A SOLITARY ACT
CHAPTER 8
Tim stood in the entryway of the bar, talking on the phone. "Yeah, I found him, boss…..he's worse than bad…No, that's ok, I'll take him home…..ok, I'll call you." Hanging up, he gazed over at his friend, so drunk, Tim didn't know how he was still sitting up on the stool. He walked over to his partner, speaking first so he wouldn't startle Tony and make him fall off his seat. "Hey, Tony. You've got everyone out looking for you, you know." he sat next to him.
"M'Gee!" Tony slapped Tim hard on the back, happy to see him. "Mikey! Mikey, this s' M'Gee. My bro-brother. We work together. Federal agents." He leaned in close to the bartender. "Shhhhhhh, be vewwy, vewwy qwiet….we' rwe hunting wabbits!" He burst into laughter, almost spilling his coffee. "M'Gee! M'Gee, my man, my buddy, my brother, my partner, my…yeah. M'Gee, thish is my new bes' fren' Mikey."
The bartender looked at Tim. "It's Joe, not Mikey."
"On-only Mikey'sh not bein' very bes' fren'-ish, cuz he givin' me coff-ffee 'stead a' the beer I ashked for." Tony waggled a finger in Joe's direction. "Tha's not nicesh, Mikey."
Tim grimaced. He'd traced Tony's cell phone to find him - in the lounge at the airport. The only place that's truly open for drinks 24-7. He'd gone for valet service, just in case Tony was so bad he couldn't walk very far - he'd used his badge to get out of a fee, but only for twenty minutes, then he'd have to start paying. "C'mon, Tony. Let's get you home, ok?"
"Wha's yer hurry, 'Gee? Si' down, have a drink. It's on me. Hey Mikey! Set my fren' here up wi' any-anyfing he wants. Only the bes' for my li'l bro."
Tim waved off the bartender. "Tony, it's time to go. Gibbs has been looking all over for you…."
Tony draped himself across Tim's shoulder. "Awwwww, did dad send you out to look for me? Did you do that thing you do, that you do, that voodoo you do, just to fin' me a'fore dad did?" He sloppily hugged Tim. "I love you, man. Li'l brother savin' my bacon again."
Pushing Tony off of him, Tim sighed. "I'm not saving your bacon, I'm saving mine, because Gibbs will fry me if I don't get you home. Now let's go."
A hand holding up his head, Tony began waxing philosophical. Well, as philosophical as someone three sheets to the wind can be. "Gibbs… Gibbs…. Gibbs…..reminds me of The Brothers Gibb….that's the Bee Gees, McBorn-to-late. 'Stayin' Alive,' 'How Deep is Your Love,' 'Night Fever,' 'Jive Talkin'…" He took a sip of coffee, grimacing because he was still hoping for another beer. "Then…then, my young PadWan, was probably the worst film remake ever - the Brothers Gibb remade a classic. A classic! 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.' They tried to remake the flippin' Beatles, 'Gee!" His head slipped off his hand and he bobbed back up. "If you ever learn any…anything from me, McWannabe, let it be this: Never. Never. Never ever never, screw 'round with The Beatles. Sacrosanct, man."
Tim rolled his eyes. "I know who The Beatles are, Tony. Now c'mon, or Gibbs will be remaking 'The Sixth Sense' with the both of us."
Tony put a theatrical look on his face. "I see dead people!" he whispered. Then burst into laughter. "Ohhhh, M'Gee, M'Gee, M'Gee. Gee. Gee. Gee-gee. Gee-gee. Tuskegee. Bee-Gee. Luigi. Squeegee. Gigi. Gigi - now there wazh a movie, McRatedPG. 1958. Leslie Caron (tiger growl), Maurice Chev…chiv…shovel….Chev-ev….Maurice Chevrolet, Eva Gabor (double tiger growl). Set in Paris. Gigi is this courtes…. court….. cortisone…. courtesan! She's the daughter of this young playboy's father's mistress, and she and the playboy are friends. She grows up and goes from courtesan to this rich man's bride. (sigh) What a movie." He slung an arm around Tim's shoulders. "Hey, I got an id-idea…le's go my place….we'll wa-watch Gigi. I think yer grown up enufffff to learn 'bout women, Timmy. An' it's my job azh yer bro-brother to intro-troduce you to them. Le'sh go, bro." Tony spun around on his stool and stepped off. He would have fallen if Tim hadn't caught him. "Oh, hey, hi, McTardy-to-the-Party. Wanna' drink? My fren' Mi-Mikey will set you up…."
"No, c'mon. We're leaving now." Tim looked at Joe. "What does he owe ya'?"
"He's all paid up, man."
Tim held out a fifty dollar bill. "For your trouble. And keeping him outta' trouble."
The bartender accepted the tip. "Sure thing, man. Anytime. Thanks."
Pulling Tony's arm over his shoulder, Tim leads a barely-able-to-stand Tony out of the lounge and into the airport concourse. Watching all the people rush by, trying to get to their plane gave Tony an idea.
"'S'ok, it was only a few drinks, I can still take that 747 up. Gotta get all those people to France. Spain. Wait, Norway? No, no, think it's Japan….well, somewhere…..jus' put me behind the wheel, and I'm good, my co-captain. I might' even le' you drive for a li'l while, if you're real good. But shhhhhh, don' tell yer mother, or she'll ground the both of ussshhhhhh."
For the hundredth time, Tim wondered why him? Finally making it out to the curb, Tim got the valet's attention, and the kid ran to get his car.
"Wow! Valet service?" Tony patted Tim on the cheek. "Sigh, I've trained you well, Timmy."
