fandom: NCIS
codes: Tim/Abby, Tim/Tony. sex, silence and other coping mechanisms. 3,850 words.
summary: He knows that, come morning, he'll be alone again. He's getting kinda used to that feeling.
notes: post season 2 and heavy on the "Twilight" spoilers. for the NCIS ficathon. this diverged wildly from the quote I started with, though I'd like to think there's still some kind of undercurrent of the sentiment in here some where (chances are I'm full of shit). I feel like I've betrayed my fellow femslashers by having het and boyslash but no girlslash in this thing. I blame it all on McGee, who is a big old mopeypants who insisted I concentrate on his Angst and not on what Abs and Kate may or may not have been doing in the supply closet. stupid boy.
In most cases, strengths and weaknesses are two sides of the same coin. A strength in one situation is a weakness in another, yet often the person can't switch gears. It's a very subtle thing to talk about strengths and weaknesses because almost always they're the same thing. - Steve Jobs
"And where were you when Agent Todd was shot?"
This is the third time they've gone over this, and Tim's starting to get tired of it. He gets what they're doing - making him repeat his story over and over so they can verify his account and maybe trip him up in a lie. He's seen Gibbs do the same thing to suspects plenty of times - it's standard operating when it comes to criminal investigations. He just never thought he'd be on the receiving end of the same kind of treatment.
The adrenaline rush that pushed through him the second they realized what was really going down with Ari wore off hours ago, and he's starting to feel the effects of shock set in. He's starting to get jittery and all he wants to do is get out of this tiny room and pee. And then curl up in a ball under his desk and never wake up. Instead, he locks his eyes on the mirror in front of him and takes a deep breath before answering the question and several others that are sure to follow.
He's sure the two FBI agents that have been with him for the last two hours can see his exhaustion written on his face, that they're counting on it to help them break him. As if he isn't already broken enough.
When he heard the shot he knew someone had been hit. It was loud and solid and singular and God, someone had to be dead. Tim knew it had to be Tony, cause he'd already cheated death twice in as many weeks and there was only so many times you could dare lightning before it kicked your ass. Plus, Gibbs was immortal and Kate was CIA, which meant Tony was dead.
He dashed and clambered up the fire escape, totally open to shots from any remaining terrorists, screaming for Tony and Gibbs over the roar inside his head and too loud for the radio mic that was still dangling from his shirt collar. He scrambled across the roof, out of breath and shaking from adrenaline, but not crying because Tony wouldn't have wanted him to. And then he was there, next to them, and Tony was alive. Alive and with blood on his face.
Tim almost smiled, almost laughed with relief, except the blood had to of come from somewhere and oh God, Kate. The tears in Tony's eyes said everything Tim never wanted to know.
His training had kicked in then, and he'd raised his gun and mimicked Gibbs' stance. It had been too late, of course. The gunman was too far away and probably long gone and Kate was already dead. Gibbs had fired off a couple shots any way, like he needed to just do something.
At some point Tim flipped his phone open and let the 911 operator know that they had an officer down at the Navy pier. Then he stood there over Kate's body and watched Tony cry, open and silent and shaking right there on the roof top.
"Why didn't Agent Gibbs wait for backup before he engaged?"
The first few times they asked him this Tim tried to explain, using words like "terrorists", "emergency" and "thousands dead." But the agents just keep asking him the same question, and now he's starting to wonder about the answer himself and he doesn't like that feeling. He's lost enough today, he doesn't need to lose his trust in Gibbs, too. So instead he shrugs and says, "You'll have to ask him that."
"I'd very much like to ask him that, Agent McGee. But Gibbs seems to have disappeared." He shouldn't be nearly as shocked by that as he is. It makes sense that Gibbs would leave the first chance he got - Ari is still at large and there's no way Gibbs would ever sit back and let the FBI bungle his capture. Maybe shocked isn't the right word for what Tim's feeling. Hurt's more like it, because Gibbs has left them here to deal with the repercussions of everything. And maybe just a bit jealous that Gibbs will be the one to avenge Kate.
Agent Hamm leans into his personal space, trying to intimidate him, and asks, "Do you know where he is, Agent McGee?"
No, but he knows what Gibbs plans to do. And there's no way in hell Tim's gonna say anything about that to them.
