Basketball
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or any of the characters.
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"For the last time, Tony, no!" Tim stood and headed toward the elevators.
"Come on, McGee. We need one more guy. You don't even have to do anything, just stand on the court and be a body," Tony said as he followed him.
"No!" Tim jabbed the button over and over, wishing that the elevator would get there faster. "I will not play basketball with you."
"Please, McGee? Pretty please? Our fifth man is sitting in an airport in Denver because of a freak blizzard. There's no way he'll get here in time, and this is the last game before the finals. All we have to do is be able to play, but if we forfeit we'll be out of the league for the year."
The elevator finally arrived, and Tim stepped on, hoping against hope that Tony would just give it up. Unfortunately, Tony followed him onto the elevator, still begging.
"Tony, I don't play sports. As you have often pointed out, I am not athletically-inclined."
"I told you. You don't have to actually play, just be on the court... and stay out of the key."
"No. No. No." The elevator reached the ground floor and Tim hurried off, leaving Tony behind. He shouted over his shoulder, "I have no intention of opening myself up to further teasing by you!" To his surprise and abject relief, Tony didn't follow. When he reached his car, he figured that he had gotten away from the pleading. He was looking forward to a quiet evening alone, maybe some typing, maybe some reading, but definitely no basketball.
How wrong he was. He had no sooner finished dinner and sat down at his typewriter than the ominous clicking of his door opening reached his ears. Tony walked in, talking as if their previous conversation had never ended.
"I'm telling you, McGee, it will be a snap. You just have to stand on the court, catch the ball every so often and pass it off to someone else. We don't have to win; we just have to play," Tony said as he walked by Tim into the bedroom and started rummaging through his clothes.
Tim dropped his head into his hands. Tony would never leave him alone if he didn't come and play. There was no hope of getting anything done because, as Tony had so often pointed out, they couldn't play without Tim anyway. Tony would just hang around and make Tim feel guilty for allowing Tony's city league team get disqualified.
As Tony came out of the bedroom with a pair of shorts and a t-shirt in one hand, Tim's only pair of athletic shoes in the other, Tim made a decision.
"Okay, Tony. I'll play, but on one condition."
"Name it, Probie."
"You can't make any comments about how I play, and you can never ask me to play sports with you again. I don't care if your player is trapped in outer Mongolia. This is the only time you ask me to bail you out. Agreed?"
Tony tossed Tim's clothes at him. "Agreed! I won't tease you for being incompetent and I won't ask you to play again. I'll wait for you to get changed. The game starts in about an hour."
Tim rolled his eyes and went back to his bedroom, looking in dismay at the mess Tony had made of his room. He shook his head and changed his clothes. Two minutes later, they were out the door and on their way to the gym.
Once there, Tony introduced Tim to everyone on the team. They were all obviously former athletes and Tony had equally obviously, judging by their amused expressions, clued them in on what kind of a person Tim was.
"Okay, guys, McGee will be on the court, and you can pass him the ball if necessary, but he'll mainly just serve as our fifth man. That cool with you, Probie?"
Tim shrugged. "Whatever, Tony."
"Why did you pick him, DiNozzo? Couldn't you find someone who knows what a basketball is to play?" One of the other players asked.
"Everyone's out of town or busy tonight, Miller; McGee is the only choice."
"What about Jansson?" Turner, one of the guards, asked.
Tony shook his head. "His wife's still in labor. He's out. And, before you ask, Sonders' leg is still broken and hasn't changed since last week.
"Great. Well, this McGee had better not wimp out on us," Miller muttered.
"He won't. I told him what to do. We'll make it to the finals," Tony said confidently.
"I'd rather win."
"So would I, but isn't it more important to make sure this game isn't our last?"
Miller grimaced. "Fine. Whatever. I'm jumping."
"Go for it. Just don't break your knee when you land," Tony joked.
Tony pointed out Tim's position, which was generally out of the way and in no man's land. He had to run back and forth across the half-court line, but he didn't touch the ball for the entire first half. He just watched, bored out of his mind and wishing he'd told Tony to forget about it. All he had to do was stand and while that was what he'd agreed to, it was beyond boring to stand on a basketball court for an hour, particularly on the losing team. Tony's team was getting pounded at the beginning of the second half since they were essentially playing four on five. After the first period, the other team had given up guarding Tim since they had realized that he was just an anonymous body. Tim started writing the next chapter of his book in his head, thinking about anything except basketball, barely even paying attention to where the ball was.
