The next couple of months go by relatively fast, the work in the bullpen combined with their fieldwork keeping everyone's minds occupied.
Tony, Tim suspects, had been thoroughly talked to. His green eyes hadn't met Tim's in the weeks since the incident, and any conversations they held were curt and professional. The Italian's body stiffened slightly anytime Gibbs breezed by, but none of them let it interfere with their work.
Tim had started to think he might have dreamt the entire thing, but every now and again he would catch Tony watching him in the reflection of his computer screen or catch his eyes just before they shifted away.
There's enough tension in the air between them to suffocate them, but they leave it lie, neither one ready to pull that loose thread.
Currently Tim is alone, writing up yet another report on a case closed just that morning. Gibbs had rushed off with the usual glint in his eye, and Tony had left an hour earlier despite the stack of paperwork devouring his desk.
He's almost done, absent mindedly striking the keys, when his personal cellphone rings. He picks it up without looking away from the computer.
"Hello?"
"Good afternoon. I'm looking for a Mr. McGee?"
Tim spins away from his desk, not recognizing the voice on the other line. "You've got him."
There's a sigh of relief from the woman on the other end of the line. "Oh, good. Look, I've got your friend here. Tony."
Tim opens his mouth to cut her off, but the woman continues.
"I said someone needed to come and get him and he gave me your number. I think we have a bit of a situation here."
Tim can hear a bit of a ruckus on the other end, and then the woman says, "Here, he wants to talk to you."
Before he can protest, Tony's voice floats over the line.
"McGeeee…." There's a pause. "The leaf…lead…" Another pause. "I got it…" There's a thunk, and then a hearty chuckle. "Ish…urgs…"
A shuffling sound. Then the woman's voice again.
"Look, I need someone to come get him. He doesn't want a cab, he wants you. I threatened him with the cops and he said you are the cops. Are you available? If not, I'm going to have to call an ambulance."
McGee rubs at his face. "How much has he had?"
The woman's voice is serious. "Not this much."
There's something unsaid between them in the air.
"What's the address?" He's grabbing a paper and pen and jots it down as she speaks. "That's downtown, right? Okay, I'll be there in twenty. Okay." He hangs up and closes his eyes.
Just go see what's up. You can leave as soon as you want.
He grabs his keys and heads out the door.
The bar is a bit crowded, but not enough that he doesn't instantly lock onto the sharply cut figure of the Dinozzo lounging in his chair. His suit jacket is hung over the back of his chair, his sage shirt cutting a stark comparison against the olive tinge in his Italian skin.
As Tim makes his way towards the man, he cuts a look towards the bar and sees the bartender already watching him. They give each other an affirmative nod, and then Tim returns his attention to his partner.
He swallows hard, and then when he's close enough, he says, "Tony, it's time to go."
Tony's movements are lethargic, but when his eyes find McGee, his consciousness shines through.
"God, McGee, you look so good."
McGee blinks dumbly. "What?"
Tony stands smoothly, but once he's on his feet Tim understands why he had gotten the call. Tony sways like a buoy on the water, looking as if he hadn't slept in months. Unease stirs in McGee's stomach. Something's wrong.
Tim doesn't have time to react before Tony steps closer, throwing his arms around him in a tight embrace.
McGee shudders as their bodies press together, the smell of the scotch he had been indulging in clouding the air. His suit provides no defense against Tony's hands, his touch insanely hot through the crisp material. His blood rushes to the surface of his skin wherever the Dinozzo's fingers pass.
Tony's voice is breathy as his hands slide down McGee's sides, his fingers playing along his ribcage. "I want you so bad."
"Tony…" his voice fails him as the other man presses his lips against his collarbone. "Wait…" His voice is barely a whisper, so he's surprised when Tony compliantly withdraws, growling like a dog when someone takes its toy away.
Green eyes glower at him, glossy with intoxication. "I'll wait, McGee," he says, his breath heavy against Tim's skin. His hands press against Tim's chest, sliding to his arms to grope along the muscles. "For you. I'll wait." He steps away from McGee, swinging decidedly towards the bar.
"Tender! Tender, gimme another."
The bartender gives Tony a once-over, mouth a firm line. "I think you've had enough, buddy."
Tony leans on the bar like a he was trying to share a secret, looking at the young woman through hooded eyes. "'s not for me, precious, it's for- *hic*- my friend over there." He jerks his thumb towards McGee.
The bartender glances to McGee, who is watching Tony with concern. She turns her eyes back to the Italian. "Alright, go have a seat. I'll ask him what he wants."
Tony, oddly complacent, nods and swaggers over to a table not his own, slumping down into the seat with a heavy sigh. He smiles warmly a nothing.
The bartender beckons McGee with a jerk of her head, and as he approaches, she splashes some soda into a glass, leaning in close as she slides it across the bar. "Listen, guy, has your friend been pre-gaming before coming here?"
