Chapter 12
With only cold cases, the rest of the week went slowly, but the weekend finally arrived. Saturday morning saw Tim and Tony on the road to Annapolis for a cookout with Tim's family.
"So they're not going to hate me, right?" Tony tried to keep his tone light, but he could tell from the look on Tim's face he hadn't been entirely successful.
"They're not going to hate you," he said. "You might get a couple of questions about 'Officer Lisa,' though."
"So how are you handling that in the next book? Is she still Officer Lisa, or are you making her an agent?"
Tim laughed. "Do you really think anybody would believe that Tibbs has enough pull to get her through the citizenship and residency hurdles so she can be an agent? Not to mention I'd have every anti-immigration person in the country writing me hate mail."
"Good point." Tony leaned back to enjoy the breeze in his hair. "So how is the new book coming? I haven't seen you writing much lately. You don't have writer's block again, do you?"
"Tony."
"Sorry, creative stifling." He smirked as that earned him a head slap.
"Usually I write during the week. This week's just been a little ... chaotic."
Tony frowned. "You know you can still write if I'm staying over, don't you."
Tim nodded. "I know. I just couldn't concentrate until Brad cleared you. I might try and get a few pages written tonight if that's OK."
"It's a fall Saturday. I'm pretty sure I can find enough college football to keep me occupied while you're pounding away." Tony tipped his face up to the sun. "We are going to be back in time for the game, right?"
"Of course." Tim smiled. "My dad already has the TV staked out for the Navy game this afternoon."
"Except for his taste in football teams, I like him already." Tony relaxed into the seat, comfortable that he had at least one conversation topic if things got awkward.
Before he knew it, they were pulling into the McGees' driveway. It was a small house, the yard filled with colorful flowers. Tony raised an eyebrow at the hoop over the garage. "You never told me you played basketball."
Tim shook his head. "Wrestling, remember. Mom's the basketball player. She played in college. Sarah and I never got beyond rec league."
"Talking about me again, Tim?"
The men looked over to see Sarah on the front porch.
"Tony was asking about the hoop," Tim said. "Think we can get Mom to challenge him to some one-on-one?"
Tony started to laugh. "You guys don't want to play? We could make it two-on-two. What do you think Sarah, want to take on Tim and your mom?"
Sarah smiled. "I don't know, Mom might not want to be stuck with Tim on her team."
Tim elbowed Tony. "Don't answer that, or I'm going to think it was a mistake to bring you here." His smile robbed the words of their sting, and Tony settled for putting him in a headlock.
"Sarah, are you causing trouble again?"
Tony looked up to see a tall woman with graying dark hair and fair skin standing on the front porch, arms crossed. As he let Tim go, she walked down the steps. "You must be Tony," she said. "Sarah was telling us all about you." She reached for Tony and he offered his hand to shake it. Too late, he realized she had intended to hug him, but she recovered quickly.
"You must be Mrs. McGee," he said. "It's nice to meet you. And don't believe everything Sarah says."
Sarah opened her mouth, but before she could speak, her mother said. "Go help your dad with the food." She reached over to hug Tim. "It's nice to see you again."
"I know, it's been a while," Tim said sheepishly. "Gibbs must have done something to irritate Vance because it seems like we've been on call every weekend."
"I'm just glad you look better than you did the last time we saw you. Tony, did you get as beaten up as Tim on that mission he can't talk about?" They walked into the house and through to the back deck, where an older man with sandy brown hair in a military haircut was putting a basket of vegetables on the grill.
"We both got banged up, Mom," Tim said. "Tony's been hurt a lot worse than I have on a lot more cases." He shot a grin at Tony. "I'm not the one with the NCIS concussion record."
"Hey," Tony exclaimed in mock outrage. "Four of those are from my football days. NCIS doesn't get credit for those." When the McGees started laughing, Tony felt his chest loosen. "So, somebody mentioned a basketball game?"
"You played?" Tim's mother asked.
"Ohio State, graduated in 1992." Tony kept his tone quiet, not wanting to come off as bragging.
"You made the Elite Eight that year, right?" Tim's mom smiled. "Old Dominion, but before they won the national title. The freshmen my senior year won that one as seniors."
"You still play?"
"There's a league on base that I play in. Not many minutes these days; I can't keep up with the kids fresh off their high school teams." She smiled again. "You?"
"The Y has a pick-up game Sunday mornings. I usually join that game. Tim's come to watch, but he won't play."
"Tony, you've got some former NBA players in that game, and the rest of you played college ball," Tim said. "I still can't beat my mom in a one-on-one game even with a 5-inch height advantage."
"Sounds like I'm going to be refereeing a couple of games this afternoon," Tim's dad said as he walked over and stuck out his hand. "Sean McGee."
"Tony DiNozzo."
"Also known as Agent Tommy," Sarah said, ducking away from Tim as he went to head-slap her.
"I'm pretty sure Mr. Gemcity isn't writing a scene where Agent Tommy meets Agent McGregor's family," Tony said. "So what can I do to help?"
He breathed a sigh of relief as Mrs. McGee put him to work carrying out bowls of potato salad and fruit salad. He couldn't help comparing this relaxed afternoon to dinner with Jeanne's mother or the fiasco that was meeting Rene Benoit. The relaxed atmosphere stayed as they set the outdoor table and dished up the food. Tony was just about to sit down when Mr. McGee coughed.
