Thanks to Chippygirl21 and a lovely guest for leaving reviews last chapter!


Chapter Two

Timmy regards him with a frown. He looks up at the clock then back to Tony. "It's too early," he says, almost whiningly.

Tony's brows furrow slightly while an amazed smile forms on his lips. "You can tell time already?" he asks.

"No," Timmy answers.

The smile slides off Tony's face. "Then how do you know it's early?"

"'Cause Daddy says nap time is after the Phineas and Ferb movie," Timmy answers, clutching his stuffed toy closer to him.

Tony narrows his eyes slightly. Of course. The elder Gibbs is taking every opportunity he can to make his life miserable. It really shouldn't come as a surprise that the man is even using his youngest child to accomplish his goal.

Timmy walks closer to Tony, dragging his toy along, and then lifts his eyes up to him. He tugs on Tony's jacket. "'m hungry, Tony," he says, his eyes pleading.

Tony sighs, surrendering to the little boy's request, and then he nods. "What do you want to eat?" he asks. He thinks it's a question he should not have asked. He's not really gifted when it comes to making food. At his home, that job is handled by a hired cook. The only time he made something edible was last month, when their cook got sick, and there was nothing for breakfast.

He had a pretty good peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Timmy's features scrunches up as he thinks. "I want Spaghetti-O's!" he jumps up excitedly when the thought hits him.

"Okay. Spaghetti-O's," Tony mutters under his breath as he starts searching the pantry. "I can do that." He rummages through boxes of pastas and cereals, his eyes straining to find a can of the food. Deciding that the array of non-perishables in front is just obstructing his view, he draws it out one by one until he finds what he is looking for. "Uh, which one did you want, Timmy?" he asks without turning around when he sees the stack of Spaghetti-O's on the back of the cabinet. "You have original, with meatballs, or with calcium." He frowns as his final three words registers as odd to his ears.

"Meatballs!" Timmy says excitedly.

Tony smirks before he begins opening the can. Kids, he thought. Everything is a wonder to them. He haphazardly transfers the contents to small bowl before sliding it inside the microwave. Then, he closes it.

"You're s'ppose to put paper towel over 't."

Tony swivels towards the young boy, his slightly arched brows daring him to repeat what he has said.

Timmy overlooks the defensive reaction. "Daddy said," he adds.

Tony fights the urge to narrow his eyes at the child left at his charge. Instead, he does what he is told and resumes "cooking." It's not the boy's fault that he gets nitpicky, especially with him. He'll just chalk it up as the older Gibbs' second strike.

Timmy scratches the back of his neck as he waits impatiently. "Tony, can I watch TV?" he asks.

Tony shrugs. "Sure," he says, punching in the time then Start. "I'll just bring you your food when it's done."

"Thank you," Timmy says in response. He then runs out of the room, with the toy's arms and legs sweeping the floor. Shortly after, he hears the static electricity bolt the television to life, and then the theme song to the show plays. Timmy sings along. "Or fighting Mommy, 'r climbing falafel Tower…Exist…Or giving the monkey a shower!"

Tony shakes his head, laughing a little as he crosses his arms then leans on the counter while waiting for the food to be done. So far, he finds that things are not as difficult as he thought they would be. For one, Timmy seems pretty content with the program he's watching, his buddy, Spongebob, and the dinner that he'll serve him in about thirty-seven seconds. He has not been whiny or petulant, which is nice.

The grumbling of the clotted dark clouds outside catches his attention. He takes a peek outside the small window, and then resumes on his wait. He really wants to do this favor for Abby, he really does. Still, he cannot help himself from thinking whether Mrs. Gibbs will grace him with some payment for his service. He has been eyeing a newly-released pair Air Jordans, and he's just a few bucks short.

The microwave beeps a few times. He pulls the door open, takes the bowl of Timmy's dinner out, closes it, and then proceeds to the living room where the little boy is heavily engrossed with the cartoon. "Here you are, Timmy boy," he says, holding the dinnerware out with a grin. "Now what do you want to—" He suddenly loses his balance as he trips on an astray Porsche toy car. His reflexes that he developed from playing sports kicks in, however, and the only damage that is sustained is a little food spill on the white carpet.

Tony looks up at Timmy with a mixture of surprised and terrified expression on his face. Timmy appears as horrified as he is. "Tim!" Tony exclaims.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry!"

Tony sighs. He places the bowl on the coffee table slightly irritably, and then he gets a moist paper towel from the kitchen. He kneels down next to the stain on the carpet when he comes back then begins feverishly scrubbing it off. The tomato sauce colors the floor covering pink, and bits of pasta begins stubbornly sticking on it.

Well, there goes his easy way to his dream shoes. Plus, Mrs. Gibbs will more than likely require him to pay for the cleaning. Or, if not, he will feel obligated to.

"'m sorry," Timmy mumbles on his shirt since his chin is buried in it. Tony responds by huffing gently, a sign that he is still upset but reluctantly forgiving nonetheless. Timmy lifts up his head towards him and is saddened by the silence between them. He concocts a plan to put a smile on the older boy's lips. He sits up straight gleefully, and then holds out a finger. "Pull my finger, Tony," he says.

Tony glances at him then goes back to scrubbing the carpet. The blemish only worsens. Tony groans. "Great," he mutters through gritted teeth. "Now your mother will also have a reason to kill me."

"Tony!" Timmy whines, bouncing on his seat impatiently. "Pull my finger!"

"Timmy," Tony attempts to maintain his calm while he faces the child, "you have to understand what's happening here. I have to clean this up before your family comes back. Your mom is the only parent between the two of them who likes me, and I'm not—"

"Just pull my finger!" Timmy says impatiently.

With a groan, he gives into the command, neglecting to remember what usually resulted from the trick. When he does, the little boy let out a burp that could have chipped off the walls. "Nice," Tony comments sarcastically. "It comes out the other end this time."

The little boy is thrown into a fit of laughter, while his intended audience ignores the act.

Tony stands up. "I'll be back," he says to no one in particular. He exits the room where delighted chuckles bounce off the walls. When he reaches the kitchen, he draws out his phone to call his house, hoping that Angelita can help him with the carpet problem.

A soft thunder disturbs the night sky once more and like the first, it does not fail to catch Tony's attention. From the stillness of the heavy clouds, he can tell that it will not take long before it rains. He takes a glimpse of Timmy. The little boy is still laughing.

Well, at least one of them is happy with how things are turning out.

It is then he feels a chill skyrocket through his spine, causing him to stand straighter. He does not know whether it is just exhaustion dawning upon him that makes him think this way, but he has a hunch that somebody is watching them. The shadows around the streetlight now pass elusively, and the strong west wind the blows against the house seem to bring with it a danger that's inevitable.

"Hello?" a woman with a mild accent answers on the other line. "This is the DiNozzo's residence."

"Hey, Angelita," Tony speaks, hesitantly tearing his eyes off the window. "Listen. I need to ask you a question. How do you remove tomato sauce stains from a carpet?" He listens intently as she explains. When she finishes, he smiles. "Thank you, Angelita. I appreciate it."

"No problem, señorito."

Tony hangs up, content. He heads to the cabinet stationed beside the cabinet to get the bottle of vinegar he spotted earlier. In his search, he does not even realize that outside the window stands a figure, its wide eyes scrutinizing the insides of the house with intent of breaking in.


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