McGee shakes his head. "No, he came straight from work."
The bartender's eyes flick to Tony, and then back to McGee. "Look. I've only served the guy two drinks. Now, I pour kind of heavy, but I've served this guy several times before. He should not be acting like that." She leans in a bit closer. "There's been a rash of drink spiking in the bars around town. I've been keeping as good of an eye as I can on everybody, and I encourage everyone to watch their drinks, but I know for a fact that he was gone to the bathroom for at least five minutes." Her eyes are meaningful. "I'm concerned."
McGee glances over at Tony, who is looking suspiciously close to slipping from his chair. "I've got him. Thank you." He reaches for his wallet but she shakes her head.
"He's got a tab. It'll pay out."
McGee nods. "Thanks again."
He heads over to the table.
"Tony, let's go."
Tony looks him over. "Where's your drink?"
"Drank it. Let's go, we need to get you home."
Tony hauls himself to his feet. He sways violently and just barely catches himself on the table, knocking the hurricane candle holder to the floor.
"Got it," says McGee. He scoops it up and places it back before taking the Diznozzo by the arm. The Italian allows himself to be led over to his original table where McGee fetches his jacket. He helps the Dinozzo shuffle into the fabric, his movements loose and clumsy.
Tim shoots the bartender one last grateful look before leading the Dinozzo out of the bar.
Tony had dozed in the car, but after parking and walking around the car to open the door for him, Tim finds him awake. He says nothing as Tim undoes his seatbelt and pulls him out of the car, allowing himself to be led without so much as a peep.
Tim manages to get him to the front door. Part of him is tempted to let the Dinozzo take it from there, but the dramatic dipping of his partner's head warns him not to. He wrestles the man through the door and guides him to the elevator. Fortunately they remain alone, and when they reach Tony's floor he has the Dinozzo's arm slung over his shoulder, supporting the bulk of his weight.
He shuffles awkwardly under Tony's weight, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open. There is little grace to his movements as he hauls Tony into the apartment, kicking the door shut with more force than intended.
Tony makes a sound in his throat, his eyes roaming the apartment. "Nice place, huh, McGoo?"
"Yes, Tony, your place is nice," McGee huffs, pulling the pliant man towards his room.
Another odd noise. "I hate it," he mutters.
McGee cuts his eyes towards the Italian. "What?"
"I hate it," Tony repeats, grabbing the doorframe to his room and relieving Tim of some of his weight. His eyes roam around the common area, grazing the piano, the empty kitchen. "It's cold. Empty." His eyes soften a bit when they find the fishbowl sitting on the table next to the couch. "Except Kate. She's a good girl."
McGee guides Tony further into his room, glad that the man was conscious enough to support the majority of his own weight.
Tony speaks some more. "I like your place better, Tim. It's warm. It's got character. Can we go there instead?"
"Some other time, Tony. You need to sleep here for now."
Tony rubs a hand over his face, failing to dismiss the exhaustion creeping over his features. "Why am I so tired?"
McGee purses his lips, stumbling slightly under Tony's increasing limpness. "You were drugged, Tony. At the bar."
He helps Tony over to his bed, relieved as the older man flumps down onto the twin mattress. He kneels down and helps the man out of his shoes. As he's working he looks up and is surprised to see Tony staring down at him, his eyes almost clear.
"Tim," he breathes. He says nothing more, just gazing down at him as if he were seeing something breathtaking. "You're here."
McGee swallows and sets the shoes aside, standing up to help the man out of his jacket, which he drapes over the headboard.
"Yeah, Tony, I'm here. I'm gonna get you some water. Just lie down and I'll be right back."
He makes his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, opening various cabinets in search of a glass. He can't help but notice how empty everything is, save for a set of tableware clustered together in the cabinet closest to the sink, enough for two people at most. He fills a glass with water and returns to the bedroom to find Tony exactly as he had left him.
"Drink," he says, and Tony does, his eyes glassy and unfocused once more. Tim takes the glass when it's empty and sets it on the bedside table. He tugs down the blankets and begins to maneuver Tony so that he would lay down, but despite how groggy the man had become, he still has some power to resist. That gives Tim a little reassurance.
His eyes are practically closed as he mutters, "You're not gonna make me sleep in my suit, are you?"
Tim frowns. "No, I guess not." He glances towards the closet. "Want some pajamas?"
Tony makes an unintelligible noise, and Tim looks back to see the other man struggling with the buttons on his dress shirt. He sighs and pushes the man's hands away, undoing them for him. He helps the man out of the fancy silk, revealing a crisp white undershirt beneath.
He expects some sort of joke or jab, but Tony is oddly silent. When Tim looks back up to make eye contact, he sees that Tony is on the nod, his head limply dipping forward. Tim pushes the man back onto the bed, causing him to open his eyes, which seem to stare unseeingly at the ceiling.
