Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
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Tim freezes as though he was slapped. Mouth open, hands in fists at his sides and bewilderment slowly increasing across his face. Time drags, an entire lifetime in a single heartbeat. In reality, it's only a few seconds, but Tim watches his entire career pass before his eyes. The difference between following someone who treats him as a subordinate, an underling to order around and another who views him as a partner, as an equal.
He doesn't know what to say to his former partner…his former friend.
To Tony.
Well, Tim thought they were almost friends. Maybe he is naïve to think that, but it always seemed like they had a routine. You know—and he hates how much he sounds like Tony—in the movies where two friends fall into their respective roles. Tony, the annoying wise-cracking frat boy and he, Tim, the eye-rolling nerd who is the brains behind the whole operation.
Closing his mouth, Tim sets his lips into a grim line. Tony won't even look at him.
Shepard clears her throat. "Gentlemen."
A single word conveys her entire message: Surrender your creds and weapons. Then, get hell out of my agency. And he always thought Gibbs was the master of minimal communication.
Tony bolts, a tailored figure in a black suit bobbing through the office. Once he is out the door, Tim hazards a glance a Shepard, but she gives him a sad smile and a shake of her head.
Tim is on his own. He's always on his own.
Rushing after Tony, Tim discovers the older man already in the bullpen. He clutches his holstered weapon in one hand, his creds in the other. The expression on his face is inscrutable, yet another mask behind a mask behind a mask. Tim doesn't know who he's dealing with anymore.
He stops short, trying not to block Tony's way. He fails miserably.
He starts, "Tony, I…"
"Move, McGee," Tony says flatly.
Tim side-steps because one fight is more than enough for today. He doubts Tony would lay him flat, but he never thought the older man would punch Gibbs. And he never thought Gibbs would punch him—unintentionally or otherwise. As it turns out, Tim was wrong today more times than he'd like to count.
His nose throbs with its own heartbeat.
From the bullpen entrance, Tim numbly watches Tony head for the stairs. His head is still spinning from today's events—the punch to the bloodied nose to the suspension to Tony not wanting to work with him anymore. When he grabbed the bus this morning, the crazy woman at his stop told him something big would happen. He had no idea it could turn out to be one of the worst days of his life.
As Tony hits the landing, Tim can't bear to watch. Normally, he is the kind of person to let things go without a fight. Roll over and play dead because most of the time, letting go is easier than a knockdown, drag out fight. Yet with Tony, it feels different. Today, he feels different. Maybe he has brain damage from Gibbs' punch or maybe it's from watching the team implode in real time. Like a married couple who puts on a happy face for the kids while divorce papers are in the mail.
Have we just been whistling past the graveyard this whole time?
"I didn't know you felt that way, Tony," Tim calls after him. "You should've told me."
Tony sharply pulls to a stop. His hand tightens around the railing, his shoulders tensing. He doesn't turn back, but he doesn't move forward. To Tim, that's the only indication Tony is listening that he'll get.
Tim continues: "Why didn't you say you wanted me off the team? You know, like a grown up."
Tony turns around. "I never said that."
"You just did. Up there," Tim says, pointing in the direction of Shepard's office.
"No, I said I didn't want you on my team."
Tim's brow furrows. "In case you missed it, I was on your team for two years now."
Tony shakes his head sadly. "This was Gibbs' team. Always has been. Always will be. Even when he wasn't here, it was still his team. I should have known it would never be mine."
"For a little while, it was." It isn't true, but Tim needs to say it.
Tony stares him down. Tim studies the skylight. With a loud and low sigh, Tony descends the stairs and returns to the bullpen. He stays as far away from Tim as he can get, but he is still here. At least, he's still here. And yet…
Apprehension creeps its way through Tim. How easy would it be to walk away from this conversation? Walk away from everything? Right now, he could leave and pretend like it never happened. Then, he would come back to work in two weeks with a TAD agent until Shepard assigned a new senior agent to Tony's job. Easy, sure, but Tim never liked easy. If he did, he'd be in the tech industry making quadruple what he makes slaving away for the government.
Tony sighs quietly. It's a long time before he says: "Do you remember how you and Ziva acted when I was team leader?"
At those words, Tim bristles slightly. He shifts his weight, clears his throat. His eyes rove back to Tony's desk and something akin to regret bubbles in his chest.
Tony continues: "Because I do. You and Ziva questioned me constantly. You questioned everything I did. Challenged every decision I made. Analyzed my every move. You made me feel like I wasn't good enough to run the team because I wasn't Gibbs." Tony swallows hard. "Not because I wasn't good at my job, but only because I wasn't Gibbs."
Tim doesn't deny it because it's true. There was something about Tony being assigned team lead that got under his skin. He couldn't explain and he still doesn't know why. Maybe because they were partners for so long. Or maybe because he was so unlike Gibbs and unlike any kind of authoritarian leadership Tim was used to. Tony treated him like an equal and in a way, it opened the door to dissention in the ranks.
