Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

Title: Interstice
Summary: When Gibbs returns from Mexico, Tony thought they could return to the way things were. He couldn't be more wrong. Their working relationship explodes, and Tim gets pulled off the sidelines. Angst. Set post Hiatus.
Rating: Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers through Season 4. Violence. Angst.

Author's Note: The story is complete. Written for the NCIS Big Bang on LJ. I'm getting a start on posting here.

There's some angst in this, but there will be a happy ending.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

"What are we doing here, Probie?" Tony DiNozzo's voice carries across the bullpen.

"Working." Tim McGee keeps his eyes on his computer screen. "Or trying to."

"No, I mean, what are we even doing here?" Tony repeats.

As if that slightly different intonation changes the meaning of the question. Lately, Tony has been more philosophical, more contemplative, more thoughtful—everything that Tony DiNozzo isn't—and downright brooding somedays. Tim chose one heck of a week to cut back on coffee because he hasn't had enough caffeine to deal with this.

"Working," Tim snaps.

Huffing, Tony props his heads up on his hand and surveys the bullpen. Tim returns to a particularly riveting e-mail about NCIS' latest team building opportunities. He deletes that one as soon as it hits his inbox. If anything, he needs a hiatus from his team.

Too many things have happened, and he can't even try to process them. First, Gibbs retired, and it was permanent…until it wasn't. Tony was promoted to team leader and Tim, to senior field agent. And they were heading the team…until they weren't. Until Gibbs returned to wrest the reins from Tony and the expected demotions followed. To Tim and Tony, the changes seem to be in name only. Tim still does the same work, still sees to the team's computer problems, and still writes the same reports. He is still senior agent—just like Tony is still team leader—but in work only. Most days though, he can't remember who his boss is.

Tony raps his knuckles on his desk because, of course, he isn't done. "Seriously though, McWorkaholic. Why didn't we take a vacation like Ziva?"

There is a dangerous edge in Tony's voice. The tone is meant to be lighthearted and carefree, and it is anything but. Right now, Tony sounds exactly how Tim feels. Like the air is too thick and heavy to breathe, soupy and suffocating like getting into a car in the dead of summer.

Gibbs has been back for 3 weeks, 2 days, 6 hours, and 16 minutes. But hey, who's counting?

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Tim chooses not to engage. He knows better by now than to indulge Tony when he is like this. Tim's gaze remains glued to his computer monitor as he cleans out his inbox. No matter how many he deletes, the e-mails just keep coming like orcs in Lord of the Rings.

He deletes yet another team building offer and two more e-mails appear. Spam. So much freaking spam. There are official e-mails, unimportant ones, ones from HR about mandatory trainings and seminars, ones from Ducky and Abby, and most recently, a barrage that escaped his spam filter that promises to increase the size of his "maleness." He has a hunch Tony subscribed him while Tim was senior field agent, but without any evidence, it's just suspicion. Tim hasn't had a chance to commandeer Tony's computer for a deep dive into his internet history to prove it. He'll bide his time until Tony downloads a virus from some sketchy website and check then. The evidence will still be there because Tony never clears his cache.

"We should've put in for a vacation too, McGee." Tony sucks in a breath, just now realizing he talks to himself. "I could be having the time of my life right now. Did you know there's a modeling contest in Pensacola this weekend? My frat buddy is a judge, and he asked for my help. And where am I instead?" There's an agitated huff. "Cold cases."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tim is determined not to take Tony's bait. The older man is trying to rile him up, but Tim won't give it to him. He deletes a slew of e-mail, only for another to pop up.

It's from Tony and reads, You forgot your TPS report.

Tim's annoyed eyes jerk over. "We don't file TPS reports, Tony. We write..."

The smile slowly spreading over Tony's face is self-satisfied like a cartoon cat after eating a cartoon bird. All that's missing are feathers poking out of his teeth.

Ugh, I can't believe I fell for it.

"That's what got your attention, Probie?" Tony shakes his head incredulously. "You really are a workaholic. It's lunchtime. We should be eating."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tim sighs loudly. Of course, Tony knows exactly how to push his buttons after the years they've worked together. He reaches for the remnants of his lunch, a mostly full take-out box of fried rice that went cold. He stabs at the hardened mess with a plastic fork, but the fork breaks, not the hunk of rice. Then, he frowns before pitching it in his trashcan.

Propping his head on his hand, Tony watches Tim contemplatively. These moments usually end up with Tim superglued to his keyboard, a spitball in his hair, or a plastic roach in his desk. At least, they used to. Even though it's been months since Tony's last prank, Tim still fears when it will happen. The anticipation makes Tim even more paranoid than when he knows they're coming.

