Tim goes for the basement in Boss' house right away. He knows the illusion of safety it offers is just that—an illusion—but he needs to be surrounded by the things that so clearly speak of Gibbs even when Boss is nowhere in sight.
"Talk to me, Probie," Tony breaks his silence from the waiting room and the car by unknowingly echoing Boss' words from just a few days ago in this very room. "Do you even realize how much you look like—"
Tim raises a finger to quiet Tony, but he doesn't say a word himself, not yet. He can't. Instead he goes for Boss' workbench and the counter-surveillance equipment Tim brought here the day after his conversation with Gibbs. The modified EM-40 won't be able block out as many signals as the MS-81 that he'd borrowed from NCIS to bring here four days ago, but it can determine if anyone is listening by almost any electromagnetic method.
Less than three seconds later, the EM-40 analysis is complete—it's in the red.
Oh, please, no. Tim runs the test again, but once more, results are in the red. Probably a laser microphone if McGee had to guess. It's not like Gibbs has rippled glass in the basement windows after all, and with a laser there's no added risk of getting shot by an angry fed like there would be in placing a physical bug in Boss' basement.
"What did it—" Tony's seen McGee work the equipment often enough to comprehend the results immediately once Tim hands over the EM-40. "Oh," Tony's small exhalation sounds unsurprised. "You don't have the Jedi Mind Trick one?" Tony asks, referring to the MS-81 model. This isn't the conversation you're looking for, was a years-old running joke between.
Tim shakes his head. A detector with a minimal spectrum mask like an EM-40 was one thing, but there's no way he could have justified signing out the multi-spectrum camo twice in one week, and he had to have it before. It was the only way he could be sure that no one was listening when he confided in Gibbs.
Tim seats himself in Gibbs' stool. He brings up his hands to cover his eyes for a moment before running his fingers back and through his hair. He'd seen this coming. He'd known he would find himself in this position. How did he not know what he was going to do next?
Tim's eyes still shut, he hears Tony pull up the construction horse beside him, feels the reverberation across the concrete floor as Tony moves in close and sits next to him.
"You know," Tony leads, "We didn't finish our reports." Tony's voice is soft but insistent. "We should go back to the Yard and write them up."
Tim's already shaking his head before his partner finishes, because it may not be another crime family with eyes and ears on Toli right now. It could be the FBI. It could actually even be the Bratva watching him. Sasha might have followed him to Gibbs' from the hospital. He might even be outside right now. Toli still has hope that it could be the Brotherhood watching over him, but chances are good, especially with the way Papa would not even look at him, that he's not even considered a part of the Brotherhood anymore after all. If he's not considered one of them anymore, then it's possible that if the Bratva is watching him, their purpose may not be protection.
Abruptly, Toli's blinded to everything around him, and all he can see is Papa's stiff form as he took into the waiting area, just as if he owned it and everything in it. Yet Papa didn't bother to survey the room like Toli has always remembered him doing, a simple precaution that Papa never would have neglected before. Maybe Papa knew Toli was there. Maybe he avoided Toli's gaze intentionally because he didn't want to claim him as his own anymore. Maybe Papa tells people that he has no son.
He feels Tony's hand at the base of his neck, trying to gentle him as Gibbs would. It makes Tim blink, makes him sniff involuntarily. He clears his throat, waiting for the blush to heat his cheeks. It doesn't come.
It's only now, in hindsight, that Tim realizes he never believed that he'd been in danger when he'd come to Gibbs before. He'd thought whoever was watching him was doing so under the loving direction of his father. What if it was never his father, though? What if it was the Muscovites or the Trincallos? Of course, if it had been a different crime syndicate, then why wouldn't they have moved on Toli yet after so many months of watching him? It's more likely that the FBI could have found a connection between Tim McGee and Nikolai Markov. Tim looks more and more like his father every year—Tony certainly noticed that fact, although Tony's always been exceptional with faces. Still, Tim realizes a simple facial recognition search could have given him away to the FBI. Furthermore, Tim's always tried to keep his potentially recoverable DNA traces to a minimum, even more so after he first suspected he was being followed, but it's possible that the FBI obtained a sample from him and ran a match. He doubts his father's DNA is in the system, but he had an uncle, cousins in Petersburg. It's possible one of them was arrested or turned evidence to the FBI. He didn't really know them well enough to be able to rule out the possibility.
The worst thing to imagine is that it is his father's people watching him, but not as a part of the Brotherhood, instead as predatil. But could he really be considered a traitor after so many years as a federal agent and not saying anything of what he knows? There is no statute of limitations on murder after all, and he knows the Cayman and Swiss accounts his father kept for him in trust are still there, which means that other accounts of his father's that were established through the same means could still be in place and deriving dividends that are likely not being taxed, and that's to say nothing of what he could have told the FBI about the Bratva's patterns and preferences of business had he chosen to spit on his blood and rat them out.
If the FBI is watching him, the only way his life is in danger is if the Bureau brought his existence to the attention of the other crime syndicates. On the other hand, his job might be in jeopardy, not because he's technically done anything illegal—nothing since he's turned 18 in any case—but because simply being the son of a member of the Bratva, let alone a Pakhan, would mean everyone in law enforcement would consider him to be his father's mole, despite his lack of contact with anyone in the Bratva for better than 20 years.
If, instead, his father has eyes on him…Toli's not even sure what that means anymore. He can't imagine that his father would actually hurt him or someone he cared about, but until tonight, he hadn't been in the same room with his father in over 22 years. Could Papa consider him an enemy?
