Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to who's read, favorited and followed. Extra thanks to those who left a review.
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Seated at his desk wearing the spare suit he keeps in his locker, after everything that happened, feels like a peculiar act to Tony. As though he is an actor up on stage. Behind the scenes, the entire world is on fire, collapsing down around him, but the show must go on. He is going through motions that he can't handle because he must.
If not me, then who?
Every part of him wishes he could've told Tim they could stay at the hospital, that they could stare into that deep, endless abyss of not knowing whether Gibbs will survive. He wants to be in those uncomfortable chairs, one arm around Abby and a hand on Tim's shoulder. Listening to Ducky drone on and on and on about something not particularly interesting.
Though Tony understood once he sat in those chairs, there would be no movement. The inertia would be too great, and he would remain there, unmoved and frozen until someone scooped him out. Days, weeks, months. It wouldn't matter until Gibbs was back and ordering him to stand, to move, to work.
He can't bear how Gibbs will look at him when he wakes and says, "Didja get the bastard?" And he would shake his head and smile before saying, "Well, I was waiting for you to wake, Boss."
Gibbs will head slap me into the next millennium.
Tony clenches and unclenches his hands, feeling the skin cracking at the knuckles. It still feels as though Gibbs' blood soaked deep down into the creases. They're as clean as he could get. He showered as soon as he and Tim got back to NCIS. He doesn't feel clean…
Out, out, damned spot.
He balls his hands into fists.
Jeannette Nolan, I'm not…
Tim is still down in the showers, but Tony doesn't know how long it's been. It might be hours.
He drops his gaze to his desk. Gibbs' backup weapon rests there as though it could be the last connection to his boss. When they arrived back at NCIS, Tim had handed it over like he couldn't hold it anymore without being burned. Beside it, their latest case file is still open. Funny to think how a few hours ago, he thought they'd be done by now. Reports written, filed and Gibbs—happy for once—would cut them loose for an early weekend. He thought he'd be enjoying the first shreds of free time he's had in over a week. Where did it all go so wrong?
He reads the file again to give himself something to do. Go through the motions. He knows it all because he read it already, the words are embedded into his brain. A young petty officer with a seemingly bright future in the Navy threw the whole damned thing away for money and drugs. It's a tale as old as time.
But none of it makes any sense.
Who was the other man that Tim swore he saw? And where the hell is Ziva?
Tony wants to run through the building until he has all the answers.
He doesn't even know where to start.
Gibbs made it look so easy after Kate. Merely an hour after she caught that bullet, Gibbs had Tony and Tim herded back into the bullpen. Back at work to keep them safe and barking orders to keep their brains from shutting down. Tony remembers every single moment of that night. Tim just stared, blankly with those shocked and harrowed eyes. Tony, still with bits of Kate's grey matter in his hair. They got right back to work hunting down Ari Haswari.
At some point, Steve Barrows left a voicemail telling Tony to go to the hospital. To sit with Ducky and Abby and Tim in those uncomfortable chairs and wait for the doctors. If anyone, Barrows and his team can handle the investigation. Though, that isn't the way Gibbs taught Tony. He would want his people—his team—working his shooting.
Their feelings be damned.
You're the best, Gibbs would say. Do your damned job.
The sound of a ringing phone pulls Tony from his thoughts. He doesn't check the caller ID because it's probably Ducky again. For the last few hours, it's always been Ducky. At regular hourly intervals. Never with any news because Gibbs is still in surgery. Tony likes to think the medical examiner is making sure he's okay. Tony likes to hear a family voice.
"DiNozzo," he answers.
"Oh hey, Tony," a female voice purrs. "Are you on your way yet?"
His body goes rigid, phone against his ear. He shoves his fist against his mouth, cringing hard. He had a date tonight—not with the YouTube clip girl, but another one, a better one—and it could be the real deal. She knows who Cary Grant is. With everything, it completely slipped his mind to cancel.
He inhales sharply.
"Don't you dare tell me you forgot again." She sounds downright pissed.
"I had an emergency at work, Melinda," he explains, fighting to keep his voice level.
