I'm Late
Tony shouldered his way through the crowded and noisy bar, intent upon getting to McGee.
The clientele looked too young to drink and Tony wondered when he'd become so old that twenty-somethings looked like kids. Tony spotted Tim, who had secured a corner table and was using his best Gibbs' glare to prevent anyone from poaching the empty chair.
As Tony slipped off his coat, Tim's frown turned into a welcoming smile. "Where've you been?"
"I'm late," Tony said, sitting.
"What?"
Leaning forward, Tony raised his voice. "I said I am late."
"Yeah, I've been waiting half an hour, Tony. Your beer's warm. I'll order another."
"No, I can't stomach beer right now." In fact, the noise and the bar smells were making Tony queasy. He just wanted out. "Can we go somewhere quieter?"
"Sure." Tim handed Tony his coat and ushered him out with a hand in the small of his back.
The night air was crisp and cold. Tony took a deep breath but his stomach clenched and suddenly he was leaning over the curb, throwing up, with Tim gripping his elbow. When Tony was done, a fistful of tissues appeared under his nose and he cleaned up as best he could. Once in Tim's car, weak and sweating, Tony sat there with his window cracked open.
Tim looked at him with concern. "You need a barf bag?"
Tony shook his head. "It's over."
Tim was still eyeing him. "You got the flu?"
Laughing, Tony shook his head. "What I've got ain't catching."
"You want to go home?"
"I'm sorry."
Turning in his seat, Tim looked closely at Tony. "Why were you late?"
Torn between being straightforward and making a joke out of a situation that was far from funny, Tony opted for humor. "Uh, because my boyfriend thought that impromptu sex in his new Porsche was a fun idea?"
While Tony watched Tim trying to work that one out, he pulled out a small printout and handed it to him.
Tim stared at the image. "What is this?"
"It's a McBaby, Tim. Just what we always wanted."
Tim looked at Tony, his eyes wide with disbelief and awe. "But you're too…old."
"Apparently not."
"Oh my God. We're going to be…"
"Yup, parents. You can say it. It won't hurt." Not too much, anyway.
"Aren't you happy?"
Tony looked at the dark image with the light blob that was their kid. "I guess. I mean…I'm happy but I'm sorta scared. What if I'm a lousy parent? What if–?"
Tony ended up in Tim's arms, with Tim whispering assurances in his ear. "He'll be loved, like I love you, Tony. That's what counts."
Tony gave a watery smile. "Love you, too, Tim. Can we name him Jack?"
Tim narrowed his eyes. "You mean like Jack Nicholson?"
"No, you ass. Like Jackson Gibbs."
"Okay then."
They were almost home when Tony asked, "How about Jackson Nicholson DiNozzo-McGee?"
"No."
"Sheesh."
"I'm serious, Tony."
Tony just grinned.
"Tony…"
***–***