Warnings: Slash, het, violence, gore, Papa!Gibbs, Family!Team, and McNozzo.
Pairings: Tony/Tim, OMC/Ziva (Maybe), Jimmy/Abby (Implied), Gibbs/OFC (Maybe)
The Twelve Secrets of Timothy McGee
Secret 11
"Secret thoughts and open countenance will go safely over the whole world.." - Scipione Alberti
"I am not stalking McGee, Boss."
Because Anthony David DiNozzo would never lower himself to stalking anyone. Because people stalked Tony, not the other way around. And if he was to stalk anyone, it would be someone like Rihanna, not probie. The look that Gibbs was giving him was less than impressed. The staring continued for a moment longer before Tony dropped the gaze with a sigh, kicking at the loose tarmac in front of him.
"Okay. Maybe I'm stalking him."
Gibbs just nodded knowingly. "Want to tell me why you're stalking McGee?"
"Can we just stop using the S-word already? Jesus." Tony looked around fervently to make sure that McGee was not, in fact, in the parking lot listening to such a conversation.
"Whatever makes you feel better, I suppose."
"Look, it's just…" He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, "He almost died. Right in front me. Just like Kate. And it would have been my fault."
"I okayed him to go down there as well, DiNozzo. Technically I'm the one at fault."
"Can the chain-of-command stuff, alright boss?" Tony snapped irately. "Look, I…I saw how scared he was and I still made him go down there. I…" He trailed off, somehow unable to articulate the gaping chasm that had formed in Tony's chest when he'd thought Tim dead.
Unable to explain the sheer relief that had erased it when he'd awoken the next morning to find his probie's hand buried in his hair, McGee's chest rising and falling steadily on its own. Incapable of even beginning to name the emotions he'd felt when he'd seen those green eyes, clear of pain and fear, staring at him as if he'd grown a second head when he'd all but crushed the startled blonde do his chest.
He was showing too much on his face, or maybe Gibbs just knew Tony too well, because the Marine just cocked his head ever so slightly to the side and let out a soft, 'huh.'
"I'm just going to take it that you're stalking-"
"Boss!"
"-following your teammate out of some misconstrued need to redeem yourself and ensure his safety so I'll let this go on for a little bit longer." Tony flashed Gibbs his greatest victory smirk. "Only because I don't think he should have been released so early either. But learn to hide better, DiNozzo, you're starting to freak the kid out."
"Will do! I'll be the picture of discreetness."
"You may want to leave the sports car at home for that, Tony." Gibbs said with a scoff as he made his way into the building.
From window Tim carefully checked the surrounding streets for any sign of Tony. After about fifteen minutes of scouting he drew the blinds shut, convinced that Gibbs had finally had that talk with his friend about his increasingly bizarre behavior.
The blonde had no idea why, but for all intents and purposes Tony DiNozzo had been stalking him for the past week. The very first night he'd been released from the hospital, Tim had noticed Tony's car sitting across his house.
And then the next night.
And the night after that.
And then the one after that.
By the fourth night, Tim was starting to kind of be freaked out. As much as he loved Tony, it was incredibly creepy. Even Sarah thought so. Humming happily to himself, Tim called out to his sister, pulling on a heavy coat and waiting patiently for her to come bounding down the stairs from the guest room.
His sister had decided to stay with him for a little bit, despite the doctors saying he would make a full recovery and was good to go. But Tim wasn't too bothered by it. Sarah's behavior had nothing on the strange behavior his team had been displaying.
Tim hoped the novelty of his near death experience would wear off soon.
"Ready to go?"
"Sure am." Sarah answered with a wide grin, reaching out and wrapping a striped woolen scarf around his neck tightly. "No sign of Tony, I take it?"
"Blissfully absent."
The brunette snorted. "I don't see why it would be such a big deal if he followed you to the show. I love hearing you guys play."
"No one knows I'm in a band and-"
"You don't give away your secrets. I know, Tim." Sarah frowned, her pretty face bunching up. "Still, Timmy…don't you think it would be a good idea to let them in? You've worked with them for so long. Maybe not everything but, you know, some things."