Tim scrubs a hand over his face. Heat rises to his cheeks.
I wish I could get a do-over for the last six months.
After a long moment, Tony adds: "You two did the same thing while I was senior field agent. I got it. I mean, I never understood why you acted like that, but I got it. Gibbs acted like that and you followed his lead. At the end of the day, we're all smart, capable people. Why shouldn't we question each other? It helps bring up new theories and ideas. But when I was the boss, it was different. I can't explain it, but it felt different. How do you think that made me feel?"
I didn't, Tim thinks, but doesn't say.
He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know."
"It made me feel like shit," Tony answers, voice devoid of any emotion.
Tim doesn't know how to respond. Anything he says will be wrong and he'll upset Tony further. He stares at the floor, studying the tops of his shoes. There are tracks nearly worn through the carpet office. How many more trips will it take before they've worn straight through to the subfloor?
Tim hears the rustling of cloth. Tony probably turned around, ready to end the conversation and leave. Tim doesn't want their partnership to end like this.
"You treat everything like it's a joke," Tim blurts out.
Because that was the right thing to say.
Turning back, Tony narrows his eyes. "If this is your way of fixing things, just stop."
Looking at Tony, Tim holds his hands up in surrender. "Hear me out. Please."
Tony tilts his head in an I'm listening gesture. The crease in his brow deepens and his grip tightens around his weapon a little too much for Tim's liking.
"I like working with you," Tim says. "Most of the time..."
He closes his eyes, cringing at his own words. He is flailing, drowning, grasping at straws, and he knows it. How can everything he says be so G-damned wrong? Pressing his lips together, he might as well go all in. What's the worst Tony can do? Shoot him?
"You're a great investigator," Tim continues. "I've learned a lot from you over the years. It's just that everything ends up as joke for you. Like taking potshots about my sister."
Tony half-shrugs. "As long as they're legal, it's okay."
"It's things like that." Tim gestures at how Tony proves his point. "We're having an actual conversation and you're still cracking jokes. How are we supposed to take you seriously? It was one thing when you were senior field agent. Gibbs was here to keep us…and you, in line. But when you were in charge, we never knew if we were going to get Tony DiNozzo or Charlie Chaplin."
Tony raises his eyebrows. For a split second, it seems as though he might be serious. But it melts away quicker than Tim can blink.
"I have to admit that I'm impressed you know who Charlie Chaplin is," Tony says.
Tim half-smiles. "I really don't, but you've said the name enough."
"I should've guessed," Tony replies, but his heart isn't in it. "So that's what you think I am? A big joke?"
Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. This conversation is so not going how he expected. In fact, it's going far worse than he ever could've imagined. He doesn't know how much farther he can cram his foot down his own throat before it comes out the other end.
"No…no, not at all," Tim fumbles. "You're good at what you do, but your methods are really, really…." He searches for the right word before settling on "…unorthodox."
Licking his lips, Tony glances up towards the director's office. His eyes dart back to Tim before picking some point in the distance. The Most Wanted wall, Tim thinks.
"How did you feel after you shot that cop, Tim?" Tony asks pointedly.
Tim blanches at the thought. He never knew whether he or someone else's bullet finished off the cop last year. Just thinking about it makes his inside turns to ash. It still keeps him up at night. He'll have to carry it with him forever.
"Like I wanted to stay in my apartment and never leave," he admits.
Tony nods. "But you worked through it."
It's Tim's turn to nod. "By pushing myself to keep going and not stop. I came back to work and worked my tail off to be a better agent. The best I can be. If I'd stopped, I'd probably still be hiding in my bed."
And that's when something rises to Tony's face, an openness so rare Tim doesn't recognize it at first. For the first time since that night Tony visited him after the shooting, he lets Tim in. It's as though Tony has shed his outer skin to reveal who he truly is.
"Did you ever think that might be what I'm doing with the jokes?" Tony offers. "Maybe it's how I deal with the job and the having to kill people and not knowing if I'm going home tonight."
For a long moment, Tim is too stunned to speak. He suddenly realized he never actually processed the idea. He takes coming home after work—the job done and sleeping in his own bed—for granted. He never really entertained the notion that one day could be his last. He just shows up, does his job, and goes home. After Kate, he chose to bury it because it was easier.
Easier than dealing with it.
But Tony…
Tony had considered it. Contemplated it. Faced it. Developed whatever he needed to get himself through the day. Tim never even thought...
Tim opens his mouth. Closes it again. His brain is too muddled to even form a coherent thought.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Tony says. "I learned a long time ago that if I made a joke, people don't ask questions. We'd get back work. And believe it or not –" Tony eyes Tim strangely " – most people like it because it makes them feel comfortable."