He exits into the hallway just as Tony is let out of the other interrogation room. Tony looks how Tim feels - drained and lost and ready to wake up from this nightmare. He barely has enough energy to return Tony's greeting nod and match his sluggish pace as they head back toward the bullpen.
Abby is waiting for them there, just outside the barrier of their group cubicle. "Where's Gibbs?"
Tim doesn't want to be the one to have to tell her, but Tony's jaw clamps down hard at her question and he forces himself to answer. "He's gone."
"Oh." It comes out like she half expected him to answer that way, like maybe that's what she was hoping to hear.
Tony stays silent, his gaze stuck on some point above the NCIS insignia on the wall and left of nowhere. Abby's still got her arms rapped loosely around herself, and Tim watches as her eyes jump from point to point, looking anywhere but at Tony. He feels like he's the buffer between two opposing currents, like he's a breath away from being crushed under the silence that's between them.
Tim hangs back behind Abby and watches Kate's brothers escort their mother from the black limo through the somber rows of tombstones. He feels out of place here, like he doesn't belong in the crowd of family and friends and agents Kate worked with before she joined their team.
He can tell the others feel it too. Standing here, in a semicircle next to Ducky's rain cleaned car, they feel like a group of interlopers. And it only makes him feel Gibbs' absence more acutely.
"Well," Ducky's voice is low, his accent thicker than Tim's ever heard it as he looks at the growing crowd surrounding Kate's family. "We should probably continue on."
They all nod but no one moves.
Tim finds Tony in the backyard. He's laying back on a deck chair, a beer he probably stole from Kate's fridge clutched in one hand. His fancy three-piece suit and matching sunglasses are in perfect order and Tim can't help but think that he looks like a model out of a Calvin Klein ad. He's got to be hot under all that fabric and sunlight.
Tim lets the glass door slide shut behind him and moves into the small yard. There's another chair next to the one Tony's occupying, but Tim ignores it and just stands there, squinting into the sun.
"You're blocking my light, McGee." the words are the only sign that Tony even registers his presence. Tim wants to be angry at him for trying to sunbathe at a time like this, except he knows that that's not really what's going on. Tony's out here for the same reason that Tim is, and it has nothing to do with sunshine and everything to do with a house full of people all looking to them for answers that won't ever be enough to fill the space where Kate used to be.
Still, for a second, Tim considers staying right where he is.
He shrugs off the impulse and slumps into the empty chair, thinks fast and catches the bottle Tony half-hazardly throws his way. There are things to be said, if only he could think of them. Words of comfort and wisdom, of peace and mourning and moving on. Things he himself wouldn't mind hearing right now. The slight scowl on Tony's face warns him that it's not even worth the effort of trying to find the right words, so he stays silent and takes a swig of low carb beer.
There's a lone plant in a planter by the back door that's showing signs of thirst. Tim wonders if Kate was good at remembering to water it every day. He thinks about her beloved PDA - Gibbs made her use it for target practice at the range six months back, but she had a new one within hours. The memories draw a smile to his lips but it hurts too much to keep it there. He pushes the bittersweet thoughts out of his head and concentrates on derobing his bottle of its label.
He watches a strip of wet paper fall from his fingers and land in the grass next to their feet. Tony's feet are bare, his socks waded into his shoes and his toes curled into the low cut grass. The image makes Tim want to cry and laugh, so he kicks off his own shoes and socks and digs his feet into the warm ground. And if the look on Tony's face isn't exactly a smile, well, it's better than anything he's seen in days.
"Hey," Abby is standing just outside his door, still in the black dress and gloves and almost-smile she wore to the service earlier.
"Hey," he greets back and leans against the wooden frame. For the first time in a long time he's not entirely happy to see her.
"I was in the neighborhood, you know, running some errands. And I just wanted to..." Even though Abby is rambling a bit her body is completely still and that scares him. Abby's fidgeting is a small constant in his life, and he doesn't like what its absence signals. She drags in a shallow breath and tries to widen her smile. "I'm not really sure why I'm here."
Tim nods and moves back so she can come inside. He knows exactly why she's here. He's just not sure how he feels about it.
He watches Abby move familiarly through his apartment to plop down on her favorite side of his old couch. He hesitates, stands with his hip bumping into his desk, a safe distance away from her, and wonders if this is a good idea. If this is the healthiest way to deal with Kate, with Gibbs, with everything. If he even really cares.