If she hears the anguish in his reply, Melinda doesn't show it. Instead, she hangs up on him. The click on the line cuts straight through him. He leans forward, covers his face with his hand. He keeps the phone against his ear, unsure of what to do.
"Gibbs got shot," he murmurs. "And I….I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Moments later, Tony hears quiet footsteps treading on the carpet. He moves his hands from his face, not surprised to see Tim by his desk. Tim's hair is damp, his cheeks bright pink and eyes red-rimmed. He looks like he hasn't slept in years. He wears a brown sports coat and khaki pants, his shirt sky blue. The same color as Gibbs' eyes.
Tony looks down at his tie. When he dressed in the locker room, he grabbed his backup grey suit. He hadn't even noticed the tie was blood red. He wrinkles his face with derision as he removes it. The offending tie ends up in the trash.
Tim raises his eyebrows, but he doesn't say a word.
"Have you heard from Ducky?" Tim asks.
Tony half-nods. "Yeah."
A long pause. "And?"
"He's still in surgery."
"Ah."
And that's all Tim says because that's all there is to say. With that, Tim trudges to his desk. His movements are careful and wooden like a toy soldier on parade. He looks the way Tony feels as though he is swimming through cement. Tim fidgets with his computer, clearly unsure what to do.
"We should be at the hospital," Tim announces.
Tony just stares at him impassively.
"It doesn't feel right being here," he continues.
"If you want to go, I'm not stopping you." Tony throws his hand at the elevators. "Go."
Tim swallows hard, looks down at his desk. That's when Tony notices the car keys clutched in Tim's right hand, and he brought his extra dress coat. He doesn't move, just sits there.
"Go," Tony repeats.
Tim fumbles. "You should – "
"Be here to find the bastard. It's what Gibbs would do if I were in the hospital." Tony licks his lips, unable to stop himself from hitting Tim while he's already down. "If you were in the hospital."
And Tim flinches as though he's actually been struck. Half-nodding, he slides his keys back into his desk. Then, he moves to shove his coat away.
What he said wasn't fair in any way, but Tony knows he can't work the case alone. Barrows and his team can help fill in the gaps, but Tim is the witness. He is the one with the memory of the man who might've shot Gibbs. At least, that's what he keeps telling Tony. Two conflicting stories from his teammates and Tony's own amnesia make his head swim. Tony needs Tim close until he uncovers the truth or digs up his own memory. He can't do this alone.
Tony begins to speak—tries to apologize for what he just said—but there aren't any words for it.
Tim fills the silence for him.
"Where's Ziva?" he asks.
Tony shrugs. "Davenport told me she is running down a lead. Something about trying to figure out who Morgan was supposed to be meeting. Though, according to Davenport, Ziva swears the guy wasn't there."
Tim's eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline.
"I didn't think to ask where Ziva went," Tony says. "I figured it was one of her Mossad contacts. You know how Gibbs doesn't like to know how she does it. Just he wants the results."
"No, it's not that." Tim's face turns perplexed. "I swear there was another man at the scene. I don't know if it was him or Morgan who shot Gibbs, but he was there."
Tony glances back at his desk where Eloise Davenport's preliminary reports rests. It showed up at some point, but he doesn't remember when. He read it more times than he can count, but the words don't seem to be sticking. It's scant, barebones with little detail. Just the information about their petty officer, Tyler Morgan, was surprised during a potential drug meet. A gun was found at the scene, and it's believed to be the one used to shoot Gibbs. Her working theory is Morgan was the only person at the scene as corroborated by Ziva and Tyler Morgan himself. There's a mention of Tim's interview about another person being present, but it's nothing more than a footnote where Davenport describes him as harried and in shock and clearly agitated.
"Tell me about him again, McGee," Tony says gently.
Tim's face pinches because he's been through it a thousand times already.
"There was another man there. Dark, curly hair to about here – " Tim brushes his hand against his shoulder " – and medium height. Average build. His skin complexion was darker than mine. Tan."
Tony bites his lip. "Huh."
"I thought you saw him, too." Tim blinks a few times. "Didn't you see him?"
