Tim barely has time to make it back to Pyotor, let alone to really let Sasha's words sink in, before his team slams through the emergency room doors, that is, if a person could slam through an automatic sliding door. Although if anyone could, Tim supposes that distinction would go to his team. The relief on each of their faces is acute, though for Gibbs, it's something even more than relief, something closer to absolution, maybe. Tim doesn't know.
"Who gets kidnapped by Russians in the middle of a crimescene? What is this, a Bond movie?" Tony lays into him the second he spies him standing by Pyotor in the waiting room. "I don't think so, Probie!" Tony emphasizes his statement with a gentle cuff to the back of Tim's head. On the way back down to his side, Tony's hand yanks up the short sleeve of Tim's shirt and skims the unmarked skin beneath. It's only then that Tim realizes the fabric must be stained with Yurok's blood.
Pyotor stiffens beside him, twitches at Tony's handsiness. He doesn't move between Tim and his team, though Tim can tell he wants to. Tim lays his palm on Pyotor's bicep, immediately pulling the driver's eyes up to his. Tim offers Pyotor a bare nod of approval, but can't give him anything else right now, not while there are cameras on them from three angles. But Pyotor subtly nods back, places his hands at his sides and moves three feet away from Tim, offering him a semblance of privacy while remaining close enough to catch a bullet for his Pakhan's son. It's not right for his father's men, for Pyotor, to put Tim's life so far above his own life, and even his own brother's life, but for Tim to dare suggest otherwise would be a tremendous insult, both to Yurok, who may yet make the ultimate sacrifice to save Tim today, and to Pyotor, who would have let him.
"This is Pyotor," Tim holds his hand out behind him, knowing Pyotor probably isn't acknowledging the introduction. "And he didn't kidnap me. His brother Yurok was shot while protecting me."
"Oh!" Tony exhales fast, all the steam of his fear suddenly redirected into gratitude and probably guilt, while Ziva's chin tilts and she squints her eyes at Pyotor, not yet willing to take his potential sacrifice at face value. Boss just pushes in front of both Tim's partners to stand directly before Tim. He twists his head to look around Tim, past him to Pyotor. When he brings his eyes back to Tim, he also pulls his hand up to rest at the base of Tim's neck, at the join to the shoulder, as if they could somehow have a private conversation in the middle of a busy ER with a (probably) friendly Russian and the rest of his team looking on.
"What happened?" Boss demands, his face not quite as close to McGee's as Sasha's had been four minutes before, but still close enough to force Tim's eyes onto his.
Tim blinks down before he remembers that he's telling Gibbs everything now. At least he thinks he is. Tim locks eyes with Boss. "It's like I said, I was pinned, had nowhere to go. They were flanking me when Pyotor drove right up onto the sidewalk. His brother came out of the car, and pulled me into the backseat. Yurok got shot while he was shielding me, so we came here."
Gibbs holds Tim's gaze another moment, tries to see if he's holding back. When he's satisfied that Tim's said at least all he can, Boss glances around the ER. "Where's the third man?" the question is almost casual, but Boss hasn't truly dropped his guard since Tim had unexpectedly stopped by his house four days before and told Gibbs the biggest secret he'd ever had. In retrospect, Tim realizes, Gibbs probably lit into Tony the second Boss realized DiNozzo had left Tim alone on the far side of the warehouses a half an hour ago. Tim had just been so sure the array would be a minor blip to rule out. He hadn't thought anyone would be likely to follow him to a random crimescene that he rode to in a random NCIS vehicle with no forewarning whatever.
Tim licks his lips, still not quite ready to answer Gibbs. "He's parking the car," Tim tells Gibbs without naming Sasha to him. Tim wonders what people call Sasha—Alex or Alek? Or maybe Sasha's known by his family name, whatever that might be? He doubts many people call him Sasha, not with the way the man had carefully offered the address to Tim—like a gift he didn't know whether Tim might want or even recognize. Tim knows for certain that no one calls the man Alexander Nikolaievich. Nikolai Markov could never have recognized a Muscovite as his son.
Gibbs squints at Tim, and Tim knows Boss has already honed in on the fact that it's the third man that's important to whatever's happening here.
Gibbs tightens his grip at the join of Tim's neck, "I don't want you out of my sight," Boss' jaw is locked, but his eyes are soft, frightened. "Do you understand?"
Tim pulls his hand up to Gibbs' where it rests above his collarbone. Feeling his own brow furrowing, Tim slowly nods back his acquiescence, squeezing Boss' hand as he does. It's only then that the older man lets go.