"Tim," Tony's voice is as soft as the pressure of his hand, still insistent at the base of Toli's neck.
Tim leans his head down, not trying to get away from Tony's hand exactly, just not sure how to deal with its constancy, "You're so quiet," he accuses his normally verbose partner.
Tony chuffs, but takes the hint, pulling his hand back into his lap. "What am I going to say, Probie-wan?"
It's that second Star Wars reference of the last ten minutes that makes Tim look up to his partner. Directly after he meets Tony's eyes, Tony's gaze slides over to the EM-40, still blinking red in warning before he looks right back at Tim.
Tim nods, acknowledging the correctness of Tony's response, but not being able to stand spending time with Tony in silence of all things. "Talk to me about the movies," Tim begs, not meaning to say anything at all. "Not your favorites," Tim adds, gaze dropping down because anybody who's spent more than five minutes trapped with Tony at a stakeout knows that DiNozzo prefers 70's Al Pacino movies—mob movies—to practically anything else in the universe. "Just something."
Tim feels his partner's eyes on him for another long moment, knowing Tony is studying him. Tim wonders how many of his secrets Tony might see. A part of Tim wishes Tony could see all of his secrets. That way, Tim never has to betray anyone by speaking them aloud.
"Can you believe they didn't want Bruce Willis as John McClain in the Die Hard franchise?" Tony complains after a moment. "And I mean, okay, I could see if they'd wanted Tom Selleck or Harrison Ford for the part, but at one point they actually courted Richard Gere for the film," Tony's voice lilts incredulously. "Can you seriously picture Richard Gere blowing up the first few floors of Nakatomi Plaza, let alone facing off with Alan Rickman?"
Tim furrows his brow, and replies honestly, "I can't."
"In fact," Tony continues, almost smiling as he gets more involved with his explanation, "Alan Rickman and Richard Gere have never actually appeared in a movie together."
"Well, Alan Rickman is considerably more awesome than Richard Gere," Tim allows, letting Tony's argument fill his thoughts as completely as he can.
"That's exactly what I said to Abby once," Tony says mournfully.
"Ooh," Tim winces in sympathy, imagining the confrontation.
Tony nods, "Yeah. Who knew she'd be a closet Richard Gere fan?"
"Is that weird to you, too?" Tim whispers furtively like Abby might hear. Of course, if it's the FBI outside then maybe, one day…Tim shakes his head, "She makes fun of me for liking Sleepless in Seattle and yet she has Pretty Woman on Blueray, DVD, and VHS!"
"It's a terrible movie!" Tony whispers back, like he knows the risks, too. "He can't even drive a stick shift!" Tony lifts both palms in despair. "What kind of hero is that, I ask you? Magnum probably could have driven his mother home from the hospital in a standard on the day he was born!"
Tim turns to Tony and grins, "Yeah?" he asks.
"Well," Tony concedes, "Maybe not the same day, but definitely that week!"
"Oh, definitely," Tim speedily nods his agreement, just barely able to keep his grin from morphing into a chuckle.
For a moment, Tony eyes Tim suspiciously at his ready assent, but then he blinks and grins at Tim's still smiling face. Tim wishes suddenly that this moment could stretch forward through time and simply always be there when he needs it, like an old hammer that never rots and is always ready to be picked up and put to use at any given moment.
"So of course, Richard Gere as John McClain was ridiculous. They did also look at Sly Stallone, which would have been workable, although…" Tony leads and Tim immediately picks up the thought.
"Would have been a totally different movie."
"Exactly!" Tony points to Tim, acknowledging his wisdom. "Are you really going to believe that Sylvester Stallone can't take out a small group of terrorists after he's taken on the entire Viet Cong, or, well, practically?"
"No," Tim deadpans, "it's completely unrealistic."
"Now, interestingly enough," as usual in these situations, Tony ignores his sarcasm, "Richard Gere and Sylvester Stallone—who has also never been in a movie with Alan Rickman—both have the same Alan Rickman number."
Tim squints, "Alan Rickman number?"
"It's like a Kevin Bacon number, you know from that game, Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon: John Travolta has a Kevin Bacon number of two because he was in Phenomenon with Kyra Sedgewick, who was in the Woodsman with—"
"Kevin Bacon," Tim interrupts to finish the thought. "Okay, got it," Tim nods. "So what's Richard Gere and Sylvester Stallone's Alan Rickman number?"
"Two," Tony holds up two fingers on his right hand.
"Wait, really? Sylvester Stallone is only two degrees of separation from Alan Rickman," immediately Tim has to interject within his own argument, "not that I'm saying that Sly Stallone is not as cool as Alan Rickman, especially when you consider the Rocky movies, but you have to admit, it's a different kind of cool."
Tony nods and waves a hand at him, accepting the validity of the argument. "Actually, most of the Hollywood A-listers only have a max of two degrees of separation between them."
"Really," Tim pulls his chin in towards his chest, "that's kind of a freakishly small community when you think about it."
Tony nods, seemingly agreeable until he winces, "But then could you really imagine somebody who looked like Fornell jumping off the roof of Nakotomi Plaza with nothing but a firehose wrapped around his waist between him and death?"
Tim grins and, for just a second, he almost hopes it's the FBI listening in. He lifts an eyebrow and turns full on to Tony, "Yippi Ki-yay, Diane?"
Tony shuffles and shifts right before he's mirroring Tim exactly since he can only lift his right brow while Tim can only do his left.
They're still giggling at turns when they hear an engine die in front of the house and the heavy footsteps of someone entering upstairs.