Abby watches him from the couch, calm and quite, and that's what breaks him. This isn't right, he isn't right, nothing is right. He can't stand how out of place everything feels and right now he'll do anything to get things back to normal, even if it's only pretend.
Abby lets him kiss her without complaint, clamps her arms around his neck and pulls him down into her warmth, holding on harder than he's ever felt before. She tastes sour under his tongue, like lipstick and tears and too many Red Bulls. Her nails are sharp trough his shirt, her thighs warm against his own. She smells like shadows and cloves mixed with pure cane sugar - just like he remembers, only not. It's almost enough to drown out the silence in his head.
She shifts back and smiles at him weakly through the tears that have started to creep down her cheeks. He pushes back and pulls her up and down the hall with him.
He knows that, come morning, he'll be alone again. He's getting kinda used to that feeling.
"God, McGee. You look like shit." Tony greets him from the back of the elevator as he steps on.
Tim stops just inside and stares at him, caught off kilter. He knows he looks like he hasn't slept in days, but that's only because he hasn't. He wants to say, "Fuck you, Tony." instead he says, "So do you." because he does.
He expects Tony to laugh it off or come back with something even harsher. He's not ready for the slow way Tony seems to shatter in front of him.
Tony looks angry and hurt and tired, like being awake and coherent right now is a bad idea. Tim knows what that feels like - he spent 15 minutes this morning staring into his mirror, trying to convince himself not to just give up and quit. He's still not sure if he made the right decision.
He wants to say something, comforting or inane or whatever, just as long as it breaks the heavy silence that's filling the space between them. But the elevator pings, the doors sliding open, and Tony closes right back in on himself. Tim follows him as he pushes off the back wall and steps into the main office and right into Abby's path.
"Hey," she says in the quietest voice he's ever heard her use. "I got the test results back on the trace from the Jude case."
It takes Tim a second to understand what she's talking about, and then it hits him. They've still got open cases to work, even with all that's gone down over the last few days. He watches Abby hand the case file over to Tony.
"I think I've got your guy's location narrowed down." Abby has yet to look at either one of them.
"I guess that means I'm in charge." Tony says it with a grin that doesn't even come close to meeting his eyes. His voice shakes, and Tim wonders if Tony's just as scared of the idea of being called "boss" as Tim is of calling him that.
Tim doesn't say anything, just turns and pushes the elevator call button. He's stopped short of entering the elevator doors by Abby's voice. "Stay safe." She's already walking away from them when he turns back to face her.
They've been watching this building for five hours now, waiting for a sign of their suspect. Tony fell asleep an hour ago and Tim hasn't had the heart to wake him yet. There's little chance they'll get lucky enough to actually catch the guy today, so it makes sense that at least one of them is able to put these long hours to good use.
Tony mumbles again, his hands curling into fists in his lap, and Tim forces himself to look away. It feels weird, being stuck here in such tight confines as Tony reacts to what's probably not a very good dream. Tim sympathizes with the guy, but not enough to bring on what's sure to be an awkward moment once Tony wakes up. So he busies himself with paying attention to what he can see of the gloomy street they are parked on.
"Kate." Tony whimpers pitifully and Tim can't take it any more. His knee jerks hard against the dash as he grabs blindly at the door handle. His clumsy movements pull Tony into sudden wakefulness and the lost look that covers his face pushes all the air out of Tim's lungs.
"I've got to pee." The words rush out hoarsely as Tim finally pushes open the door and clambers onto the rain slicked street.
He makes it all the way into the corner 7-Eleven without crying, but the stupid "out of order" sign on the lone bathroom door is almost enough to trigger the tears he's been holding back for days now. He stagers back through the store to the drinks counter. His hands shake as he pours stale coffee into a styrofoam cup. The hot liquid sears a path over his tongue and down his throat, distracting him from one pain with another.
When he gets back to the car Tony's eyes are red-rimed with sadness. Tim says nothing and hands over one of the coffees.
Tony's place is exactly how Kate imagined it would be, how Gibbs said it was. Tim feels almost at home amidst the laundry and clutter. He's not sure he likes that.