Tony sidesteps the question. "That isn't what Davenport's report says. She believes there's only one shooter."
"Then why didn't Ziva help me chase Morgan?"
Tony opens his mouth. Closes it again. "I don't know. That's a good question."
Tim places his hands, flat against his desk. His shoulders hitch as he shoves a heavy breath through his lips. The color is draining from his cheeks.
"Look, I know eyewitnesses are usually unreliable, but I was there." He grows more upset as he smacks his hands on his desk. "I saw another man and I know it because he looked right into my eyes before he bolted. You had to have seen him, Tony. You were there. Do you think I didn't see it? Because Davenport can't be serious about – "
When Tony slams his hands against his own desk, Tim grows quiet.
"I don't know who was there because I can't remember!" he roars.
If Tim is surprised by the outburst, he doesn't show it. He just stares Tony with those wide, haunted eyes. The same one who watched him after Gibbs was shot. Tony squirms.
"I should remember." Tony's voice is barely a whisper. "Gibbs needs me to. But it's like, my entire brain got wiped when he was shot. All I remember is him on the ground, bleeding out. And there was nothing I could do to stop it."
Tony's heart catches in his throat, pounding away. He tries to swallow it back down, but it's lodged there. He presses his hands against his mouth, shaking his head.
Tim's face twists with concern. He goes to speak again, but he stops short. He must notice the panic on Tony's face because his expression softens. He leans back in his chair, hugging his arms to his chest.
"Then what do we do now?" Tim asks.
"We work the case like Gibbs would."
Tim tilts his head, brow furrowing.
"We check into your angle of another man and see if it has any teeth. But quietly."
"Because you think I hallucinated?" Tim asks disappointedly.
Tony attempts a supportive smile, but he fails miserably. "No, I don't think we understand what's going on here yet. Plus, I don't want to throw Barrows off his game. You know how he gets if you throw a wrench into the works."
Tim looks as though he doesn't believe Tony. To Tim, it probably appears as though Tony wants to check into Tim's statement to help them save face. In reality, he can't admit he doesn't remember a thing about seeing their boss take a bullet. He doesn't want to admit he possibly saw the end of Gibbs' watch.
Tendrils of ice traipse down Tony's spine like fingers.
Ignoring them, he grabs his phone from the receiver. He quickly dials Ziva's cell number, but as soon as he presses it to his ear, her voicemail kicks on.
Her familiar voice says, Leave a message.
He hangs up, frowning at the phone.
"Ducky?" Tim asks.
"Ziva," Tony explains. "Her phone's off."
"Huh, that's weird."
Even though it is, Tony doesn't say anything. If Ziva is checking with her Mossad contacts, it makes sense for her phone to be switched off. He'll try to check in later, but she will likely wander back into the bullpen before long. Just like she always does.
"Let's see what Morgan has to say," Tony says.
Snatching their case file from his desk, Tony rushes out of the bullpen. He doesn't have to look back to know Tim is following him. The younger man is tripping over his feet to catch up before falling into step with Tony. They head for Interrogation Room Two where Petty Officer Tyler Morgan still waits for a cell. They should've moved Morgan into holding when Davenport finished interrogating him but with their newest batch of recruits on their first shore leave, there has been more than enough crime to fill the holding cells well past capacity.
When they arrive at the interrogation room, Tim heads for observation.
"You're with me," Tony says.
Tim blanches because he doesn't join many interrogations. Usually, he is relegated to observation to learn the tips and tricks of Gibbs' and Tony's trade. Tony needs him to see Tyler Morgan because if he is the shooter, it should jog Tim's memory.
Tony throws open the door to interrogation. He heads to the table with Tim close on his heels.
At the table, Tyler Morgan sits with his head propped on his hand. If Tony dared to guess, the man looks bored. He resembles Tim's description of the shooter. Average height, average build with curly dark hair. Except his hair is cropped close to his skull. His dark eyes jump to soak up the agents as his mouth quirks into a small grin.
Tony barely swallows the urge to deck him.
"Where's my soda?" Morgan bleats at them. "That girl agent said she'd be right back."
"What's this look like? Mickey D's?" Tony asks, folding into the chair across the table.