He stays true to his word and tugs the man's pants down his thighs, relieved to find a pair of boxers underneath. He swallows nervously as he tugs the pants the rest of the way down the Italian's legs, unnerved by how still the other man had become.
Tim, dubbing Tony's undershirt and boxers appropriate sleeping attire, considers his work done and begins to pull the blankets up over the Italian. Tony's eyes flutter and find McGee, a sloppy smile taking his lips.
"C'mere," he says, his voice barely audible. McGee reluctantly leans in, and Tony wraps his hand around Tim's waist, attempting to pull him towards the bed. Tony's strength had abandoned him, his efforts having no more affect than a slight breeze, but McGee allows it, floating closer without protest.
Tony reaches up with his other hand and grabs Tim's arm, tugging him down.
McGee brings the movement to a stop with ease. "Tony…"
"Lay with me," Tony says groggily, surprising the younger agent. There's a vulnerability in his voice that Tim had never imagined the Dinozzo was capable of. "Just lay with me. Please. I feel…weird. I don't want to be alone."
McGee glances over the meager area left available on the bed, but the desperate look in Tony's green eyes sways him.
"Okay, Tony." He kicks his own shoes off and removes his jacket, draping it over Tony's. He lays down next to the senior agent, pushing against him slightly to scoot him over as far as possible to allow both of their bodies to fit on the mattress.
Tony sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around Tim as if he were a body pillow. He presses close, his entire body limp and pliable.
"Jesus, Tony," he mutters, more concerned than annoyed.
Relief floods through him that the bartender had said something. He's even happier that he had shown up rather than staying home. If he hadn't…
He shivers, shaking his head to clear his mind of what might have happened to his friend.
Tony mumbles something. Tim turns his ear closer. "What was that?"
"I'll wait," mutters Tony, barely conscious. His fingers are curled limply in McGee's shirt. His head is directly under the younger agent's, his breath ghosting over his collarbone. He sighs softly, nuzzling into the younger man. "I'll wait."
A few heartbeats later, Tony is dead to the word, nothing more than a hundred and sixty pounds of handsome, helpless muscle. McGee gives him a few test shakes, but he's out cold.
Briefly, Tim considers getting out of the bed and tucking Tony in before moving to the couch, but something about the way the Italian is clutching his shirt keeps him still. He pets the dark locks on Tony's head, brushing it away from his face.
It was rare that Tim could see Tony's face so relaxed, devoid of concern or concentration. His thumb wanders and brushes against the soft flesh of Tony's lips, plump and completely kissable.
He sighs and tries to relax. He has no choice but to commit to the cuddling, spooning Tony's shape into his own to properly fit their combined mass onto the surprisingly comfortable twin-sized mattress.
He marvels at the firmness of the Dinozzo's body, always impressed with the man's commitment to his health. He had always been fit, but ever since his brush with the plague he had been instilled with a new vigor to watch his form. He was staying fit, cut, strong.
Pin-you-against-the wall strong.
McGee shivers at the memory and closes his eyes, letting the sounds and scents of Tony's room envelop him.
McGee drifts into consciousness softly, dipping in and out of sleep with reluctance, not truly wanting to leave the blissful darkness behind.
He quickly becomes aware of a weight against him, a warmth that was unmistakable. He cracks his eyes open and looks over to see Tony still next to him, seemingly sound asleep. His hands are still on McGee's body, still loosely gripping his shirt.
Tim yawns softly, stretching his legs as far as they would go before settling again. He starts to remove Tony's hands from his clothing.
"Don't."
Tim freezes and looks up into Tony's face to see his eyes are open, staring directly into his soul.
"Stay?" His voice sounds young. Unsure. "Please?"
The disorientation written across the man's face is unsettling enough to keep him still, if for nothing else than to help ground the man and return him to reality. So he nods.
Tony blinks, glances away, and then meets his eyes again. His normally intensely pristine eyes are glossy and a bit unfocused, hinting at lingering effects of the drug. "What happened, Tim?" His voice is small and uneven, something you might hear from a lost child.
Tim clears his throat. "I picked you up at the bar. The barkeep called me to come and get you because you had been drugged."
"Drugged?"
"Yeah, Tony. The bartender said you left your drink alone to go to the bathroom. That's when it must have happened."
Tony looks thoughtful, as if he were trying to pull memories from the archive.
"I don't remember anything after leaving work."
"You were so far gone that you were pretty much unconscious when I got you through the door."
Tony blinks, eyes bleary, clearly confused.
Tim can't help but hug him, taking them both by surprise. "I'm so glad I showed up, Tony. You were in such bad shape, who knows what would have happened."
Tony grips his shirt a bit tighter.
Tim tries to lighten the mood. "Not bad for a sidekick, huh?"
Tony looks up into his eyes, and a bit of his usual self surfaces in the form of a wry smile, the glint in his eyes promising to return.
"You're no sidekick, Tim. You're my partner."