Tony looked up as Tim entered the room. His eyes narrowed as he took in the younger mans' presence.
He was still seething.
The junior agent strode in and threw himself down on his bed, jerking his head in the direction of the downstairs floor.
"Your turn."
The senior agent heaved himself off his bed where he'd been perched, and made his way to the door.
Wrenching it open, he turned back with a fierce expression.
"I suppose you hung me out to dry down there?"
Tim glared. The moderate melting he'd felt towards Tony after talking to Gibbs instantly icing over.
"You do that all by yourself, don't need my help."
Tony returned the glare full force, and after one tense moment he spun on his heel and strode out the door and down the stairs without a backwards glance.
His gate slowed considerably as he reached the mid way level.
Gibbs was going to kill him.
God knows what that little rat up there had told him. He grimaced, but then focused his gaze.
The front door was within his direct line of vision.
He could just go.
Gibbs had no right to keep him here. If he wanted to discipline him, he could write him up, suspend him, whatever.
He didn't have the…the authority to do this.
Tony bit his lip.
He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he was…anxious.
Of course he was always anxious when he was in trouble, but this time…this time it was a lot worse.
It was the first time he'd been in enough trouble with his boss to merit more than a headslap since…since the last time, and as he stood uncertainly in the middle of the staircase, he knew he was in more than deep trouble.
Physically fighting with each other was a massive no-no, and he and Tim had learnt that lesson before.
Well, they were meant to have learnt it before.
He chewed his lip some more.
That door was suddenly becoming more and more attractive.
A tidal wave of anxiety was beginning to rock through his stomach.
He had made Gibbs' little MENSA genius bleed. There was no way his boss was going to listen to his side of the story. He'd just yell at him that he was the SFA, and the responsibility was his.
That door was a beautiful shade of brown when you thought about it
He chewed his lip some more.
He suddenly felt uncomfortable. He shuffled on his step. He had told Gibbs he trusted him to handle his screw ups in the way he always had, but, faced with the imminent prospect his stomach was churning as much as the very first time Gibbs had introduced to his creative brand of discipline.
The door was beautifully maintained, really.
He thought of the bruising that was beginning to blossom over McSnitch's face.
The door was antique, it had been restored.
There'd been blood all over Gibbs' pets' face.
The door was becoming rapidly like a mirage in a desert.
His heart began to race a bit.
He knew Gibbs would absolutely lose it if he left. He knew that, but in that moment he found he couldn't bring himself to care.
He had to get out of here.
As if acting through someone else's body, he found himself being propelled towards the front door that was shining like a beacon of freedom.
His feet barely made a sound, the end result of all his years on the Baltimore beat.
His eyes darted into the living room. He exhaled in relief.
Gibbs must be in the kitchen.
The cool metal of the handle under his skin was all that stood between him and escape.
He had it down, he was turning it, he was nearly there.
Throwing the door open to the cool air, he breathed it in deeply.
He moved one foot in front of the other and his right leg now had all the benefits of freedom.
Just as his leg left was about to follow suit, an obstacle emerged.
A large, muscular type obstacle.
Tony looked up at the owner of the arm wrapped firmly around his waist, preventing his getaway.
He gulped.
The blue eyes were on fire once again.
"Oh no you don't."
A/N: Tony's talk is up either tomorrow or the next day.