Morgan's smile goes thin. "Nah, a shit diner, maybe. Did anyone tell you the floors are sticky?"
"I won't be having what you're having."
Tim sidles up in the corner, struggling to keep his expression even. Anger draws across Tim's eyes and settles around his mouth. When Tony checks with him, Tim shakes his head and mouths, That's not him.
Tony shifts his weight, lifts his foot. His right shoe almost remains glued to the spot beside his seat. He tries to keep his expression as bland as possible, but his emotions are taking their toll on him. This man might have—even if Tim says he didn't—shot Gibbs and he's cracking jokes. He opens the file in front of him, carefully avoiding the pictures where Gibbs' blood is all over the floor and Tony's own shoes in the background.
"Tell me about the meet today, Morgan," Tony says.
"What else is there to say?" He shrugs. "I already told the girl agents everything."
Tony tilts his head. "Agents?"
"Yeah, there were two. First, that short blonde one who looks like she was ready to slap me - "
"Her name's Davenport," Tony interrupts.
Morgan rolls his eyes. "Whoever she is, she's a bitch with a capital B. She put me in here first. Then, a pretty one that talks weird came by. She asked me questions and I told her some stuff. Then she said she'd be back with my soda." He taps his finger against his chin. "I think she said her name was Sylvia."
Tim takes a step forward. "Are you sure it wasn't Ziva?"
"Nope, pretty sure it was Sylvia. Then that bitchy blonde –" When Tony raps his knuckles on the table, Morgan ground out a huff. "Fine, Davenport came back and she didn't bring me a soda either. She asked me the same questions and I gave the same answers. Now, you're here. Figures the women didn't do their jobs right. They had to send the men in to clean up after them. I should've just waited for you." He looks over at Tim. "Hey you, I want a Diet Coke."
Tim grits his teeth, his hands going into fists at his side. Tony shakes his head.
"When we're done here," Tony promises. "I'd like to know what happened today."
"It's like I told Sylvia and Davenport. I was waiting for someone to show up so I could unload my drugs. I didn't know NCIS was tailing me." He eyes Tim again. "I sure as hell didn't think he'd be fast enough to catch me."
When he bites out a harsh laugh, Tim's fists grow even tighter. He just looks away.
Tony decides he might leave Tim alone for a few minutes after the interview.
"Why didn't we find the drugs at the scene?" Tony asks.
Morgan chuckles. "Do you think I'd be stupid enough to bring them with me? I was vetting a guy before I set up a drop-off point."
"What guy?"
Shrugging with one shoulder, Morgan leans back in his seat. "I don't know. He never showed."
"Then what happened?"
"Oh yeah, and I almost forgot." A harsh, glinting grin. "I popped that old coot."
When he bites out a cruel laugh, something deep inside Tony snaps. Leaping to his feet, he throws himself across the table to grab Morgan by the front of his shirt. He drags Morgan down, shoving his face into the pictures. Someone's hands scrabble at his shoulder, trying to him lift off, but Tony holds fast, clutching Morgan like a lifeline.
"That man you shot is Special Agent Gibbs!" Tony yells, face turning red. "He's my boss. He's my friend!"
Morgan's body twists with effort, trying to escape Tony's grasp. Tim gives Tony a hard tug backwards and it's enough for Morgan to escape. Tim and Tony backpedal several steps and the chair clatters ominously against the ground. Tim keeps a strong hold on Tony's arm while they stand, chests heaving from the exertion. Eventually, Tony shrugs Tim away. He straightens his suit jacket and takes a deep breath. Both Tim and Morgan keep a wary eye on Tony, but he exhales loudly as though it could calm him.
Tim leans into Tony's line of vision, but he shakes his head.
Morgan's eyes are wide, worried.
Tony jabs a finger at him. "If my boss dies, you get the needle."
The color drains from Morgan's face. "You…you're…you're lying."
"Judges don't take kindly to people who kill federal agents."
Morgan stammers a long mash of incoherent syllables until it becomes, "I saw him. It wasn't that bad. He looked fine. Wasn't he okay?"