"Dad? Are you sick?" Tim asked, putting a hand on Tony's arm.
"It's just a cold, Tim. I'm fine."
"Still..." Tim paused. "Tony, why don't we switch places."
"Yes, McMom." Tony rolled his eyes, but knew he wasn't going to win this battle.
"Tim?" asked his mother. "Is anything wrong?"
Tony thought back to his evasion to Brad the other day and had to laugh. "It's kind of a long story, Mrs. McGee, going back to a case Tim's first year on the team." Noticing she still looked worried, he hurried to reassure her. "Tim's just worried because after a biohazard attack, I've got some scarring in my lungs, makes me more susceptible to respiratory infections."
"Biohazard attack?" Mr. McGee asked.
"Well, this letter arrived at headquarters..." Tony tried to make the story as light as he could, leaving out the endless minutes of coughing up his lungs and focusing on the little stories, like Brad's comments about Angelina Jolie and Gibbs ordering him not to die. It took most of the meal to finish, with Tim interjecting every few minutes to tell what was going on while Tony was in isolation. "So I'm now some crazy footnote in medical journals and Tim, Gibbs and Brad get a little overprotective when there's a chance I might get sick. As Brad always says, there's no statistics on what happens to plague survivors."
"If Tim hadn't assured us that he left the craziest cases out of his book, I wouldn't believe that," Mr. McGee said. "But somehow, it seems perfectly plausible. I even remember the original rape case investigation."
"I didn't realize you had been stationed at Annapolis that long," Tony said.
"Oh, yes. I've been here for several years. I had the opportunity for this posting when Tim was about to start high school, and I decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up, so the kids could finish school in one location. The Navy hasn't wanted to reassign me, and it's nice living in one place after almost 20 years of tours all over the world. I've got so many years in now that if they ever tried to reassign me, I'd probably just retire."
"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it," Tim retorted. "So how about we break out the basketball. I want to see who wins this one."
"Mom's never lost," Sarah said.
"Tony's got almost 20 years on me," Mrs. McGee said. "But we'll see."
As they walked out front, Tim pulled Tony aside. "You brought your inhaler, right?"
Tony just pulled it out of his pocket to show him, then tucked it away. "I'll be fine."
Ten minutes into the game, he wasn't so sure. He might have the age advantage, but Mrs. McGee was good, using her ball-handling skills to compensate for the height difference. She didn't play dirty, but she was aggressive, diving for balls and throwing a couple of hard fouls. By the time Tony swished an outside shot for three to win by a point, he was breathing hard and wondering if he might need the inhaler after all.
"You OK?" Tim's dad asked.
Tony nodded, resting his laced fingers on his head to give his lungs more room to expand. "Just don't have the wind I used to," he said. He walked a few steps, letting his breathing return to normal. "I'm good now."
"More than good," Sarah said. "You dethroned the champ."
Tony smiled and held out his hand to Tim's mom. "Good game."
"I'm looking forward to a rematch next time you come over," she replied. The words settled in Tony's heart, softening the walls around it.
When they got back to Tim's that afternoon, Tony settled in on the bed to watch the game while Tim headed for his typewriter.
Several hours later, the clicking of keys in the other room told him Tim was still going strong. Jethro was curled up on the bed, nudging Tony's hand every time he stopped scratching the dog's ears.
"Yeah, I know, McMutt. Your dad's in his own little world. That's OK, I've got you."
As all the late games turned into blowouts, Tony's attention drifted. He thought back to the afternoon with Tim's family, wondering why he had been so convinced it would be a disaster. The McGees were just like Tim - open, honest, uncomplicated. It was easy to see how Tim had survived his years of bullying and still come out well-adjusted.
Tony wondered what it would be like to have grown up knowing his family loved him unconditionally. No strings, no recriminations. Just acceptance and love. Even his father, the one family member Tony was still in touch with, however rarely, couldn't provide that. Sure, he avoided inflicting pain, unlike the rest of the family. No verbal harangues from his grandfather that scarred deeper than the blows his uncle delivered at the least provocation. Just ignored Tony, preferring to find his solace in a bottle of whiskey. No matter what Tony achieved, it wouldn't earn him even a pat on the head. Nothing he did was ever good enough to convince his father he was worth paying attention to, worth saving his son from the pain inflicted by his father-in-law and brother. Nothing was ever good enough because the only thing Tony could have done right was not be born. If not for carrying and bearing him, his mother would be alive. Uncle Carmine still wouldn't be married to her; he'd lost that battle to his younger brother long before Tony was born. But he could still be around her. His grandfather would have the daughter he doted on, not the grandson that reminded him with every look of his emerald eyes that she was gone. They'd held it together those 10 long years after his birth, as she fought the pain, the scarring. She hadn't been dead a day when they unleashed their true feelings.
Tony wiped his eyes, erasing any hint of moisture. Tim couldn't write all night, not without making his finger muscles spasm from the work of typing the old mechanical keys, and Tony didn't want him to realize where his thoughts had gone. Instead, he turned off the TV and lights and snuggled under the comforter.
That was the last thing he knew until the nightmare woke him hours later.
AN: I know, I know. I'm evil to leave it hanging there. Sadly, I'm even more evil - I'm not going to be able to update much until next week because of yoga training. I'd apologize, but it's a sign of weakness. ;)