Disclaimer : I own nothing, but the typos.
Warnings : Rated T for language.
Author's Note : Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, and followed so far. And thank you to all of the reviews. I appreciate the time you take to leave your thoughts. They mean the world to me.
So I'm not sure what happened to Zoe in the most recent season, but I'm sticking with the story. I think Tony deserves 'more' after all of his years on the team and the story is satisfying some desire for his personal growth that I've been wanting for a long time.
Sorry about the delay on the chapter. I had a couple of other stories posted since the last update. I'm hoping updates will be a bit quicker from now on, but I'll be continuing to writing this story when the inspiration strikes. I really don't want to force it, so I appreciate your patience.
Enjoy.
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6:29pm - 648 Cherry St. NE, Washington, DC – Kingman Park Neighborhood –
The mouthwatering scent of char-grilled burgers and sautéing onions greets Tony at the front door. It invites him to take his shoes off and settle into the place that could be his home.
He walks into the living room to find Phoebe on the floor, sucking on the leg of a Barbie doll, and Riley on the couch, zoned out to that caped crusading mouse flying on the television screen. He has to figure out what the hell manages to stop an eight-year old in her tracks better than a tranquilizer dart.
A little boy is slumped next to her, sharing her blank stare. Tony doesn't need aformal introduction to know that the boy is Matty McGee. Tony recognizes that vacant look Tim usually had during too many all-nighters in the bull-pen. Tony decides that it must be genetic. With blond hair and green eyes, Matty looks every bit like a lanky-limbed and gangly-toothed version of Tim with Delilah's nose thrown in for good measure.
Domestic bliss, he thinks that's what this is supposed to be. Tony's heart catches in his throat.
Could this make me happy?
"Hey everyone, I'm home," Tony announces, feeling a bit like Dick Van Dyke on a family sitcom.
Zoe yells something incoherent from the kitchen that might be about burgers…or burglars. He doesn't know nor think it's particularly important. Riley gives him a half-hearted wave while Matty doesn't even move.
Phoebe grins toothlessly up at him, offers him the drool covered doll.
Smiling, he shakes his head. "No thanks, Probie. I think I'm good."
As though to say your loss, she tries to see whether she can get the whole leg in her mouth while the slobber pools on her shirt. Tony wonders whether that's normal for babies. But since Riley isn't protesting about her doll being used as a chew toy, it probably is.
"Matty," Tony says, heading for the kitchen, "your dad wants you home for dinner."
Matty snaps right out of his cartoon-induced coma. His face immediately goes stricken. "Can I stay for dinner, Mr. D? My mom's making tofu meatloaf again." Just as Tony stars to say no, Matty drags a pitiful: "Please," that goes on for a minute.
Riley perks up. "Can Matty stay? Mrs. McGee's meatloaf is gross. It doesn't have any meat in it."
Tony's eyebrows jump. "Then it really isn't meatloaf, is it?"
Both of them stare at him with wide eyes as though he just blew their tiny minds. Eventually, he sighs like no one understands him. It figures that they're probably too young to appreciate the finer qualities of meatloaf or his jokes. Something on the television screen behind him explodes.
"Can Matty stay, please? Dad." She draws the word a little forced, a little panicked.
Tony nods awkwardly. "Yeah, sure."
Riley and Matty share a whoop and a high-five. Phoebe waves her arms, squealing loudly before she topples onto the floor. The Barbie goes flying, but she finds a doll nearly as big as she is within arm's reach. Lying on her back, she tries to see whether she can gnaw that one's head off instead.
Chuckling to himself, Tony heads into the kitchen.
With her back to him, Zoe works all six burners on their chef's stove like the domestic goddess she never was back home. She chucks what looks like green peppers into a sauté pan and the steam billows upward, filling the room with a divine aroma. His mouth waters and his stomach growls.
"Hey Zoe." He keeps his tone light because he doesn't know what to call her, doesn't know any of their cutesy nicknames. Maybe he doesn't even know her at all.
"Hey sweetheart," she calls, more inviting than last night.
Tony sneaks over, wraps his arms around her waist. She melts back into him and he closes his eyes, inhales her scent. For a half-second, it's just the two of them against the world. As quickly as the feeling of nostalgia washes over him, the scent of something burning chases it away.
"Oh shit," Zoe sighs. "I wrecked the vegetables."
Tony grins at her. "I'm sure they'll still taste great."
