AN: This is a post-ep to the wonderful, amazing 'A Man Walked Into A Bar.' Best episode EVER! For those who are wondering, I'm still trying to work on the requested sequel to 'Stille Nacht', but it's giving me a little trouble, and there was a lot that had to come out after I saw this week's episode. It's probably a bit rough, unbeta'd as I don't have a beta (although if anyone's interested . . .), but I couldn't resist. The insights we got into Tony, and Kate as well, and then that beautiful, beautiful scene between Rachel and Tony in Autopsy, well, I have enough inspiration there to keep me writing for weeks!
AN 2: This may seem a little hard on Ziva, McGee, maybe even Gibbs and Vance. I've had a hard time with the way they've treated Tony in the last few years, and some of that's come out here. You've been warned :)
AN 3: I know, I know, enough with the ANs, on with the story. I just wanted to say a HUGE thank you to all you lovely reviewers of 'Stille Nacht', you blew me away! I tried to respond to all of them personally, but I'm pretty sure I missed some, so I apologise, and THANK YOU!
Disclaimer: Not mine, I can only dream. The italics is the above-mentioned scene, and sadly belongs to CBS, but I'll always have my downloaded version!
Tony nurses his drink in the solitude of his apartment, gazing out the window and sipping the fruity mango rum that had been a favourite of Kate's. Turns out it is a favourite of Rachel's too.
He doesn't know why it didn't click the instant he saw her. Perhaps he was too blinded by his fear of shrinks. Perhaps he was too worried that Vance would finally find the final nail in his coffin and get rid of him, once and for all. Or perhaps he has just blocked Kate from his mind, because it is too painful to deal with. But there is so much of Kate in Rachel. Or Rachel in Kate. He doesn't know which way it goes, the dead in the living, the eldest in the youngest. He just knows, has realised, that Kate will never truly be gone, so long as there are those still who remember and love her.
Rachel has given him a great deal to think about, a knack her sister also had. He remembers the constant, back-and-forth teasing and bantering he had had with Kate, and how much he had enjoyed it. How much they had both enjoyed it, for all that he had exasperated her to her wit's end. It's just, Kate had been so straight and puritanical, so easy to wind up. But she had also been kind and had had a good heart, even if her views could sometimes be a little narrow, and she could give as good as she got, rarely stooping to the mean-spirited sniping that he often gets from Tim and Ziva these days.
Tony knows he is annoying, knows he plays the fool and lightens the mood, but that is his role in this team. That is his purpose, and that is what they miss when he is gone. They don't miss his sharp intellect, his insight into the human mind, his quirky investigative skills or his (lack of) computer savvy, his off-the-wall interrogation techniques or his prowess on his feet. No, they miss the clown, and because deep inside, the little boy that was abandoned by his parents still desperately needs the reassurance that he matters to someone, even if it is all for the wrong reasons, he continues the façade.
He had wondered sometimes, but until today, he had never realised just how expertly Kate saw through his mask. If she were here, he'd kid her about that profiler know-how of hers, and she'd make some smart retort about Neanderthals. But knowing that she had seen past all the jokes and silliness and posturing, well, that would have made all the difference in the world.
He thinks it still does.
"I'm a good agent, Dr. Cranston. A really good one."
"I know. And so do a lot of other people. But you can be more. Has anyone ever told you that? Maybe Agent Todd was hard on you because she knew what you were really capable of. Too bad she never got a chance to tell you that."
"I think I just realised who you are . . . Rachel."
Tony can count on one hand the number of people who have told him that he has it in him to be more, to be better. Gibbs told him that, once, when Tony asked why the older man kept him around, and why he was always being head-slapped. And now, Rachel has told him that Kate, dear Kate, believed in his better angels as well.
Kate . . .
Like every other trauma or bad memory, Tony's memories of her are deeply buried in that drawer in his brain that he refuses to open. Logically, he knows he cannot keep cramming the bad in there without dealing with it, but he is far too afraid of all that will come out to even consider unsealing the recess that holds that drawer.
But Rachel's visit has brought back the memories, the good and the bad, and they mix and mingle, tumbling amongst each other in their haste to get out, and he finds that this time, it hurts a little less. The camaraderie, the partnership, the bantering . . . the way they pushed each other to be more, the practical jokes, the long nights. He grins as he remembers the picture of her on the Wet T-Shirt Hall of Fame, wonders absently if it's still hanging there, even as his hand rises absently to rub at his cheek. He's never quite managed to scrub the sticky, drying feel of her blood of his skin, or scour the cloying, metallic taste from his mouth. Remembering her brings pain, more pain than he would care to admit, because he loved her, as a sister. He still does.
And now, he thinks maybe Rachel isn't quite the devil he made her out to be. He had so wanted to meet Kate's sister, and although his memories from the moment Kate's blood splattered across his face, to several days after the funeral are hazy and incomplete, full of gaps he cannot fill, he knows he would have remembered at least the presence of her sister, if not her person. No, she wasn't at the funeral, but that is something he understands far too well.
Her presence, however, has shown him a few things. He isn't as over Kate as he thought he was, and maybe that's something the two of them can work on together, because neither is she. The last two years of her life, Kate spent with them, in D.C., and Rachel was in Miami, and Tony knows exactly how much time off she had, and it's very little. Rachel missed out on the last two years of Kate's life, and Tony missed out on everything before then, and he thinks it would do them both good to learn about the missing parts of the person they both loved in the same way.
He has Rachel's number and email, and if the woman is anything like her sister, an impromptu lunchtime sundae outing will be just the ticket.
The second thing Rachel has taught him is that he is better than he is given credit for. He is a damn good agent, and he knows it, and so do lots of others, and he is tired of everyone selling him short, even if that's part of the mask he's created for himself. The problem is, not enough of those who count are amongst that number. Vance thinks he is nothing but a goof-off. Gibbs thinks 'he'll do.' McGee wonders why the hell someone with a mere phys-ed degree, a loud mouth, and few computer skills even got into NCIS, never mind is Senior Field Agent. And Ziva looks down her nose upon him, thinking that she is superior in both skills and person simply because she was Mossad.
Jenny had used him, manipulated him, and nearly broke him, but she had done that because she recognised his skills and talents. And she was willing to let him put those skills to better use, but he stayed. He stayed because his boss, the man he never should have slotted into the role of his father, was still not right, and because he loved his team too much, despite the cruel words and taunts after the man's return, and after the undercover op blew up, quite literally, in his face. He stayed because, for the first time in his life, he had found a family, and he wasn't willing to give that up quite yet.
He doesn't know if he was right to stay, and he refuses to go down that path, because there is too much heartache and heartbreak if he realises he should have taken the promotion. But now is not then, and Tony is realising he has grown out of his role in the family.
He can be much more than this. He doesn't have to take the put-downs and cruel comments. He doesn't have to take the unrealistic expectation that his life is the job, and there is nothing else.
He doesn't want to reach mandatory retirement age, providing, of course, he actually lives that long, and realise that he has nothing but the job. He has always wanted a wife, a family, that white-picket-fence dream he came so close to having with Jeanne. He wants a social life outside the job, friends and outings outside of work. He wants a team that has his six, and doesn't turn off the radio because they tire of hearing his voice. He wants a superior that is capable of recognising his skills and accomplishments, and of giving him a pat on the back when it's deserved. He wants an employer that doesn't use and abuse him, with a director that doesn't think he's nothing but a joke.
He wants more for himself.
He deserves more for himself.
And, he thinks, maybe it's about time he started making some changes to achieve that for himself.