast enough and found his hair drenched. With a cry, he aimed a punch at Tony, but his arm was yanked back, painfully, by Gibbs,
"You two are fighting over a game?" Gibbs thundered.
Tony charged, "He's already tried to kill me twice!"
"Succeeded once," Tim said mildly.
"I've killed you three times!"
"I've lodged a protest on two of these 'killings', as you know!"
Gibbs noticed that the shouting had drawn Vance's attention. The head of NCIS was looking down from the balcony, and he did not look happy. "You two: Go out and dig up something on the Lorimer case. Now!" Gibbs ordered.
Neither man moved. "Together?" Tim asked, finally.
"Yes, together! You're part of a team, aren't you?"
"Let that be a lesson to you, McAlphabet. There is no 'I' in 'MCRT'," Tony snarked.
"There aren't any vowels in 'MCRT', Tony," Tim replied hotly.
"I think they were just saying that they are opponents," Ziva said, cheekily. Under Gibbs' room-toasting glare, however, Tim and Tony slowly rose and put on their coats; and then they picked up speed, scurrying out.
The day was gray; winter drear. Two weeks of indecisive weather had had the temperature always flirting with the freezing mark. Snow, followed by minor thawing, followed by more snow; and repeat. Today was one of the colder days; cold enough to be frosty everywhere, on the heels of a day that had seen sun and melting. Now snow and ice clung to everything. The only saving grace was that the motor pool car had not been left outside, and hence was snow and ice-free.
Tony, as usual, snagged the car keys from the lot attendant before Tim could move to do so. "I don't trust you to get us there safely," he said to Tim.
"I don't trust you, period," Tim shot back, and then sighed. "Tony, this is stupid. It's just a stupid game. Let's put this animosity aside and get our job done."
" 'Just a game?' " Tony echoed. " 'Just a game?' Like war games are 'just' games? I think not, McSoldier. Games prepare one for Life. Strategy, preparedness, cunning…all the things you've yet to learn..."
Tim snorted. Tony, however, was not finished. "…capture, kill, victory through slaughter. Ah, yes. Those are the fine points of game-playing."
"I don't think—"
"Of course you don't! That's what I'm saying! Because of that, you usually roll around in your namby-pamby little fairyland games of elves and trolls, princesses and dragons and all the other trappings of girls. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added mockingly.
"Now, wait a minute—"
"For what? For you to come out with a four-syllable word defending yourself? Oh, don't bring out the Dungeons and Dragons argument again. If you were still playing that, you would have dweeb written over you 24/7, and not just some of the time, as you do."
"I just—"
"And now you're panicking, because at last, faced with a real game, you've found that you don't have what it takes…"
Tim stared straight ahead at the gray landscape as Tony turned onto the highway. "I have plenty of what it takes. I've been gaming for a lot longer than you have!"
"Maybe so, but I have a natural instinct for strategy. This is a man's game, Timmy. You're not killing orcs and demons here; no imaginary foes. In Icicle Wars, you're killing people. Like your own kind. If you have a kind, that is."
"Oh, shut up. I get your point, all right? You think I'm weak. You think I can't handle the stress of a game that pretends that one is killing people."
"Yes, that's what I'm saying. You're stuck in the games rated E for Everyone. You're a long way from being ready for the T for Teenage level of violence."
"So you do know something about games and their ratings. Should I be impressed? Probably not. You probably dated a bimbo who told you about games ratings."
Tony slowed down as traffic in front of him did the same. "My point is, you're too soft, McGoo. You have that stay-inside-where-it's-safe-and-warm look, attitude, and build. You weren't meant for the tough stuff. You can't handle the tough stuff. I, on the other hand, am a born warrior; descended from Roman warriors."
"I'm not soft!" Tim raged, straining against the seat belt, before settling back in his seat with an aggrieved sigh. "I don't weigh as much as you do anymore, but I'm wiry. I can hold my own against you, physically, any day."
"You sure of that?" Tony asked with a dangerous smile. "In real life, you think you could best me in a fight?"
"Yes. If it came to that." Tim sounded like he might be trying to force confidence into his voice. "Say, what's the traffic holdup?"
"Don't change the subject," said Tony, although he craned his neck to see. "I see a tow truck's lights…looks like a car went into a ditch."
"We should stop; see if they need any help."
"What; you think your warrior-self can pull a car out of a ditch, like Hercules?"
"I hate to break it to you, Tony, but automobiles didn't exist in Hercules' time."
"Hercules was fictional, by the way, McMyth. Anyway, we're superfluous; I can see a police car now."
As their car moved slowly along, the two agents found their minds wandering from the online game for a few moments. There were worse things than cutthroat competition…like having your car going off the road and getting crumpled when it hit something. At least no one appeared to be injured. A man and a teenager, bundled up against the cold, stood by, looking sad, as the tow truck operator assessed the situation.
"Going too fast, do you think?" Tim remarked.
"Maybe. Or maybe he hit a slick spot. I can feel a little ice on the road under the tires."
"Maybe the kid was driving, and her dad was giving her lessons."
"Bad time of year to be learning."
"Yeah, but if you've just turned 16 and therefore can get a learner's permit, you'll want to be out on the road. And good for her Dad to want to have her learn under different road conditions."
Tony only grunted. Then, after a minute's silence, he said with a serpentine smile, "Better than having her plow into a bus, I would think."
Tim's wide eyes nearly bore lasers into Tony's head. "That's low, even for you, DiNozzo. I don't know why I ever told you guys about my accident when I was 16."
"Your choice," Tony laughed.
"Let's just get this assignment over with."
"Am I grating on you too much?"
"You're taking a competition way too seriously. It's only a game."
"That's what losers always say. It's only a game."
"Your attitude isn't healthy."
"Not healthy? Of course, it's healthy. The fit survive, McGerbil. Your days, I'm sorry to say (well, not really sorry), are numbered."
"There's our exit," Tim remarked, waving his hand at the highway marker.
"And your exit is coming soon," Tony chortled.
"Oh, stop that."
"When you take your dying breath…then I'll stop. And I'll stand over your lifeless body, my sword raised in triumph."
"Now you're starting to scare me."
"You should be scared, McGoo. Your dweeby reign is about to come to a bloody end."
Tim shivered. It really was a bit frightening to hear Tony this obsessed with winning.