a/n This is a Rosefern story, but it's a prequel so you don't need to have read any of the other Rosefern stories for it to make sense. Takes place a couple of months prior to Operation Rosefern, ends in January '12, very minor spoilers for the episode A Desperate Man.

THREE WEEKENDS

MCGEE

The first time it happened, Tim didn't think anything of it. Being woken at stupid o'clock and finding a drunk Tony leering at him when he opened the front door wasn't so far out of left field.

Tony held up the lock picks he'd been trying to use, a not particularly apologetic smile on his face. Tim wondered if, after all this time, it wouldn't be easier to just part with a set of keys. At least then, when Tony pulled stupid stunts like arriving at his apartment at 3am, it wouldn't require Tim to get up.

He'd thrown a couple of blankets at him, pointed him wordlessly toward the couch, then gone back to his own bed to try and get a few more hours sleep. Sunday morning, the only evidence Tony had even been there was a rumpled heap of blanket on the floor and a note on his fridge in Tony's cheerful scrawl:

Cheers Probie. P.s. U R out of juice ;-p

Tim had just rolled his eyes.

It took a while for Tony's late night visits to become a regular occurrence, gradually happening more often and surprising Tim less.

Early in December McGee finally gave in to the inevitable - then regretted it bitterly.

DiNozzo started acting like he'd been given the keys to the Arc of the Covenant, asking what responsibilities and rights he now had as a key holder. Tim suddenly remembered how it had been when Tony had cajoled Kate into naming him as her emergency contact, and realised he really should've known better. Possibly the only thing worse than the risk of superglue or saran wrap turning up places it shouldn't was Tony speculating on whether this meant he was included in Tim's will, and should they compare calendars so they didn't both ring 'Mom' on the same evening?

McGee didn't dare enquire whether Tony was actually calling his mom on a regular basis, just in case it gave the man ideas.

At least giving up a set of keys meant it was more likely he'd only wake up to hungover Tony on a Sunday morning, rather than having to witness the drunk and handsy version of the previous night.

Sometimes he even brought his own juice, and left an unopened carton in Tim's fridge. By DiNozzo standards, Tim reckoned, that practically counted as housetrained. He got kind of used to hearing a noise in the night, registering the intrusion, and grinning to himself before drifting back into sleep. It seemed more often than not these days there'd either be a note on his fridge or a lanky special agent with bedhead sprawled on his couch of a Sunday morning.

Tim wasn't sure when this had become the new normal, but it was comfortably familiar.

For once, it was Tim who'd been out for the evening. When he let himself into the apartment, even the sight of Tony in boxers and a sweatshirt on his couch playing some kind of shoot 'em up game on his television didn't faze him.

He wondered if he should be concerned about just how used to this he was becoming.

"Hey, Tony."

"McGameboy! Need you to help me, man, this game is kicking my ass."

Tim frowned. "Tony, it's half past midnight."

Tony blinked. "Yeah?"

"Yes!"

"So? It's Saturday night, McKilljoy."

Tim sighed and sank down onto the couch, holding out his hand for the controller. "Shouldn't you be out drinking too much and making passes at age inappropriate women?"

Tony shrugged. "Eh."

"Eh?"

"Eh."

There was a pause, then Tony elbowed him in the ribs and gestured to his onscreen avatar, who was currently getting perforated.

Huh. Apparently that was all he was gonna get.

That week he tried grumbling to Abby about Tony's continuing encroachment into his private life, but she just smiled a little secret smile and wouldn't be further drawn.

Finding Tony facedown on his sofa snoring to wake the dead was not a big surprise. The skintight leather pants, however, were definitely new.

For a few moments, Tim just stared. The fuck? He wondered if recent events had precipitated some kind of weird mid-life crisis.

"Tony?"

Tony stirred slightly, then waggled a hand in a 'leave me the hell alone' gesture, but Tim reckoned he'd waived that right when he chose to bunk on Tim's couch.

He crossed the room and poked Tony in the side. "Your snoring woke me up," he accused mildly. Not 100% true, but the snoring had definitely stopped him from getting back to sleep.

"Mflgle."

"You want coffee? Juice?"

"Lemme sleep."