Lips pursed, Tim needs to know, "Any word on the shooters?"
When Gibbs doesn't answer, Ziva steps closer to Tim, just to Gibbs' right, "Metro was already on-scene before we changed direction to come to you," when Tim glances towards Ziva, her eyes are moving between him and Pyotor. "Before we pulled into GW's parking lot, the dispatcher informed us that the two men had been arrested," her words lilt upwards, garnering Tim's full attention. "The men who fired upon you did not speak English," she continues. "At Gibbs' request, the arresting officer attempted to determine the language the suspects spoke. The officer told dispatch that it may have been Russian or an Eastern European language." Ziva watches Tim closely, her eyes flicking toward Pyotor when she finishes, "The possibility of a turf war is being considered."
Tim drops his head, has to step away from his team, has to breathe. They found me, is all he can think. The two shooters at the warehouse had fired on him without warning, and though a part of Tim has always known he would be discovered sooner or later, has even waited all his life for it to happen, he's somehow still shocked that it really has come to pass. His father's enemies are far too powerful and too driven to be dissuaded by the long held presumption of Toli's death. Somehow, even the near certainty Tim's had these last several months that he'd already been discovered can't soften the blow of knowing that this life he's created as Tim McGee is really over.
"Hey," Gibbs forces Tim back close to him, his hands first settling on either of Tim's shoulders before Boss' palms bank his face, pulling Tim's chin up. "We don't know anything yet."
"No?" Tim's whole face pinches, "You don't think so?" He tries to glance back at Pyotor, tries to indicate his newest bodyguard as well as the red stains on his own shirt and skin from where his most recent protector bled for him, but Gibbs won't let up an inch.
"No," Boss' lips barely move they're so hard, so angry and fiercely determined. And then a whisper slivers past that nearly unmoving mouth, so quietly that Tim doesn't think anybody else can hear. "It's not time for this yet, Tim." Boss' bright blue glare bores into Tim, as if he can make Tim believe his words if he stares hard enough. "This definitely isn't the place for it."
Tim shuts his eyes in concession of at least that final fact, then takes a deep, measured breath, and nods. There's another moment of holding that position before Gibbs taps his cheek and gradually lets him go. When Gibbs permits him to go beyond his grip, Ziva glides into the vacated space, as if pulled towards Tim by vacuum, but Boss stops her with a hard hand at her elbow before she's able to get closer than an arm's length from him.
"Gibbs!" his name is her only argument against Boss' interruption of her attempt to simultaneously comfort and interrogate Tim. Boss' glare is all it takes to make Ziva step back.
A heavy silence falls like a meteorite in the middle of a picnic lunch. When Tim looks up at his team, he finds all three of his teammates staring at him, Tony with swathes of anxiety painted across his face and Ziva with bare incredulity. Gibbs, by contrast, seems ready for war, lacking only camo grease and maybe the Nicaraguan countryside around him. He takes Tim's wrist, and suddenly it seems obvious that Boss would never let him go without a fight.
"We'll talk about it tonight," Boss allows after the silence stretches for longer than any of them are comfortable with. "We don't talk about anything here," he commands. "Understood?" he directs at Tony and Ziva—he never has to clarify to Tim about keeping his mouth shut.
Boss looks to Tony first who instantly nods his acquiescence. He turns to Ziva who has merely aimed her disbelief in Gibbs' direction. Boss narrows his glare at her, making her purse her lips, but finally she nods and drops her chin with reluctant but complete concession. After giving her face another once over, Boss turns back to Tim.
"We should go," Boss' words come out low but are short of being a command.
"I can't." Tim shakes his head.
Boss rubs at his mouth, obscuring the motion of his lips as he says, "Hospitals are impossible to secure, Tim."
Tim runs a hand through his hair before resting it and its twin on his hips. He glances over his shoulder to where Pyotor has taken up sentry at his back. "If I go now," Tim levels his gaze at Boss, "then he'll leave his brother here alone to come with me." There's no way a bodyguard from his father would ever let him alone while a potential threat was still lurking.
"He's not coming with us," Gibbs nearly growls, jaw locked and eyes hard despite the fact that Pyotor's brother risked his life for Tim's today, but then all of a sudden, Gibbs jerks his neck far to the right, squinting in that direction before he twists his head left, leading with his eyes. Somehow, Tim knows what he'll find, even before following Boss' gaze.