"So it's a…" Tim trails off.
"Coping mechanism, sure," Tony finishes, offering a ghost of a smile. "If that's what you want to call it. That's what my therapist calls it. I just say that I really like movies."
"Your…therapist." Tim intones carefully like he is repeating a foreign language.
Tony's genial smile slides off his face. "When you say it like that, it sounds wrong."
"No! No, that's not what I meant." Tim's hands fly up, fingers spread wide. "It's just that you're you."
Tony crosses his arms, presses his lips together in a tight line. A frown deepens on his face.
Tim sputters. "You're the most confident person I know. Almost too much." Tim licks his lips to buy himself some time. He might as well be digging his own grave right now. "I just can't believe you would need a therapist. You're you." He throws his hands out further. "You're Tony!"
"And maybe that's why?"
Nodding, Tim concedes the point. There is no winning here and he isn't sure if they're even fighting. He has some experience in the matter, but he doesn't consider himself to be an authority on the topic. He has been in and out of therapy—mostly out these days—his entire life. Between his dad and being a military brat and being smart and the list goes on. Tim expects someone like himself—nerdy and quiet and just broken enough to still be functional—to need therapy. But if someone as seemingly put together as Tony needs it too, then where does that leave Tim? More fucked up and a lot less functional than he thought.
Tim tilts his head. "Why didn't you ever tell me, Tony?"
"Because it wasn't any of your damned business." Tony still isn't looking at him. "And because if I told you, it wouldn't have changed anything, would it?"
"Yes, it would." When Tony's eyes land on him, Tim's shoulders sag. "No, it wouldn't have." Tim bites his lip. "Maybe it would have. I don't know and I never will because you didn't give me a chance."
"I did and you acted like I didn't know what I was doing." When Tim opens his mouth to speak, Tony talks over him: "I gave you a chance to deal with who I am."
Tim nods slowly. "You're right. I should've been better."
"Damn right, McGee."
Tony's voice makes Tim wilt. He shifts his weight as he tries to avoid Tony's acidic stare. He just lets the uncomfortable silence grow into a chasm between them. It makes Tim's skin crawl. His cheeks grow hot.
"What do you want me to say, Tony?" Tim asks. "Am I supposed to wish you goodbye and good luck? Should I beg for another chance? It might not have seemed like it, but I do…did like working with you. I know we aren't friends, but I always considered us a good team."
"Honestly, I don't know, Tim. You are right. We made a good team. Maybe even a great one." Tony heaves a quiet, sad sigh. "I don't know what I want or need right now."
"I'm sorry for what happened," Tim says.
Somewhere above them, someone clears their throat. Tim and Tony share a nervous glance before turning their eyes upward. On the landing, Jenny Shepard glares at them balefully.
"Did I not make myself clear, gentlemen?" she growls.
Chastened, Tony holds up his weapon and creds. Tim smiles sheepishly and he holds his empty hands out, palms up. Her eyes narrow at him.
"Move," she barks.
"On it," they say in unison.
Tim and Tony's eyes meet again. Opening his mouth, Tim doesn't know quite what he will say. But if he won't see Tony again, he wants their last conversation to be better than this.
Tony shakes his head. "See you around, McGee."
And without giving Tim a chance to reply, Tony stalks towards the director's office. Tim remains rooted to the floor, watching the older man go. He surrenders his weapon and creds to Shepard and takes the long way out without bothering to look back. Shepard glances back down.
"Now please, Agent McGee," she says.
With a clipped nod, Tim springs back to life. He moves as though he watches someone else's life through his own eyes. He heads to his desk and removes his service weapon and creds. He climbs the stairs mechanically. When he surrenders his things, he doesn't know what he expected, but he thought it would be more than what it is. Yet, the act is simple. Nothing more than handing over money to a cashier at the supermarket. Shepard takes his weapon and creds, tucks them into the crook of her arm as though they are nothing at all. And just like that, everything he worked so hard for is gone.
When Shepard speaks, her tone is surprisingly gentle. "I know you weren't part of Gibbs' and DiNozzo's fight, but suspension is protocol for all the participants. But since security wasn't involved, I have no way of being certain…"
"That I wasn't really part of it?" he asks.
"Yes, Agent McGee. I'm sorry, but it's protocol." She sounds almost remorseful.
He stands there because he isn't quite sure what to do.
"You're dismissed, Agent McGee," she says.
He nods even though he doesn't understand. He didn't even start the fight. He wasn't even part of it. He was just an innocent bystander who got pummeled for trying to stop it. And now, he is suspended for just being there. His face cheeks blaze at the thought, making his nose pound with its own heartbeat.
Without saying a word, Tim leaves the office. His feet drag along the ground as he moves on autopilot. When he passes through the bullpen on his way out, Tony is long gone.