"Coffee it is."

When he returned from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of joe, Tony was sitting up, looking like he just tried to run a marathon while hungover. He grunted a thanks for the coffee and glared sullenly at it for a few moments before taking a large gulp. "Ugh."

"So, good night?" Tim was sure his bright, jovial tone would grate on Tony's alcohol-abused nerves like nails on chalkboard. If he was honest, that was half the reason he was doing it.

"Please don't make me talk. Or think. Or breathe."

"What happened to you?"

Tony cringed. "Abby happened to me, that's what! Your girlfriend is dangerous."

"She's not my girlfriend. She hasn't been my girlfriend in years."

"Whatever. Whatever weird relationship you two have going on."

"It's called friendship, Tony. You should try it sometime."

"Huh."

"Where'd she take you?"

Tony winced at all the questions, but it wasn't as if he hadn't made Tim's life miserable on occasion. It was just payback.

(It wasn't curiosity. At all.)

"Some little boutique place in Georgetown. It sells leather. A lot of leather."

He glanced sidelong at Tim, who tried to stifle a grin. Tim had been to a couple of Abby's favourite shops. Not all of them were just for clothing, or at least not the kind of clothing he imagined Tony was familiar with.

"Then to a club in a basement somewhere on U street. Then a party in a graveyard. Then... I don't remember exactly, but there were Jell-O shots? I think? And people wearing masks?"

"Sounds like a wild night." Tim kind of wanted to ask how and why Tony had ended up coming to his apartment at the end of it, but he wasn't completely sure he wanted to know, or even if he wanted to make Tony wonder about that.

They spent the rest of Sunday playing video games. It was pretty fun.

"It's okay to want to have someone, Tim."

Tim frowned. "Yeah, I know."

"Someone...-" he gestured vaguely "-special."

He was used to Tony occasionally being maudlin when drunk. He just wasn't used to it happening in the middle of the night, nor when Tony had apparently decided to accessorise his leather pants with a mesh shirt and a studded collar.

Maybe I should tell Abs to lay off the fashion advice. "Are you okay, Tony?"

"Nick Burris... God, Tim, he loved his wife so much. I don't think I've ever loved a woman like that."

Well, it at least explained the maudlin, even if it didn't explain the outfit. Tony had been kind of... off this week. Looking for love in all the wrong faces. "How about Wendy? You were gonna marry her."

"We were young, you know? Young and stupid. I wore tube socks, for chrissakes. Nobody ever made a good decision wearing tube socks." He shook his head. "We didn't know each other well enough to love that much. I think... I think you grow to love someone that way, you don't start there."

Tim was reluctantly impressed. "That's pretty deep, Tony."

Tony smirked, looking suddenly more like himself, and poked Tim in the thigh. "Chicks dig deep."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I forgot. You're as shallow as a puddle."

They sat for a few minutes. Tim wasn't sure why he wasn't just going back to bed and leaving this conversation for the morning.

"What if-?" Tony sighed.

"What if what?"

"What if I never find... something like that? Or what if I find it, but I'm too scared to do something about it? You know, if I care about someone but can't figure out how to tell them? Or what if I just don't even realise till too late 'cause they're not my usual...-" he looked like he was searching for the right word "-type."

Tim didn't have an answer to that one for himself, never mind for Tony. "I guess you just have to hope it'll turn up, you know? You'll work out what you want and you'll figure out how to get it."

"What if I can't figure out how?"

"Ahh, c'mon, Tony, how many women actually turn you down."

He shrugged. Tim took it to mean 'not many'.

"So what's the problem?"

"What if I don't wanna wait?"

"Patience is a virtue."

"Not one I posses."

"Learn."

Tony gave him the classic sad puppy dog face.

Except, now Tim thought about it, he was sure even Tony didn't usually manage to look quite so doe eyed...

"Tony, are you wearing guyliner?"

"Me? What? No, of course I'm..." He wilted. "Abby made me! She said it made my eyes pop." In fairness, it did. "I'm just trying... a few new things."

"Okay..."

"Hey look, it's not such a big deal. Johnny Depp, everyone thinks Johnny Depp looks great in eyeliner, right?"

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not Johnny Depp."