"Why didn't we think about taking a vacation?" Tony asks plaintively.

"I did." Tim's lips pinch as soon as he says it.

Tony tilts his head. Tim sighs.

"The director denied it because Ziva already had off," he explains.

Tony furrows his brow in a question.

Tim quietly continues: "She told me someone had to be here."

"What does that mean?" Tony asks.

All Tim has to offer is a shrug. "I don't know, and I didn't ask."

Tony fluidly changes the conversation. "What could be better than hanging out with me?"

For the first time since he was team leader, Tony sounds genuinely interested in the answer. Tim debates about whether he should answer honestly or invent something. In the end, Tim chooses honesty because he can't concoct anything extravagant on the spot.

"My sister is moving back into the dorms at Waverly this week," Tim says. "I wanted to help her get settled. We were supposed to go sightseeing before classes started, but we'll go after work instead."

Tony appears poleaxed. "I didn't know you had a sister."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Tim replies blandly.

Something akin to melancholy touches on Tony's face, gone before it's even fully formed. Whatever it was, Tim didn't recognize it. In its place, that self-satisfied smirk returns.

"Does she have any friends?" he blurts out.

Tim rolls his eyes so hard that it hurts.

Sadness ebbs into Tim's chest. While he might admit—with a gun to his head, of course—that he has a soft spot for this version of Tony, Tim doesn't like him. Tim misses the man Tony was when he was team leader. That realized epitome of who Tony would be at this point in his career if he had a serious bone in his body. Poised and sincere and professional, but open and thought provoking and humorous and with a movie quote for every situation. When he acted like a grown-up, Tony was the exact type of person Tim always wanted work for.

Maybe, Tim would admit, that he only realized after the fact because he didn't quite act like it. While Tony was team leader, he and Ziva questioned Tony at every turn and made him justify his requests to the point where, at some point, he just stopped asking. Tim told himself it was because he and Tony were partners and they were near equals until, suddenly, they weren't. Tim told himself he didn't know how to handle such a serious shift in their working relationship. But in reality, it was because Tony wasn't Gibbs. Tim wasn't sure how to deal with a leader who asked for his thoughts instead of telling him want to think.

At the memory of how their summer played out, Tim screws his face up. His cheeks grow hot. He grips his computer mouse until his knuckles go white. His stomach weighs heavy in his gut as though it weighs thousands of pounds. He swallows hard to keep his lunch down.

Oblivious, Tony rises to his feet and preens. That's the only word Tim knows how to explain it. The way Tony stands confidently as though there is a hidden camera somewhere by his desk. He runs a hand over his suit jacket, smoothing it against his chest before closing the distance between them.

Tim desperately tries to blend into the background, but there isn't anywhere to go. Tony is already on him like a shark on wounded prey. His grin widens as he heads over. Tim schools his expression into blandness. Bored, even. If you don't indulge, sometimes Tony loses interest. But only, sometimes. And usually only when there's something shinier around.

G-d, I can't believe I miss Tony being team leader.

Tony starts up. "You know, McCassanova, there are easier ways to get laid than hanging around your little sister and her friends."

Tim glares at him. "I happen to like helping my sister."

"Sure, everyone loves hanging out on a college campus when they don't have to." Tony's wink borders on lewd. Tim feels dirty without even knowing what's going through Tony's head.

At that moment, Tony's entire body stiffens. His lower lip juts out as his face screws up with embarrassment. Glancing up, Tim isn't shocked to find Jethro Gibbs lurking over Tony's shoulder. He still has that knack for knowing when Tony is at his most annoying. Gibbs' irritation is written across his face.

"Hey Boss," Tony says, resentment simmering just below the surface.

Without saying a word, Gibbs levels a smack to the back of Tony's head. The thwack is loud enough to make Tim wince. Somehow, he forgot about Gibbs' way of getting the team to pull their mind out of whatever hole it crawled into.

The expression on Tony's face darkens quickly, a rapidly rising thunderstorm. Tony twists on the balls of his feet and rises his fist. Tim sees it coming, but Gibbs doesn't.

Tony suckerpunches Gibbs right in the face.

For a moment, the world skids to a halt. Gibbs stumbles back a few steps, hand against his mouth. Tony's flexes his hand, his shoulders reared back as though he can't believe what happened.

Tim holds his breath, wide eyes darting between them. He starts to –

A dangerous look floods Gibbs' eyes. He runs his tongue along his teeth to ensure they're still there. He glances at his hand, growling like a feral animal at the blood on his fingertips.

