Chapter 7
ooo
"Hey, Boss?" Tony called towards the living room as he deposited the empty pizza boxes in the trash. He strode back towards the living room as he completed his question. "I should be getting back home, and since you drove me here…" Inconvenient, that. It wasn't like he'd zoned out on any stop lights or anything. Yet. Well, so what if Gibbs' logic was logical. It was still inconvenient. Jim and Blair had left, and it was getting late. His own car was still back in the NCIS parking lot.
"The neighbors are complaining."
Tony was used to Gibbs often unapologetic abruptness, and usually he had no trouble following along, but sometimes… "Come again, Boss?"
"You party late and turn the TV up too loud." The picture of equanimity, Gibbs took a sip of what must've been his third cup of coffee in not much more than an hour.
"Sorry, I'm not following."
"You've been late with your rent one too many times."
"I wha—Boss?"
"Chose one, DiNozzo, or make some up yourself. Pick something from reality, for all I care." Gibbs seemed to consider for a minute. "Maybe those cockroaches are finally being exterminated—in that case, you should be able to move back in after they're taken care of."
"Uh, cockroaches?"
"An excuse."
Tony tried to keep his temper, complete with strained smile. "An excuse for what?"
"Do I have spell everything out to you?"
"That would be kind of nice, Boss."
"Your lease is up, and the landlord—"
"Landlady," Tony corrected, with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"Even better. I'm sure she has excellent basis to deny you any notice, before evicting you. Considerate of her, actually, to wait until your rent was up." Gibbs steadily set out the fictitious "facts" so readily, Tony half believed him. But, of course, the other tenants of the apartment complex, and Tony's landlady, all thought he was charm itself.
Gibbs wasn't done yet: "While you're in the process of looking for a new apartment, or until the neighbors cool off, or the cockroaches are gone—whatever you choose—I'm letting you stay here."
"Saint that you are," Tony deadpanned.
Gibbs grunted in what was probably causal acknowledgment of the obvious fact.
"I appreciate it…"
"Good. I've got to make a call—you know where the guestroom is." Reading Tony's next attempt to object aright, he added, "Abby said she'd swing by your apartment and grab a few of your things."
Tony knew Abby had a spare key she'd wheedled out of him a long time ago, and in some ways this arrangement made sense. The same kind of sense that Gibbs' logical argument for driving him here had made. If he zoned out, or his senses sent him for a loop again, when there was no one around, it was more than a little disquieting to consider what could happen. Tony didn't relish the vulnerable position his inability to control all this stuff placed him in, and as far as having someone to watch his back went, Gibbs felt like the natural choice. He still felt like he'd imposed enough, first calling Gibbs in the middle of the night because he'd more or less completely lost it because of a few lights and noises, then he'd sucked Abby and Gibbs into all these weird meetings, and now Gibbs was obviously feeling responsible for him. No wonder, really, when Tony kept running to Gibbs with every problem, as if he were the only friend he could depend on.
"Boss, I don't want to be, well, you know a…" Nuisance? The world's all-time record pain-in-the-neck? And those weren't the really brutally honest ways Tony could think of to describe himself, particularly of late.
"You are, DiNozzo. Live with it." Despite his sternness, Tony read the lack of any real malice behind the harshness—it was like a verbal Gibbs-slap. "I won't bother to tell you not to make me regret this," Gibbs observed resignedly.
"Quiet as a mouse, that's me," Tony reassured, grinning unreassuringly. It appeared they were both going to have to make the best of this, and the less sappy appreciation expressed, the less awkward.
"Mice are commonly considered pests, DiNozzo."
"No rummaging through the cabinets and chewing holes in things—promise, Boss."
If Gibbs' expression were any indication, he placed no great stock in his promise. Maybe the salute had been over-the-top?
ooo
"You know, I'm always available for beating off your hordes of suitors, Zee-vah."
Ziva looked up from her desk to squint suspiciously at Tony.
"No, really." Tony raised both hands in a gesture that supposedly indicated his utter innocence and sincerity. "I'll just take him out from behind," Tony made a swift swatting motion with the folder he was holding, "and no more Nerdy Ned."
"Nerdy Ned?" Ziva reiterated.
"Yeah, Ned can be a short for Edward. Uh…never mind. How 'bout Creepy Crawford, then."
"His name is Edward Collins."
"Those English names are all the same…" Tony scoffed. "No offence to Ducky. Or Palmer. Well…maybe to Palmer. But that's beside the point."
"I appreciate the offer, Tony, and as reassuring as it is to know that calvary is not dead…"
"Er…I think you mean chivalry, there, Zee-vah." Tony gave her a lopsided smile.
"You had better not be correcting me when I am already correct," Ziva warned.
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
Ziva continued to examine him with distrust.
"This is what I get for expressing concern? Sheesh, I'm sorry I asked." Tony blatantly pouted.
Ziva sighed, but relented. "As much I am grateful for your chivalry, Tony, I think I can handle Mr. Collins."
From his desk, McGee gave a loud snigger, abruptly stopping when they both looked in his direction.
"Something funny, Probie?"
"It's just…honestly, Mr. Collins? The parallels…" McGee laughed as if expecting them to laugh along. They didn't, and he stopped. "Mr. Collins—having a crush on Ziva?"
"You find it amusing that someone should have a crush on me?" Ziva questioned darkly.
"Oh…no, no, I didn't mean…" McGee frowned at them. "You guys have never seen Pride and Prejudice, have you?"
"You have?" Tony returned.
