As always, I don't own them ... I'm just letting them play gently together
The squad room was empty. Everyone had gone home after a stressful day – everyone except Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo who just couldn't bring himself to get up and leave. It was dark outside, the office lights were dimmed and he had just the desk lamp for illumination, it made him feel cozy and secure while also having the feeling of a film noir.
He reflected on the day just gone: it had been stressful, like most days on the MCRT team under Gibbs' leadership, but it had been satisfying. It had been one of those days when hunches paid off, fast car chases caught up with the suspects and, most satisfying of all, a cornered criminal had decided to admit defeat and hope for some sort of plea bargain. That plea bargain was unlikely to materialise – deciding not to shoot one's way out of trouble wasn't much of a bargaining chip. It was the sort of day, Tony reflected, that would encourage someone to become a federal agent. It was a pity they hadn't had one of Vance's interns with them today but they only seemed to be around for long boring days of paperwork or days when everything went to hell in a hand basket. Still, the day had been good enough, no need to wish for perfection.
He wondered how his co-workers were spending the evening. If they could see him now Ziva and Tim might feel sorry for him, thinking he had nothing better to do and didn't want to go back to an empty apartment to watch his goldfish swim around. He hoped that Gibbs would know better; while they didn't have quite as much in common as Ducky liked to think, they shared an appreciation for quiet and solitude and time to mull things over. Tony knew that sometimes he just needed some quiet time to let his tangled thoughts slow down and disentwine themselves; it wasn't about forgetting but somehow letting things get back into perspective. So, Tony was content to sit and reflect.
Gibbs, he thought, would probably be in the basement. He might be considering a new project or designing new wooden toys but he might also be visiting Leyla and her daughter. The Boss spent a lot of time there, helping out with repairs, playing with Amira, and Tony thought it was good for him. He knew that something within Gibbs still yearned for a family and looking out for Leyla had let him have that. At first he had been able to think of it as just keeping an unspoken promise to Mike Franks but gradually he had been drawn into love for the little family and some hole deep within had begun, not exactly to be healed or filled in, but to be a little less of a gaping wound. Tony was honestly glad for Gibbs and had shrugged philosophically on the odd occasion when he had gone round with beer and takeout and not found Gibbs at home.
Tony sighed and stretched his arms luxuriantly and shuffled a few things on his desk; still reluctant to get on with anything. He realised that he couldn't quite imagine what Ducky would be doing but he thought he would probably be happy with whatever it was. Ducky had a great gift for contentment and Tony thought it was probably hard earned. Dr Mallard was famous, and sometimes feared, for his long, rambling monologues but Tony had noticed that they were rarely about anything of particular consequence. He seemed to use them as a way of slowing things down, preventing hasty decisions and, of course, making people underestimate him as a bit of a doddery old fool. But Tony knew that Ducky had a sharp incisive intelligence which probably rivalled Tim's and, just as Tony chose to assume the mask of a clown, he thought that Duck wore the cloak of a garrulous fidget to throw people of the scent. For Ducky had seen terrible things in his life but had somehow managed to avoid those things defining him. He had chosen to embrace the wonder of life and to revel in what he found beautiful and interesting. Those things were many and various which was the reason Tony couldn't quite decide what he would be doing now. He might be at the opera or ballet, he might be attending a lecture about Scottish whiskies or he could be watching a Laurel and Hardy movie. Whatever he was doing, Tony was sure he was happy. Tony toyed with his letter opener and held it up to the light for a moment.
There was little doubt what Jimmy would be doing. Still hopelessly and happily in love with Breena he would be at home with her or they would be out somewhere just enjoying being with each other. Tony and Jimmy had become, if not quite friends, allies in the fiercely competitive world they found themselves in. Jimmy was, undoubtedly, very clever but somehow his demeanor and attitude prevented most people noticing. While Ducky and Tony might use disguises to hide some of their capabilities, Jimmy did not. He didn't want to be clumsy and say inappropriate things, they just happened and it led to people underestimating him and being rather contemptuous. It didn't seem to matter too much to Jimmy, however, because he genuinely seemed not to grasp the concept of being 'top dog' – he didn't feel the need always to be right, always to be best. That was something that Tony understood, he didn't always have to be right. He liked to be right sometimes, to be the one who broke the case, who found the missing link but it wasn't vital to him to always be the best. He was prepared to recognise when someone was better at him at something and, to a degree, rejoice in their skill. That was why he liked being part of a team, why he needed to be part of a team. No, no doubt that Jimmy was happily occupied and Tony knew, that if he phoned Jimmy now, Jimmy would be pleased to hear his voice and would readily invite him round for something to eat. Jimmy was OK. Tony rummaged in his filing cabinet to see if there were any clean clothes in there.
If Jimmy and Tony lacked a little competitive edge, there was little doubt that Tim and Ziva did not. It wearied Tony sometimes that they both seemed to have a compelling need to be the best although, as more had emerged about their fathers, he had begun to understand a little of why they were constantly striving for perfection. He knew they both had their softer sides. Watching Ziva play with Amira had been a revelation, she was gentle and giggly and entered into all of Amira's games wholeheartedly. Perhaps if Ziva ever had a child of her own she would feel free to give free rein to that side of her. And Tim could have his moments too. Tony had seen him be polite and courteous to the elderly and he was good with his boy scouts. Sometimes Tony thought that if there was such a thing as a visible anxiety meter, Tim's would be off the scale. Even on a good day there was an edginess about him which suggested that he thought something was about to go wrong or he would be 'found out'. Tony sometimes tried to distract Tim when he could see the angst levels rising and sometimes the childish ragging worked or he was able to divert him by engaging him in some weird computer competition. If nothing else, Tony hoped that he sometimes led Tim into some sort of self awareness that made him realise he was acting foolishly.
Today had been a good day. Tony had managed to keep Tim's stress levels down, to appeal to Ziva's 'inner child' and the team had worked together well. Each had contributed something important and had managed not to claim it as the most important. Ziva and Tim were coming along and perhaps they were beginning to relax a little but, Tony sighed, Tim was probably playing some high powered on-line slaughter game and Ziva was in a gym somewhere getting bloodied feet. But Tony knew that there was hope for them both. He shuffled some papers together, still reluctant to make a move.
His thoughts turned to Abby, dear, sweet, maddening, impossible and completely lovable Abby. Why was it, he wondered, that Abby could be so intelligent and so capable and yet be so approachable at the same time. Of course, there were exceptions when she got so wrapped up in what she was doing that she got a bit manic but, usually, she was the friendliest person he knew. He tried to picture where Abby would be at that moment. Like Ducky, there were many possibilities – she might be with the nuns, she might be at a Habitat for Humanity project, she might be painting plastic skulls or knitting bed socks. Wherever she was, and whatever she was doing, Tony was sure that she would be doing it wholeheartedly and happily. He smiled – Abby always made him smile.
Time to go. He gathered his things into his backpack and switched the desk lamp off. Time to go. The team were all fine, they didn't need him watching over them.
Gibbs' gut lurched when he stepped out of the elevator early the next day. As he walked into the squad room he saw Tony's letter opener on Ziva's desk; as he looked across to Tim's desk he could see his box of medals. When he looked down at his own desk he saw an envelope addressed to him in Tony's handwriting. He wiped a hand across his forehead and sighed,
'Oh, Tony.'