Gibbs looks like he's about to kill Tony. Oh my G-d…

Tony's mouth is open, an apology likely on his lips.

Then Gibbs launches himself at Tony.

And that's how a brawl starts in the bullpen on a Tuesday afternoon.

Jumping to his feet, Tim flattens his hands against his desk. Tony and Gibbs fight it out in the middle of the bullpen. Gibbs lands a punch to the side of Tony's head. Dazed, Tony backpedals drunkenly. He throws a punch into Gibbs' stomach, but it leaves the older man unfazed. When Tony slams himself into Gibbs, they nearly tumble to the floor.

Tim leans further forward, completely enthralled by the sight. He doesn't know how to interact, what to say, what to even think. It's as alien as Tony saying he is getting married or Gibbs being nice. His team isn't supposed to be duking it out here.

And Tony and Gibbs stumble across the bullpen in their awkward dance. Gibbs grabs Tony by the lapels, slamming him into the plasma. The screen whirrs through a rainbow of colors before it crashes to the floor, dark. It misses Tim by mere inches. He scrambles out of his seat.

He nears the edge of the fight, desperately trying to figure out how to break it up. He holds up his hands as though it could make them stop. Tim wants to scream and beg them to talk it out. He knows words won't work here. Gibbs and Tony aren't the kind of men to talk about their problems. They prefer to beat the shit out of each other.

"Boss!" Tim exclaims. "Gibbs!"

For a moment, Gibbs stops as though he's been shot. Then, pure rages skims across his features. He punches Tony in the face again. Tony staggers back. Blood dribbles from his nose, dripping down the front of his jacket. His right eye is bruised, the first touches of swelling already starting across his cheek. Gibbs' lower lip is slick with blood. When his lips pull back, his teeth are a horrific red.

Tim cringes at the sight of his team. Yeah, things have been tense since Gibbs got back. He knew Gibbs and Tony would have to work it out eventually, but Tim never thought it would end with them trying to murder each other in the bullpen.

"Tony! Boss!" Tim yells.

Gibbs throws another punch, but Tony blocks it.

They collide against Tim's desk with a loud thud, and it sends him backpedaling into his workspace. He scrambles around his desk, hands out and expression tight. The fight is nothing like what he is used to seeing in the agency's gym. Gone is trying to learn and improve. They are here to win. To exert dominance. To hurt each other. They fight to the other's weaknesses, Gibbs to Tony's penchant for fancy footwork and timing and Tony to Gibbs' proclivity to brute force without thinking.

"Gibbs. Tony." Tim treads as carefully as he dares.

He tries broach their fight, but they continue as though he isn't even there. He sidesteps as they rumble past him. Tony shoves Gibbs, hard, and the team leader goes flying across the bullpen. Tim jumps between them, hands raised in surrender as he tries to stop them.

He only manages, "Gibbs…" before the older man lands a solid punch to Tim's nose.

Thwack.

Pain ignites across his face like wildfire. He goes down, collapsing to his hands and knees. Black spots explode in his vision. He barely manages to hang onto consciousness. The metallic taste of blood floods his mouth, leaving him retching. He can't breathe.

Jesus, I think Gibbs just broke my nose.

"Augh," Tim gasps into his hands.

Doubled over, the blood pours from his nose, hot and thick. It cascades down the center of his face, pouring onto his new shirt. From his position on the floor, he struggles to stay awake. He watches Gibbs' feet move around him as though he isn't even there. His attention is laser focused on Tony, who attacks Gibbs with a renewed energy. Tony takes Gibbs down with a kick to the back of his knees.

"Gentlemen!" a woman's voice shrieks from far away. "That's enough!"

Tony looms over Gibbs, fists raised, ready to continue the beatdown. The bitterness and anger on his face is matched only by the murderous rage on Gibbs'.

Tim peers over his bloody hands, high into the rafters. Director Jenny Shepard stands on the landing, her hair glowing red gold under the lights. Disgust and rage run rampant on her features.

Gibbs smashes his elbow into the side of Tony's bad knee. The senior agent goes down hard, slamming into the ground with a thump and a loud oof. All three of them are now sprawled out on the bullpen floor. Tim's blood drips through his fingers and onto the carpet.

"Agent Gibbs! I said, that's enough!" Shepard yells.

Keeping his hands against his nose, Tim pitifully glances back to his desk. Cleaning out his e-mail inbox is long forgotten. For a moment, he wonders just how many spam messages he's received.

"All of you in my office! Now!"