When Morgan looks to Tim for help, the agent presses his lips together. The anguish clearly painted on Tim's face leaves Morgan reeling.
"The last we heard, he's still in surgery." Tim's voice catches, despite him trying to keep it level.
"I-I-I…" Morgan swallows hard. "Sylvia said he was going to be fine. Said this would all be fine. I'm going to get paid back for this. I'm helping. She said I'm helping."
Tony approaches the table, causing Morgan to shrink away.
"Forget about what Sylvia said," Tony says. "Did you actually shoot him?"
Morgan's mouth opens and closes like a fish on land. His face has gone as pale as the sheets of paper on the table. Surprisingly, he is now studying the photos of the pools of Gibbs' blood and Tony's feet. Horror washes over his face. He whispers something so quietly Tony can't hear it. Both he and Tim, who's holding his breath now, take a full step closer.
"Care to repeat that?" Tony asks.
"I didn't shoot him," Morgan whispers. "That other guy did."
Tony's eyebrows rise. "Who?"
Morgan looks up, tired and trapped. "The guy who was supposed to buy my drugs. I was just there to set up a meet so I could offload some premium – "
"Cut the crap," Tony interrupts.
"Look, I was only there to sell drugs," Morgan says as though that is better. "The guy was going to bring the money and I'd take him to where I hid the drugs. The guy who was buying them. He's the one who shot your boss."
"Who is he?"
"I don't know. He said his name was Adam, but he said it weird. Like there was an R in it. Maybe he said Arram, but is that even a real name? Today was the first time I saw him. I swear to G-d, I didn't know he was going to shoot that guy." He points at Tim. "You told Sylvia to chase him."
When Tony sneaks a glance at Tim, the younger man appears relieved. Almost like he's relieved they haven't caught the person who shot Gibbs. Tony knows that isn't the case because he doesn't want Tim to be hallucinating during a stressful moment. But he almost wishes it had been Morgan because that would've been so much easier.
"What did he look like?" Tony asks.
Morgan keeps his gaze locked on Tim. "He was about my size, but – "
"No, don't tell him. Tell me," Tony says, sliding in front of Tim.
He doesn't want anything from Tim's face leading their suspect into a description. Cautiously, Morgan lets his eyes rove to Tony. He clutches his arms to his chest like a terrified child.
"Dark hair to his shoulder, sorta curly. Maybe wavy. And he was tan like he just got back from vacation. He was a little bigger than me, but not much." Morgan holds out his hands in surrender. "I swear, I didn't know he was going to shoot your boss. I didn't even know he brought a gun…"
Tony gestures at the pictures on the table. "But you brought one?"
"Well, yeah." Morgan rolls his eyes. "I was meeting some random dude to sell drugs. I needed to protect myself because I didn't know what was going to happen."
Tony shakes his head, mind boggled by the conversation. "How'd you find Arram?"
Biting his lip, Morgan makes a show of thinking. "You know what, he found me. I don't even know how. He called my phone. My special phone, the one I give my clients."
Tim and Tony share a grim look. Tony is just about to wrap up the interview when Morgan smacks the table.
"I just remembered something," he says. "Arram talked weird like he doesn't speak English quite right. Come to think of it, he sounded a lot like Sylvia."
And that's the detail that stops Tony in his tracks. Even Tim must think it's important because he inhales sharply.
Tony is already moving. Bolting out of interrogation. He needs to get back to the bullpen right now. Tim's attention whips between Morgan and Tony's retreating form. He scrambles to scoop up the file before he leaves interrogation.
Behind them, Morgan shouts: "What about my soda?"
They both ignore him.
"Tony," Tim calls out.
Pausing, Tony turns back. Tim's knuckles are white against the manila file, his face even more pale.
"What's going on?" he asks.
Tony presses his lips together. "I wish I knew."
The silence stretches between them, a deep yawning chasm. Tim is obviously desperate for Tony to fill it, but the older man doesn't know how. They both are thinking the same thing, but neither of them wants to be the one to say it. Clearing his throat, Tim's face turns stricken.
"Does this mean…" he pauses, swallowing hard. "Does this mean Ziva lied?"