Sasha, the name returns to Tim's mind the second he finds the man's dark eyes. My brother, his brain tries to wrap itself around the idea. Moy brat, he tries the phrase in his mind again, in Russian this time, to try to see if the thought makes more sense in his first language.
Sasha glances to Pyotor before he speaks, acting as though his words are meant for his comrade when Toli knows they are meant for him, "Pakhan is coming."
Toli can't even breathe. Pakhan, he tries to repeat the title in his head, but the word morphs into 'Papa.'
From the corner of his eye, Tim just catches Pyotor lift his chin, watches the man swell with pride, his shoulders straightening with gratitude at the news that Nikolai Mikhailovich Markov will personally arrive to show his respects.
"'Pakhan is coming'?" Gibbs repeats the words in English, presumably for Tony's benefit and to allow Tim to maintain the illusion that he doesn't understand Russian, but when Tim looks over to check Tony's reaction to Boss' words, Tony's eyes are solid on Tim—probing, wondering, but carefully not asking.
Sasha's eyes twinkle when his gaze locks with Gibbs to answer, "My Boss."
Tony and Ziva both stiffen at the familiarity implied by Sasha's emphasis. Tony locks his jaw while Ziva shifts rapidly on her feet, hands fisting at her sides.
Sasha doesn't so much as squint or twist his lips, yet somehow, Tim is certain that he notes the reactions of his partners.
Sasha nods to Gibbs but doesn't offer his hand, "Alexander Sokolov," Sasha's Russian accent is subtler now; the tones that marked him as a Muscovite to Tim earlier are muted, almost nonexistent. Would Tim have been able to place Sasha's origins before if he'd spoken like this in the car? He's not certain. "Please," Sasha's eyes skim over Tim before roaming around the rest of the group, "call me Alek."
Gibbs shifts on his feet, carefully and deliberately turning his entire body towards Sasha before he speaks to him. "Mr. Sokolov," Gibbs acknowledges Sasha, not getting too close—as if Gibbs is still judging whether he could take him if he had to.
"That's Pyotor," Sasha nods his head in the direction of the dark-haired driver, "and Yurok is occupied down the hall."
Gibbs loosens his shoulders and keeps his hands at his sides, the way he always does when they enter into a dicey situation and Boss wants to be certain he can easily access his piece. Boss doesn't bother to introduce them. Tim thinks it's probably apparent to Boss, if not the whole team, how unnecessary that would be.
Ziva lifts her chin and narrows her eyes at Sasha, "Pakhan is an interesting title." From the measured tone of her voice, Tim's certain Ziva knows exactly what it means. It's not surprising considering Mossad's history in dealing with the Russian mafia. Early on, Tim had been worried that Ziva or one of her handlers might recognize him from the age progression pictures his father had still been sending out as recently as four years earlier, or perhaps that she might see the traces of Papa that grew more apparent in Tim each year.
Lifting his chin and smirking, Sasha seems to deliberately provoke Ziva, "So is Mossad."
Tim steps between Sasha and the rest of his team, knowing even as he does that he's pissing Gibbs off. Tim knows he has no reason to trust Sasha, realizes his team has even less inclination to do so, but he wants so desperately to believe Sasha. Moy brat, he locks eyes with the man that may well be his brother. Still, there's only one person whose word can prove to Tim whether or not that's actually true. "How long until Pakhan is here?" he needs to know.
Tim feels most of Sasha's attention refocus back to him.
"A few short hours," Sasha's hand twitches as he speaks, as if he wants to place a brotherly palm of reassurance on Tim's shoulder. "I believe he will be anxious to meet you," the words are gentle, like another tentative gift from this man. "You may have saved Yurok's life after all," Sasha continues before Tim even realizes that outsiders might find his words noteworthy.
"Only after he saved mine," Tim purses his lips. "After all of you saved my life," Tim nods at first Sasha and then Pyotor. "Thank you."
Pyotor doesn't need a translator this time and nods back in almost half a bow towards Tim, while Sasha regains Tim's attention with a jovial smack at Tim's shoulder, grasping it before he grabs for Tim's hand.
"So now, as you say, I am responsible for you?" Sasha says it like it's a joke, but Tim can hear the somber undertone beneath his words. He knows his team probably can, too. He wonders if they can hear sincerity in Sasha's words as Tim does.
"That's not what we say, no," Tony interjects, sidling up right beside Tim and Sasha. Tim's certain he would have inserted himself between them if he could have worked his way into the small space.
