Tony was used to denying himself certain temptations – rash actions, displays of intense true emotion, saying what was really on his mind. He was grateful for that practice now, as he resisted the urge to pour over the case file before they even made it to the car.
His whole body was buzzing.
He followed Gibbs to a newish Dodge sedan and got into the passenger seat without quarrel. Having to focus on driving right now when he wanted to be reading would be torturous anyway.
He glanced at the agent's face as they backed out of the parking spot – no radio on, he should have figured that.
Gibbs looked mildly irritated. The man often looked irritated to some degree, at least so far in Tony's experience. It didn't seem to be a front most of the time. More like the people around him were holding him back, never up to his standards.
Poor NCIS probies.
He had pulled out a nice effect in the interview with Baltimore's own rookies, though. Still…
What had he been planning on doing if Tony hadn't called him out?
The detective's thoughts were cut off by a sudden feeling of nausea deep in his gut. It suddenly felt like his stomach had parted ways from the rest of his internal organs. His head swam, eyes unable to focus. He lost his sense of balance, which was never a good sign when sitting down.
Shit, not another concussion…but if it was a result of last night, it would have shown itself before now. So what –
His thoughts were interrupted by a blaring car horn.
Then another, followed by Gibbs letting out a loud yawn.
It was lunch hour, and the still-snowy roads were packed with cars that slipped and slid slowly along the busy city streets. Gibbs was taking advantage of the extra space smart, sane drivers were leaving between their vehicle and the one in front of them by zipping in and out of lanes with a speed that seemed impossible on current road conditions.
The car slid as they changed lanes again; Gibbs controlled the slide calmly, inserted himself in the right lane, and slingshot them into a right turn.
Tony opened his mouth to comment, but all that came out was an embarrassing squeak.
Damn elbow to the throat last night. Yeah. Had to be the cause.
Clearing his throat, he tried again, and kept it short and simple. "In a hurry?"
"Nah."
DiNozzo plastered himself against his seat, bracing his right arm against the passenger door, trying to lessen the death-defying drops his insides kept taking without his outsides. Seatbelts usually made him feel secure, but this one wasn't locking in place as the car jerked around.
"You know you're going the wrong way to get to the academy?"
"Not going to the academy first."
Unaware that his eyes were huge, Tony continued trying to find a better way to brace himself. He planted his feet firmly and tried to stay in one place as Gibbs executed another turn.
Wincing as his knee popped and started to give, he lost traction and slid up onto the drink console.
This was definitely one example of when shiny, slippery leather seats were not ideal.
Scooting back into his seat, he wrapped his left arm around his ribs to steady them, and tried to brace for whatever would come next with just his sound leg.
Suddenly, Gibbs slowed down. Not to anything approaching cautious or legal driving speeds, but at least enough so that the horizon reappeared and Tony managed to regain his balance.
Fighting a sigh of relief, Tony shot another glance at his insane new partner, who looked back at him with a horribly faked expression of innocence.
Tony narrowed his eyes marginally, then forced his features into a pleasant smile. So Gibbs wanted to play more games, did he? Fine by him.
Actually, his next move seemed quite simple. Elegant, even.
Humming to himself, DiNozzo finally placed where they were going. "Back to the scene, Gibbs?"
"Wanted to see it in the daylight." Gibbs tossed him a suspicious glance, as though he knew the detective was up to something.
Which suited Tony just fine. A little well-deserved paranoia would be appropriate payback for the unexpected carnival ride.
One thing you could say for the NCIS agent's method of driving – it did shave time off of a commute. Gibbs was already parking the car.
The crime scene now sported one lone cop standing vigil over the roped off area, yellow tape ends flapping raggedly in the brisk wind that would not abate.
Getting out of the car, Tony was pleased he didn't sway. He stood firmly on the ground, near enough to the car in case he needed something to casually lean on.
Gibbs exited the car as well, and flipped the collar of his jacket up before blowing warm air into his hands. Neither of them were well-equipped for the sudden plunge in temperature the morning had brought.
Glancing over at the uniform, Tony was glad to see that the man was much more prepared for the weather, wearing what appeared to be multiple, layered coats, big chopper mittens and high boots.
Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the alley, now unrecognizable as the same scene from last night. Not only did fresh snow cover everything, it bounced light around and made the dingy, narrow ally look quaint.
Gibbs walked around the car and towards the back entrance of the restaurant. "Stupid snow," he muttered.
Oddly cheered, Tony followed, case files still held tightly to his side.
It was a useless exercise, but one both men silently acknowledged as necessary in their process. They wouldn't find any evidence that had survived the rookies, Gibbs' searching gaze the night before, and the weather. They couldn't even get an accurate feel for how the area would have felt a day or two before. But they could walk the scene, note the surrounding buildings and business, and stop where the body had rested the night before.
It was steadying, centering. Whomever he was fighting or sparring with, whatever station politics might be at play, whatever underlying motivations Gibbs may have, at heart, they were investigating a murder. And Tony would not disappoint Keith Collins.
Gibbs didn't like working with other people. He could respect some of his fellow investigator's skills, and certainly those of the specialists he knew he needed. His forensic scientist, his ME, occasionally a profiler or tech geek. People who had a set field that they were devoted to, he understood using that, especially once he'd found someone he was confident knew what the hell they were doing.
But even then, he didn't like relying on their timetables. Science took too long. And all of his specialists worked on other cases, meaning at times he was relegated to waiting, knowing that nothing was actively being done on that front.
Working with probies was grating. There were a never-ending stream of them, and he didn't have the time to delve into their abilities and affinities. None of them had ever lasted more than six months, excepting Burley. And just when he started to get used to having Burley around, the guy left.
So-called partners were the worst. They thought they were specialists in their own right, infallible, equal. They grandstanded and botched interviews and in many cases needed just as much hand-holding as a probie.
It wasn't as if he was unable to work as a team. Hell, he was a Marine. But working together on that kind of team was different. Everyone had shared experiences, shared training. Usually you moved with a small unit that you knew well. People had their areas of expertise, and you didn't go telling them what to do in those areas. Everyone was working towards the same mission.
Here, it was a crapshoot as to what training each policeman or agent came through. And while the overall goal of solving cases could be considered shared, each person was an individual, working towards their own caseload, their own personal missions, with varying degrees of talent and instinct.
It saved a lot of time if you just did everything yourself. No guessing as to whether or not it was done right, or done at all.
He glanced over at DiNozzo, who was extremely pale, but still managing to read the preliminary case files as Gibbs navigated the highway. Though he was driving his usual speed, he did try to avoid making sharp movements that would toss the kid around.
Playing with him earlier had been enjoyable, but he didn't like the subtle signs that indicated he was provoking injuries from the night before. It was easier to back off , too, because the way the detective's arm had wrapped securely around his ribs and he shifted to protect one particular knee led Gibbs to believe that the younger man had taken more damage in the altercation than he had himself.
As well he should. Street brawlers should never come out on top of trained Marines.
Snorting, he nodded to himself as he sped along.
Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that the detective didn't get the sleep he'd said he had.
Shaking it off, he reminded himself that DiNozzo was not his problem. Gibbs would solve the case, get the hell out of dodge, and go back to his normal method of doing things.
Annoyed, he barked, "You find what you've been looking for in there?"
In an absent-minded tone, DiNozzo replied, "Yes, thanks," and continued reading.
It was infuriating to Gibbs that he couldn't tell exactly what part or page of the file had calmed the tension in the young detective. Not calmed, really…focused. Whatever DiNozzo had been looking for, he had found. He was wholly invested now, as was evident from his intent scrutiny of the papers and photos before him even in the face of Gibbs' driving, the alert look in his eyes, the set of his shoulders.
Several minutes later, Tony finally closed the folders and looked up. "So how do you want to play the academy interviews?"
"You stick with me, you follow my lead."
"Okay."
"Okay?" Gibbs tossed an incredulous look at DiNozzo.
"Okay." Tony neatly tucked the case files between the side of his seat and the center console, and leaned back in the car with his legs stretched out. Hands loosely clasped in front of him, he then proceeded to apparently fall asleep.
Gibbs silently assured himself that the smile he found on his face did not mean he was amused. He was just imagining all the different ways he could wake the detective up.