Scowling at the stove, she yanks the satuee pan off the stove. She moves with a practiced efficiency as she begins shifting different pieces of dinner onto the waiting plates. He stays out of her way, leans against the counter to watch her work.
The pots and pans clang against the counter and a familiar pound starts in his head. He massages his right temple, presses his lips together. Right now, he would kill for a Scotch to ward off the headache that's starting behind his eyes. But he suspects the burgers that Zoe is about to serve will have to suffice.
He is just about to tell her that Matty's staying for dinner when he notices the four place settings at the table along with the high chair. She strains enough potatoes for an army into a huge bowl, then attacks them with a masher.
"How was work, honey?" she asks.
He half-smiles. "Caught a homicide this morning."
She glances back, clearly interested. "Is it a slam dunk?"
Suddenly, an overwhelming desire to shield her from the ugly world outside wells up within Tony. He knows it's stupid, pathetic even. Zoe was his partner when they worked worse cases in Philly and she would be the one to shoot first, ask questions later. But something about what he has here is so wonderful, so untouched by reality, that he can't bear to let it be spoiled by what he does for a living.
He touches her shoulder, says simply: "No."
Nodding as though she understands, she quickly moves on. "So what are the McGees having for dinner tonight?"
Tony makes a face. "Meatless-loaf."
She stops mashing to giggle heartily.
Thank G-d, she still thinks I'm funny.
"Oh boy," she says, "that's Matty's favorite."
"Then why is he…" Tony blinks slowly. "Oh, that was a joke."
"Yeah, he hates vegetables and tofu and all the stuff that Delilah's been into lately. I'm not sure how Tim puts up with it every day."
Tony decides not to rat out his friend's doughnut detours and donating his lunch to the homeless hippie around the corner from the station.
Instead, he shrugs. "Maybe he likes it?"
Over her shoulder, Zoe shoots him a look that calls him a liar. Thankfully, she doesn't press because he doesn't know how long he could hold out against her interrogation techniques. He thinks about pulling her to the floor right here to do something he's been fantasizing about since he got here. He takes a step closer, nuzzles the back of her neck as she continues to mash the potatoes. Her body stills and she leans back into him.
Her breath catches. "Tony..."
"Ew, Dad, that's gross!" Riley yells.
Tony leaps back from Zoe like he's been electrocuted. He holds his hands up as though it could prove that he wasn't just about to defile the little girl's mother. When Riley makes a face, he readies to plead his case when Zoe turns around with a huge bowel of mashed potatoes.
"Go get your friend and your sister, Rook," she says as though nothing even happened.
Riley's uncertain eyes dance between Tony and her mother. For a split-second, she almost looks like she might spill her guts to Zoe, like she might just confess that her wish sent her father wherever and caused Tony to take place.
He offers her a tiny smile. Just our secret, he tries to convey, remember?
Eventually, she scurries back into the living room to collect Matty and Phoebe.
He clears his throat, a little hysterical. "What do you think that's all about?"
"We've got kids, Tony," Zoe says as though it explains everything. "They're great, wonderful, imaginative, perfect kids. But they're a little strange, just like us."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's it."
She arches an eyebrow, shoots him a sexy smile. "Or maybe they just don't like to think about their parents making more siblings."
Tony almost loses his mind right there. But he gets it together long enough to help Zoe carry the rest of the food to the table. When Riley brings Phoebe into the kitchen, Zoe straps the baby into her high-chair with a precision that Tony doesn't think he'll ever possess. When Zoe retrieves Phoebe's bottle straight out of the fridge, she holds it out to him like it makes her point about having weird kids.
Or maybe I'm just the weird one.
Phoebe takes the bottle and sucks it down while everyone digs into the feast. Nothing prepared him for how good of a cook Zoe turned out to be here and Tony greedily scarfs his weight in burgers, mashed potatoes, and burnt vegetables. He was right; they turned out to be fan-freaking-tastic.
Matty and Riley race each other to see who can finish their dinner first. Riley wins by a long-shot and dives back in for seconds…then thirds.
When everyone is finished, Tony just wants to curl up on the sofa and slip away into a food coma. But he helps Zoe clear the table, even dutifully dries every single dish after she washes them. Why she won't just use the dishwasher in the corner is beyond him. She always did trust her own two hands to finish a task over everyone else's, human or mechanical.
After they're done, Zoe sweeps Phoebe away for bed and bath-time. Tony gives the baby a kiss on her forehead and she matches it, right before she drools all over him. He wonders whether she will be this cute when she has a screaming fit in the middle of the night.