"Ahh," Sasha nods, still apparently jovial when he lets go of Tim's shoulder and his hand, "My English is not always so good." He smiles at Tony. "Please excuse Pyotor and me," Sasha nods at Gibbs and the two men move to the other side of the waiting room. Pyotor stiffens but allows Sasha to maneuver him. Tim notices that the two Russians have a better view of the outside from their new vantage point, as well as a better position if someone who took exception to their presence were to enter.
"His English isn't always so good," Tony repeats, face close to Tim's, saying everything without saying anything at all.
Ziva twists past Gibbs, even closer to Tim than Tony is, "Unlike your Russian?" she asks Tim what he imagines both she and Tony are thinking.
Tim stiffens, but he just manages to fight the urge to let his eyes run wild about the room trying to figure out if anybody overheard her. Instead of giving in to the impulse, Tim moves closer to Ziva. He kisses her cheek, letting her long hair mask the motion when he moves to speak softly in her ear. "Don't feel like you have to stay."
Tim feels the soft brush of Ziva's lashes on his cheek as she blinks at his insult, and, perhaps, even more so, at the rarity of receiving an insult from Tim. When she pulls away from him, her brow is furrowed, incomprehension coloring her features beside newborn swathes of worry. She licks her lips and stays quiet for another moment. Her breath's coming quicker now. Tim can almost see the second she accepts that he's not teasing her in some bizarre American way as she frequently accuses of Tony. Her eyes go soft. Her forehead furrows in fear.
"Gibbs," she demands urgently, not looking away from Tim at all. "Perhaps it would be best if we all left." She doesn't so much as blink, "Right now."
There's a twitch in Tim's neck. He knows she's right. He knows they should all leave—immediately. He knows that he may be putting his team in danger by remaining here, but Pakhan is coming!
"No," Boss replies. "The man who was shot is a witness, and more than that, he saved Tim's life," Tim's not sure if Gibbs actually believes that's true or not, but he definitely doesn't sell the fact to Tony or Ziva. "We wait to see how he is."
"Yeah," Tony nods his agreement. "Should probably wait a few hours anyway," he adds, reiterating the time frame that Sasha gave them for when Pakhan would finally arrive, and Tim realizes Tony must have heard something in Tim's voice that let him know how desperate Tim was to see Pakhan—to see his Papa—again. "Just to make sure he's going to be okay."
Tim closes his eyes, feeling completely exposed and afraid that his transparency might be obvious to everybody watching him and not just his team. When Tim opens his eyes again, Ziva's still looking at him. There's still confusion in her posture, but determination is slowly painting itself atop her features.
"I can make a phone call," she offers Tim, her tone measured and forgiving. "Ask my old office to send a car to Waverly."
His face pinching up, his jaw tightening, Tim just barely manages a stiff nod through his gratitude. He grabs Ziva's hand before she can go outside. "When she asks them about pizza toppings, have them tell her pickles and marshmallow cream," he shakes his head once when he gives Ziva his and Sarah's code phrase, "Otherwise she won't go with them."
Ziva nearly smiles at his caution, squeezing his hand before moving away and outside where the loud thrum of the air conditioner near the ambulance bay should drown out most attempts to eavesdrop on Ziva's conversation with her former Mossad contact at the Israeli embassy as she asks them to pick up Sarah from school. Any others who attempt to overhear her should be taken care of by the encryption package Mossad placed on her phone.
How the hell is he ever going to explain this to Sarah? Or to the McGees for that matter? Toli's eyes move back to Sasha, wondering if he can trust this man like he wants to, wondering if Papa really has another son, wondering just how much trouble they're all in if he and Sasha don't have blood in common after all.
Sasha meets his gaze after a long moment, like he'd been waiting for Tim to look his fill. Unlike Toli, Sasha doesn't share any facial structures with Papa. The blackness of his eyes are the most foreign feature of all, and yet there's a knife's edge within them that immediately reminds Toli of the way Papa looked at him when Papa pulled him and Andrei from the darkness of the Petersburg tunnels. Tim's seen that edge to Gibbs' gaze as well. It's the one that tells Tim he will be protected no matter the cost.
Tim blinks down, gaze redirected to his shoes. Papa, the thought reverberates in his head. Tim doesn't know if he and his team (and Sarah) are safe, whether Sasha is his enemy or his blood or both, but he knows Papa can answer all his questions—that is, if he really is coming.