Tim pressed a loving kiss on his sister's forehead as he shouldered his guitar case. She knew quite a few of his secrets, but not all, and she didn't know the nature of the ones he worked with so the blonde forgave her.
"We're going to be late."
"Don't you ignore me, Timothy McGee." Sarah warned sternly but let herself be pulled from the house and into the cold December air nonetheless.
"I could never ignore you, love."
"Lies." The younger McGee sniped, burring deeper into her jacket. Neither of the laughing siblings noticed the figure detach itself from the alley and follow at a safe distance, hazel eyes flashing with triumph.
The bar was crowded and the moment Tim stepped in he was given several hearty slaps on the back. He and his buddies played here every Friday but the busy agent wasn't always capable of joining in with his random work schedule. The band was pretty understanding and since the bar's owner son was in it, so was he.
Besides, not to toot his own horn, but they always made more in money when Tim could show up. So they were all pretty nice about it when Tim had to leave early or cancelled. Add to the fact that the pub was open to all kinds of couples and McGregor's Keg was the perfect place for him.
He got Sarah settled in with the owner's wife and kids before making his way behind the bar. Tim gave the bar tender a quick hug, gladly downing a black and tan handed to him before accepting another one. He exchanged pleasantries with several other regulars, apologizing for his absence last Friday and pointing out (read: embarrassing) Sarah as much as physically possible.
Eventually the various band members stumbled onto the half stage (nothing more than a couple flattened boxes in a corner to designate where tables shouldn't be placed) and took his seat on the stool, carefully pulling out his electric acoustic guitar and plugged it in.
Next to him, Johnny McGregor was fiddling with the microphones, adjusting all three so that they were at the right heights and then with little ado, they launched into their set. The first song, a requirement for the Irish bar during winter time, was The Fairy Tale of New York by the Pogues and by the first chorus the bar was screaming along. They followed it with several more Pogues songs, as well as some Flogging Molly and Dubliners, scattered with traditional drinking songs and ending it with (as always) a rather butchered version of Bugger Off.
The butchered aspect was mainly due to the fact that most of the band was pretty sloshed by this time and the audience doubly so. Red faced from laughter, Tim slid off his stool, nearly face planting before Johnny caught him and helped him slip his guitar back into its case. He gave the red head a sloppy kiss on the cheek, nearly sending them both crashing to the floor in hysterics before the younger man helped him over to the booth their families were sitting at.
They abandoned poor Liam O'Malley to entertain with his fiddle, but as this was common place and the far, far more sober Liam rather enjoyed the attention all was well.
It wasn't until two beers later and a full retelling of the first time he'd ever caught Sarah drinking (to her utter amusement, not having partaken in much drunken-Timothy time) that Tim realized that Tony was in the bar. For a moment, his drunken mind could hardly place the name with the face but when he did he let out a sharp curse, startling those around him because Timothy McGee didn't curse. Not really.
When Sarah saw who he was looking at she rolled her eyes and dragged him from the booth, pushing him in the brunette's direction with an annoyed, "Don't be such an ass, he's your friend! It's not the end of the world!"
Drunk and completely unable to reconnect why the face of Tony DiNozzo held negative consequences, Tim stumbled over to his fellow agent, nearly crashing into the bar when a dancing couple careened into him. Firm hands caught him around the waist, preventing him from injuring himself on the aged bar. The same could not be said for his poor beer, which had spilled all but a drop down his front and onto the floor.
For a long moment the blonde simply stared forlornly at the liquid pooled at their feet.
"It's gone, Tim."
If he'd been sober enough, he would have noticed the strange timber of Tony's voice, or the odd way that his hands tightened ever so slightly around Tim's waist as he swayed.
"Yes." He agreed sadly.
As if by magic there were two replacement beers on the bar top and green eyes lit up with happiness as he quickly downed half of it, moaning quietly in the back of his throat at the sweet taste of the Strongbow. When was the last time he'd had Strongbow?