When he's finally on his way to the sofa to take a nap, he finds Matty and Riley kneeling on the living room floor. Their muted whispers tell him that something is up, so he drops into a crouch next to him. His knees crack and pop, making him wince.
Matty grins. "That's cool, Mr. D. How'd you learn how to do that?"
"You'll get there some day." Tony's words make the little boy press his lips together in deep thought. Before he has a chance to hurt himself, Tony changes the subject. "What are you guys up to?"
"I was just showing Matty my fireflies." Riley's smile is sad. "Me and my dad caught them over the weekend."
Tony smiles broadly at the mini-McGee. "We caught them. Isn't that right, Rookie?"
Riley nods. "Yeah."
When Riley holds up her pickle jar full of fireflies, Tony instantly pities the tiny insects. Huddled together, the bug are like drugged hostages. Two scramble up the sides, staring out as though they try to figure out an escape from their prison. There's no hope, Tony wants to tell them, but he doubts they'd even understand.
"Why don't we go let them go?" he suggests.
Riley blinks, clearly confused, but still says, "Okay."
Together, the three of them head out into the night. While the temperature is just starting to slip below melting, the air is still thick and muggy like the entire city is trapped under a blanket. Free fireflies twinkle like tiny, earthbound stars. Riley cautiously opens the lid to her pickle jar, letting her captives wander into the blackness. A few linger behind, too drunk from the fumes or victims of Stockholm Syndrome. She shakes them loose onto the patio, murmurs quietly to them until they join their friends.
Enthralled, Tony watches the insects dance in the night.
Suddenly, Matty lets out a whoop. "Did you see that?"
Blinking, Tony glances over to find Matty lying on the patio. His attention is fixed on the clear sky overhead. Tony doesn't know what he is looking at, doesn't know whether the sky looks the same back home because he never had the time to look.
A meteor slices across the sky, fading as quickly as it appears.
"Shooting stars." Riley breathes, collapsing to the ground next to Matty. "That's amazing."
"They aren't shooting stars, Ri," Matty says. "They're meteors."
Both Tony and Riley glance at him blankly and he sighs like no one will ever understand him.
"Meteorites?" Tony tries.
Matty huffs. "Only if they hit the ground. If they burn up in the atmosphere, they're just called meteors. My dad likes to call them space dirt. Did you know they travel at 10 feet per second?"
And at that moment, Tony knows Matty is Tim's kid. "I do now."
"Can I make a wish on them?" Riley asks.
"If you want to try to wish on space dirt," Matty says, a hint of a smile in his voice. "It's like wishing on mud, so it won't work. I would try a real star like the North Star over there."
Tony sinks into the ground next to Riley, props himself up on his hands. "And where's that?"
Matty points at the vast sky. "Right there in the middle of Ursa Minor."
Of course, Tony has no idea what the hell the kid is talking about.
"Hey Matty," Tony asks, "do you know anything about computers?"
"I know I don't like them." He sighs. "My mom and dad are sad, but they try not to show it."
Tony nods. "Ah."
Overhead, the sky swirls with the stars struggling to be seen through Washington's light pollution. It's better than in the heart of the city, but not by much. They all look the same. Tony takes his chances on a star he can see, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to wish for.
The three of them stay there for a long time, watching the flicks of meteors speed across the heavens. Tony counts them, decides he'll save up his seven wishes for some future use.
When the moon climbs higher and the fireflies grow tired, the back door light next door blazes. Tony flinches and Matty jumps to his feet. Tim's face haunts the doorway, looking angry until Matty scurries off with a promise to hang out with Riley tomorrow. Once Matty is out of his line of vision, Tim shoots Tony and Riley a smile and wave before he retreats back into the house.
"Alright, Rookie," Tony says, "I think it's well-past bedtime."
"Just five more minutes." Riley sounds strident, panicked. "I want to make another wish. One more."
He quirks an eyebrow. "You really think that'll work?"
Her head bobs like a wind-up toy. So they sit in silence while he times the five minutes that he promised. When it is over, he climbs to his feet and offers his hand to her. He pulls her up.
"So what'd you wish for, Riley?" he asks.
She glances up at him, studying him like she doesn't have the heart to tell him. After a long moment, she sighs sadly. "For my dad to come back."
He swallows hard. "He will soon, promise."
Riley grabs his hand, begging him to stay there, pleading with him to pretend to be her dad, imploring him to give her a sense of normalcy.
So Tony puts his arm around her and rubs her shoulder like he does to the victims at a crime scene.