Then, about halfway through the last period, Tim was jolted out of his reverie by someone shouting his name. "McGee!"
He looked across the court and saw that not only was Miller getting double-teamed, the rest of the team was having trouble standing up.
"McGee! Take it!" Miller shouted.
Tim held out his hands to show he was ready, and Miller launched the ball past his two guards, straight to Tim. He was all alone on the court. The other team had to shift gears a little to accommodate the new idea of the suddenly-not-anonymous fifth man. Tim realized that he had ample opportunity to even the score, or at least give them a fighting chance. All he had to do was dribble down the court a little ways and take a shot.
To the shock of his teammates, Tim took off down the court, dribbling expertly, as if he'd been doing it all his life. He reached the three-point line and let the ball fly. He was vaguely aware of some shouts of "No!" from his fellow players, but after so much time spent with his father on the court, that was no distraction at all.
The ball swished and Tim forgot himself enough to shout, "Nothin' but net!"
For a few seconds, no one moved; they were in shock while the ball bounced and rolled to the wall. Then, the other team ran down the court, followed by Tony and the other players. The game continued at a renewed pace for the last five minutes. The addition of another player gave Tony's team the second wind they'd been needing. Tim found himself actually participating... and being guarded. It had been a few years and he wasn't in the best of shape, but he managed to get off a fast break lay up before the opposition actually understood that his three-pointer wasn't a fluke.
When he wasn't focused on the game itself, Tony noticed that Tim played with the same level of concentration he gave to his computer. Once he engaged, there was nothing else. Why didn't McGee tell me he could play like this? Tony wondered.
Tony's team, The Seven Seas of Rhyes, managed to pull off a victory when Turner sank a final three-pointer at the buzzer. They all shrieked in triumph and started congratulating each other. After the obligatory handshakes and muttered, "Good game," Tony looked around for Tim and noticed that he had already walked off the court and was drying his hair, which had gotten sweaty. He begged off the celebration with his teammates. Gibbs was expecting them bright and early the next morning, and besides, he knew that most of them would have one drink and leave for home anyway.
"Want to join the team for a drink, McGee?" Tony asked, knowing what the answer would be.
Tim sounded completely unexcited as he answered, "No thanks, Tony. I just want to go home and shower."
"Okay. Let's go." Tony shoved his stuff into his bag and started out the door with one last fist-pumping toward his team. He knew Tim was aware of his shock at how he played, but Tim seemed to have no intention of explaining.
Tony managed to keep his curiosity in check until they got back to Tim's apartment, all the while hoping that Tim would say something. As Tim opened the car door, Tony grabbed Tim's bag to stop him from getting out.
"Probie, where did you learn to play like that?"
Tim shrugged. "Didn't I ever tell you? My dad is a sports nut, and he's really good at basketball, along with most other sports. He made me play with him out on our driveway every day after school from first grade until I graduated from high school. Even now, when I come home for a visit, I have to play a little one-on-one."
"Why didn't you say so before? We could use you."
Tim shook his head. "I told you, Tony. I don't play sports. I never played on an organized team, much to my dad's dismay. I never collected basketball cards. I don't follow the NBA or watch March Madness."
Tony was equally dismayed. "You can play basketball like that and you don't play sports?"
Tim smiled, amused by Tony's distress. He seemed almost pained by the fact. "Tony, there are better things to do with my time."
"We have another game next week," Tony hinted.
Tim shook his head. "Remember. You promised that you wouldn't ask me to play basketball with you ever again. This was a one-time deal."
Tony's shoulders slumped. "Fine, McGee. It should be illegal to keep that talent from helping out others."
"You'll just have to muddle through," Tim said. He started to close the door and then stopped and leaned in once more. "By the way, Tony, you guys really need to work on foul shots. You all probably missed about half of them."
Tony was speechless, as Tim slammed the car door and went up to his apartment. Once he got inside, he pulled out his phone and dialed home.
"Hey, Dad? Yeah, it's me. You know how I always complained about you making me play basketball with you? Well, I just wanted to say thanks."