(The answer was less than two hours ago, but for Tim it felt like it had been forever since he'd tasted the sweet drink.)
He blinked in surprise when the drink was taken from his hands.
"I think you may have had enough, McGee." Tony said evenly, setting the drink back onto the bar.
Tim gave him a slow, confused smile. "But it's Friday!"
Timothy McGee was fucking gorgeous.
It was a completely utterly gay thought. One that there was no way in hell that Tony could write off as something else or ever admit to but god damn it, it was true. Cheeks flushed from the heat of too many bodies and far too many beers, green eyes shining with happiness and contentment in a way that (it hurt Tony to admit, he'd never seen before), lips slightly pink and swollen from singing and the constant press of glass.
And that smile.
Had he ever seen McGee smile like that before?
No, whoever this Tim McGee was, was not the same one who Tony had been working with for the last four years. In front of him Tim giggled, reaching for the beer again and drinking while eyeing him wearily.
Well, as wearily as someone who'd downed over half a twenty four pack (Tony had counted) could. The painfully sober agent just watched him in amusement but slapped his hand away when he reached for the second beer.
"Bad, Tim. Mine."
"M'sorry, Tony."
Tony felt his lips twitch at the honest look of shame on Tim's face. He took a sip of the beer, wincing at its sweetness. "It's alright, Probie."
"Don't call me that."
Tony paused mid sip, one hand still firmly planted on the unsteady McGee's waist. "Oh?"
"M not probie no more. Ziva probie now." It was said with such triumph that Tony couldn't help but laugh and damn if the pout he was thrown was absolutely precious. Man, who knew a drunk McGee was so awesome? Or that he could sing so well, even while sloshed? Unable to keep the thought to himself, he voiced it. "You never told anyone you had such fun on Fridays. Shame on you."
Or had he? No, if Abby or Jimmy had known this neither one of them would have kept it a secret. Abby because she wouldn't want to and Jimmy because he simply couldn't keep one to save his life.
Tim nodded seriously in front of him, his hand holding yet another full glass (he sent the pretty brunette a glare at that but the bar tender simply winked at him.) "That's 'ause itsa secret."
"And why," Tony drawled slowly, absent mindedly reaching up to wipe the small trail of amber that was tracing a path from Tim's mouth to his chin away, "would you want to keep secrets from your dear, old pal Tony?"
"Cause," The blonde said with the tone of someone was explaining something to a two year old, "People nev'r stop with juss one secret."
Hazel eyes flashed, a well-known smirk twisting his lips that would have sent McGee running for the hills if he was sober. "And just how many secrets do you have?"
"Lots." Tony couldn't control the snort of disbelief. Green eyes glared at him in irritation. "Ya didn't know 'bout Friday!"
The accusation was true but the tone and finger an inch from his face made Tony laugh, even as he filed that tidbit away.
"Or the box."
Tony felt his brows furrow. Something in the way Tim had said that, the spark of very real emotion underneath the fog of inebriation kept him from dismissing it as drunken chatter. "What-"
But then Tim stumbled backwards, green eyes wide with panic that had Tony already on his feet in alarm until they both realized he was only being pulled by the red head he'd been singing with earlier. The red head swung Tim around to face him, stealing his beer from him and downing it before spinning a laughing McGee around the dance floor.
Tony slowly sat back down on his stool, eyes narrowed in annoyance at having their conversation interrupted. And if his hands seemed to notice the absence of McGee's warmth more than normal or if they twitched slightly at the sight of a cheerful Tim being pulled flush against the red head, Tony didn't notice.
But someone else did.
From where she sat, Sarah smiled into her beer before turning back to her conversation with Mrs. McGregor on the benefits of her major.
Secret 11: Timothy McGee plays in an Irish band.
The inspiration for this story comes from recent near 24 hour binge into drunkenness to celebrate/mourn the fact that I only have 30 days left till bootcamp. Yay, enabling friends!
Do you guys like the start of Tony/Tim goodness? Any favorite parts of the story?