Tim had never been so thankful to see his car pull up. The valet opened the passenger door for him and Tim just about poured Tony into the seat. Tim turned to the valet and gave him a twenty dollar tip. The Porsche was scratch-free, like he asked. As he went around the car and got in the driver's side, he looked at his sidekick, already passed out against the window. "You are so going to pay me back every dollar for this, Tony." He looked over at Tony again, to make sure he wasn't awake to hear what he'd said. With a sigh of relief, he pulled the car into the heavy airport traffic, and headed home.
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Arriving at Tony's apartment building, Tim pulled into the parking spot closest to the door. He didn't want to have to drag Tony any further than he had to. Opening the passenger door, he barely caught his partner as he started to fall out of the car. It was a struggle to get him on his own two feet.
"M'Gee, I'll havvvve you know, I'm no' that kind a' girl. Watch where you put your hands." Tony laughed maniacally, as if he was the funniest thing on the planet. Arriving at his apartment, Tim put his hand in Tony's pocket to get his keys. "You men are all a' same…think you can…can buy us a drink n' swee' talk yer way inna our 'partment." Tony laughed again. "An' while I'm ha-ppy a' see-ee you, that really is my badge in my pock-ket."
"Thank God," Tim sighed as he finally got the door open. He let go of Tony for a minute to reach in and turn the light on, and Tony fell flat on his face through the door. For more than a few seconds, Tim thought about just leaving him there to sleep it off, but figured Gibbs would take his chair away again if he did, so he struggled to get Tony up. With some difficulty, he managed to drag him to the sofa and let him drop. He picked Tony's feet up, pulled off his shoes and placed his stockinged feet on the couch so he was lying down. As he turned to go get a pillow and blankets to cover his friend up, Tony reached out and grabbed his hand. Looking down, he saw Tony was staring at him, appearing almost sober.
"Thanks, Tim-mmy. Fer comin' to get me. You really are…my bes' fren', know that? Yer my broth-brother, man. I mean that."
"Sure. Yeah, I know that, Tony." Tim watched as Tony nodded drunkenly and started to fall back asleep.
It was a couple of hours later, and Tim was sitting in Tony's living room, working on his laptop. As drunk as Tony was, Tim was afraid to leave him alone in case something happened.
"I'm gonna' fe-el like crap tomorrow, aren' I?" Tony slurred.
Tim saw that Tony still had his eyes closed. "Probably worse than crap."
"'S ok. Deserve it. 'S all my fault. Feeling like crap doesn' seem e-nough."
"What are you talking about, Tony?"
"This. Ever'thing. 'S all my faul.' Knew it was wrong….did it anyw-way. Orders."
Tim was confused. "Someone ordered you to get dead drunk?"
Tony scowled. "Could you p'ease not say tha' word?"
"Drunk?"
Shaking his head, Tony grimaced. "Dead. Don' say tha' word. Coulda' been. An was all my faul.'"
"Who could have been dead?" Tim was having trouble following this conversation. Which, knowing Tony, was really probably leading nowhere."
"Her. Was s'posed a' be safe. Didn' think anything wid go wrong. Couldn' go wrong. Shouldn' go wrong. But did. An' now she could be dead, an it's all my fault."
"Who's her, Tony? What went wrong?"
"We all 'greed, sol 'tary was safest. She'd be safe. No one…touch her. But they did. Was s 'posed a' be safe. Prom-mised her, she safe. Wasn' safe. Didn' keep her safe. My faul' M'Gee. Didn' keep 'er safe. Why didn' we keep her safe?"
"Are you talking about Ms. Swanson, Tony?"
Tony burped. "'Nea. Didn' b'long there. Shouldn' ha' been there, M'Gee. I put her there. She…hurt cuz a' me. Her face…bruises, swelling…." A tear an down his cheek. "My faul' Tim. My faul'. I d'serve to feel worse than crap. Wha' kind a' guy…..let's wom-woman be hurt like tha'? A piece o' crap, tha' who. One step above the crap tha' did this to her. She was s 'posed a' be safe, Tim…..why wasn' she safe?"
Tim waited for Tony to say more, but all he got was a loud, drunken snore. Several hours later, Tony was as good as unconscious, snoring away. Tim got up quickly when there was a knock on the door. Gibbs pushed his way past into the living room to take a look at his downed agent.
"Think he's going to be like that for a while, boss. He was smashed."
Looking at Tony, Gibbs took off his coat and threw it on the back of the sofa. "You can go, Tim. Get some rest, take a half day."
"Thanks, boss." Tim grabbed up his jacket and laptop. "Um, boss? I think I know why Tony went overboard….." He told Gibbs all that Tony had told him, about Linnea's injuries being his fault.
Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Told him not to go see her, the idiot. Ok, I'll take care of it. Thanks, Tim. Good job."
Tim stood a little straighter at the praise. "Any time, boss."
Locking the door after McGee as he left, Gibbs came and sat in the chair closest to the couch. He wanted to be near in case something happened. Watching over the younger man he considered a son, he first smiled at the moue on Tony's face - his head turned to the side, mouth slack and open, a line of drool running down his chin. And snoring like a freight train. Gibbs shook his head. "Son, Ziva's got nothing on you in that department." Thinking on what Tim had told him, he wanted to whack the younger man on the back of the head. Should have known he wouldn't follow orders - when has he ever? He leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the coffee table, getting comfortable, awaiting the delight of a porcelain bus ride when Tony woke up. Gibbs sighed. "I'm too old for this."
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A/N - Thanks to mandielouluvsewe, without whom this chapter would not have been finished. Thanks for all the ideas, gf!
DISCLAIMER - NOTHING, NOBODY, NO HOW.
I HATE TO BEG (well no I don't, not really) BUT IT WOULD MAKE MY JULY IF YA'LL COULD REVIEW AFTER YOU READ! PLEASE? THANKS IN ADVANCE!