He follows Tony into the living room, depositing the cold six pack on the coffee table. He almost turns to take in the surprisingly serious collection of movie memorabilia that is scattered on shelves around the room, but something on the table catches his eye. He reaches down to grab the familiar picture. There's a new crease in it, like it's spent time in someone's pocket, like it's been handled by careless hands.
"It's not what you think." Tony's voice, up close and lower than Tim's used to hearing, surprises him.
"No, yeah." Tony looks like he's this close to snatching the picture back from him. Tim wants to placate him, to explain that he knows exactly why Tony still has this picture of Kate at a college party. To tell him about the stupid old NCIS hat that he stole from her desk while he was packing her things into one little box to give to her family, the one that's still hidden between case reports in his briefcase cause he hasn't had the guts to even look at it yet. But he can't think of the right way to say it, so he just says, "I know." and lets the picture drop back onto the table.
Tony leaves it where it falls and goes back to emptying the paper bag their dinner is packed in. Tim watches him inspect the contents of each white paper box with a sniff before putting them on the cluttered table. The Chinese place they always get take out from doesn't do dine-in and Tim's place is on the other side of town. And going back to the office was out of the question. So they've ended up at Tony's by default.
Tim doesn't really pay attention to what's in the carton he grabs - it's been days since he's had an appetite, much less cared about what he's eating. He pauses for a second next to the couch, watching the easy way Tony sprawls with his feet on the table and unsure of where he should sit. Tony makes a big show of pointing the remote toward Tim's stomach, which is apparently in the way of the tv, and Tim gets the hint and settles onto the couch next to Tony.
The six pack and a quarter of the bottle of Cuervo Tony had stashed under his couch later and Tim's still there, slumped into the cushions and trying not to let the room spin too much as Tony recites dialogue in time with the old western that's blaring through his surround sound. Tony slurs his way through a particularly bad pick up line, a sloppy suave smirk on his face, and Tim can't help himself. The laugh starts low down in his stomach and builds up through his throat until it starts getting harder and harder for him to breathe.
Tony turns to look at him, a question curving his mouth, and Tim just keeps laughing, even as he gets ready to deal with pissed off Tony. Tony watches him for a minute and Tim is sure he's about to get himself in trouble, except the blank look on Tony's face slowly starts to climb into a smile. Tim's missed this, the way Tony's eyes light up when he lets himself be amused by something stupid, and he's glad that for at least a second right now the shadow of the last month is faded enough for him to see it again.
He quites down and for a moment they just sit there, smiling at each other like the biggest dorks in the world. Even as the moment starts to fade Tim finds himself wanting to hold on to it and not let go for a very long time. Then he sees it coming before it even happens, like some stupid slow motion accident. Like he's outside himself, watching someone else control his body. He leans forward and kisses Tony, plain and simple with no frills, just like he's done a hundred times with Abby and his other girlfriends.
And even as he's doing it he's freaking out, waiting for Tony to pull back and freak out on him. But Tony stays right where his is, and his lips are soft and moist against Tim's. Tim stays there for a moment, not moving and unsure of what to do next. Tony's mouth shifts under his and opens, probably to say something, but Tim shifts into action, letting his tongue slide out and quelling any resistance for at least another second or two.
Tony opens under him. He tastes like Chinese food and alcohol and not enough sleep. He smells like a guy, so familiar and foreign that it steals what little breath Tim still has left in him. Tim tries to pull away and gasp in some air and distance, but Tony is insistent and, before Tim knows what's happening, climbs practically on top of him. He's heavier than Tim's used to, but the weight feels comfortable against his legs, under his hands.
Tony shifts forward and starts the kiss again and all of the sudden his knee is against Tim's cock and he's back to not being able to catch his breath. Everything's hot and good and Tim can tell that whatever's happening here is gonna happen fast and hard and a little shiver runs down his spine at that. He scrapes his teeth against Tony's bottom lip and the responding growl is all the encouragement he needs to let his hands slide under the untucked tails of Tony's shirt and against firm skin.
Tim's sure that once this is all over there's gonna be hell to pay. That they'll have to deal with the awkwardness and posturing and everything else that comes with all badly thought through fucks. That tomorrow they'll have to face each other at work, have to face the emptiness of Kate's desk and Gibbs' chair. Of Abby's eyes. But Tony's just unbuttoned his pants and right now Tim's pretty sure that this is worth all that. Or at least that's what he plans on telling himself come morning.
fin