He sighed. "I know. I know I'm not. I just thought I'd, you know. Try it out. See what happened. Plus Abby didn't start trying to convince me till I was already kinda... drunk."

"So you were, what, trying to Johnny Depp your way into someone's pants?"

"I wouldn't exactly put it like that..." He pouted.

"Did it work?"

Tony's expression turned shifty. "Well... it didn't hurt."

Well, of course. Tony could get lucky wearing a trash bag, the overly attractive bastard.

Still...

"You're not planning on making this outfit your usual wardrobe, right?"

Tony looked down at himself with a little frown. "You don't think I look good?"

Actually, he didn't look so bad, all things considered. Over the top, maybe, but in a way Tim could imagine getting some serious attention.

Not that he planned on telling Tony that.

"It's just... a bit... well, more..."

"Spit it out, Tim."

He decided to get to the crux of the problem. "I think a mesh shirt is really just for, maybe... dancers. And strippers."

"Hmmm." Tony looked thoughtful. "Any other opinions you want to share?"

"The collar? Really?"

"Too much?"

Tim shrugged. "Guess it depends whose underwear you're trying to get into."

Tony nodded sagely. "Good point, McWisdom. Good point."

"I mean, maybe without the shirt."

He saw Tony's expression change, and hastened to correct himself. "I mean, with a different shirt, you know. Not without a shirt, just with... something else."

"Noted. No more mesh shirts."

"I think it's for the best."

"And I'll dial back the makeup."

"Especially at work."

"Especially at-" He balked, and Tim smirked. "What? I have never worn nor will I ever wear makeup to work, Probie. I don't actually wanna make Gibbs' head explode." He took another swig of water. "Kinda like the pants, though."

McGee nodded, patted Tony's knee, and then wondered if he was showing a bit too much enthusiasm for said pants.

"Yeah, I like the pants," said Tony, thoughtfully. "The pants can stay."

"What I don't understand is why he keeps ending up on my couch. I mean, you have a couch, Abby, right? Tony probably even has his own couch, if he doesn't wanna sleep in his bed."

"Maybe it's because he likes you, Timmy?"

McGee frowned. "Yeah, and Gibbs is basically a teddybear and you love going to court in a suit and heels."

Abby shook her head sadly. "You boys."

"What?!"

She sighed, shook her head again. "You silly, silly boys."

It wasn't as if he'd waited up for Tony to appear or anything. He just happened to be particularly involved in a game Saturday night and therefore still awake at 3am Sunday morning to hear a key in the lock and the door opening. That's all it was.

"Heyyyyyy!"

Apparently Tony had gotten more drunk than usual. Tim slipped an arm underneath his shoulders and helped him over to the couch, where he curled up like a big kid and sighed hugely. Tim grabbed the blanket and draped it over Tony's body, trying not to feel too weird about this whole situation.

"McGee."

"Yeah?"

"McGee."

Tim waited.

"McGee."

"You said that already."

Tony looked up through half closed eyes and smiled slowly. It was the kind of smile Tim associated either with flirting or with psychotropic drugs.

"You, you're good people, McGee."

... Okay. "Um. Thanks?"

Tony nodded, then levered his eyes a little more open. Tim was sure they looked greener than usual, somehow. Tony's expression turned serious.

"You know I care about you, right, Probalicious?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Okay, now you're creeping me out, DiNozzo. Get some sleep, we'll talk in the morning when you're sober."

Tony nodded mournfully. His eyes were droopy and sad, like a Basset hound, and Tim shook his head. "Seriously, Tony, Sleep."

"Okay." He smacked his lips and closed his eyes, pulling the blanket tighter round his shoulders. "'Night, McDreamy."

Tim stopped in the middle of turning towards his bedroom and frowned.

That couldn't be right.

He thought about it for a moment, trying to come up with a logical explanation. He said McDreamer. Or at least, he meant to say that. He's drunk. Slurring his McNicknames.

Logical explanations were what Tim was good at. His specialty.

"'Night, DiNozzo."

~ fin ~

This story was written for the 2015 NFA WEE.

The prompt: Abby's been out clubbing the last three weekends, and she brought a team member with her — dressed in leather. What's going on?