McGee colored, but was quick to defend himself. "It's a classic. And my girlfriend liked it. I would've thought someone who claims to be such a movie buff would've seen it too."
Tony liked this. Gibbs was down in the lab with Abby, and the three of them were getting along just like old times—or not getting along, whichever way you looked at it. It was almost as if he weren't some kind of mutant. He had seen Pride and Prejudice, actually. At least, the new one staring a very hot Kiera Knightly, and only at the insistence of a girlfriend a number of dates back. But baiting the Probie was a fine art.
"What is this Mr. Collins like in…Pride and Prejudice?" Ziva asked, curious as usual to absorb information.
McGee considered. "Well, he's short, generally considered ridiculous, obsessive…"
"A nerd?" Ziva interposed with a quirk of her lips.
McGee smiled. "We'll have to watch it, huh? Just wait until you see him, and compare him to Collins…"
"Jane Austen has nothing over—" Tony began. And then he felt the presence that was Gibbs.
"Don't let me interrupt you," Gibbs said, sarcasm thick as usual, as he strode briskly to his desk, coffee in hand. "Starting a book club?"
Gibbs had a sense of humor, and it surfaced with surprising frequency, but his driest humor, especially as regarded their office conversation, often meant someone had better stop being funny.
"No, Boss," Tony answered meekly. "Just broadening Ziva's horizons."
"We have a case," Gibbs announced, moving on without further preamble.
Ziva and McGee were instantly alert, responding to his barked orders with nods, and hurrying to follow them.
Tony didn't listen to the specifics. It was childish, petty, and self-pitying, but the fact was he felt left out, like an unnecessary appendage, a third wheel, sitting around pretending usefulness while the three of them actually were useful. He knew he should be paying attention. A healthy fear of Gibbs, which he undoubtedly possessed, made sure he was at least picking up the main points of the case, somewhere in the back of his mind. But McGee being sent to get gas for the car, Ziva double-checking an address… None of that was anything Tony had to be actively a part of.
No, Tony was everyone's around-the-office gofer, because Tony wanted to appear to still be a part of the team, and everyone was overly cheerful about doing what they could to make it look that way too. Just a minute ago, the three of them had been contentedly driving each other nuts again. Life had been good. Now, everyone was hesitating mid-departure, sparing him supposedly surreptitious glances of sympathy. Now why on earth would they feel sorry for him? After all, he was perfectly capable of any work that involved, primarily, more time behind his computer. He had the easy life. Abby had referred to his wonderful new abilities as "super-powers"—so what did that make him? Research Boy? If he was a good secretary, though, he might get sent on a field trip to visit Ducky today. Ah, small pleasures…
"DiNozzo." A folder landed on his desk. "Sergeant Felix Wright—I want everything you can dig up on his family and friends."
Everything I can dig up from here, while you go off to the crime scene and gather evidence first-hand, because if I tried it chances are I'd zone or freak out in front of a whole lot of awkward witnesses—and/or endanger my teammates. "On it, Boss."
"No slacking just because you're on desk duty. I mean it."
Gibbs always did. Tony watched him go, and tried not to look too openly longing. This was getting old fast. Desk duty for an injury, or even as a reprimand, was nothing in comparison to this possible life sentence. Sandburg, Ellison, Gibbs, and everyone else, kept telling him it was only temporary. But how could they possibly know?
Tony went to work, ticking off facts, forcing them to the forefront of his mind, looking for some unnoticed angle to approach his research from that might impress Gibbs. He couldn't afford to sulk, because Gibbs never let any of his team members do anything half-heartedly. If he was Research Boy, then, by Jove, he was going to be one first-rate, lightening quick, unsurpassable, indomitable Research Boy. He stared unenthusiastically at his keyboard, and sighed. To the rescue…
ooo
TBC
A/N: Sorry if my responses get to feeling a bit automated—"Thanks! Glad you liked!"—you all just get me so energized I can hardly stop writing, and can't wait to get the next chapter ready. I love, love, love hearing everyone's reactions to each new post. I can't say enough about how terrific you guys are in the feedback department, or about how much that means to an author. =)) And thank you, anonymous reviewers: richefic, Anonymous, helloawesome, Wufeigirl, Gold Berry, Dani, Random Flyer, andUnseen Watcher (thanks for the review, poking me to post *feels loved*).
Poor desk-bound Research Boy, huh? =P Chapter 8 will hopefully make up for the shortness of this one, by being nearly 4,000 words long. Incidentally, chapter 8 also begins to deal with the issue of Madame Director (I'll explain in my next note on that chapter a bit more about the time-line of this story/why Jen's director instead of Vance). ;)
Oh, and just a few more points—bear with me, patient author's-note-readers, if you can. I am on day one of a not-so-shiny, brand new, COLD. *sniffles and sneezes uncontrollably* I do not say that just to get pity (though pity's totally awesome by me), but so as to explain why there may be a lack of responses to reviews this chapter 'round. I'm working on writing more (yup…you guys are doomed not to have heard the last of this x-over *bg*), as well as on a self-promoting "fan" vid of for this story—so in addition to not feeling well, that's taking up time. (I'll post a link in the profile to the vid when I'm finished with it, and let ya all know—at the very least, it'll give people unfamiliar with TS a look at Blair and Jim, for yay!)
So, possibly no responses to reviews. But poor, sick me would reeeally love more reviews. And you guys have proven beyond a shadow of doubt you're good at reviews. *cue shameless flattery* I'm SO sure more feedback would make me feel better… *really big grin*
