Disclaimer : I own nothing, but the typos. Oh and the OCs.
Warnings : Rated T for language.
Author's Note : Thanks to everyone who read, favorited and followed so far. And thank you so much to everyone who's left a review. I love hearing what you think.
This chapter will wrap up the main story. Epilogue tomorrow.
Enjoy.
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After the cops haul the would-be robbers to jail and they escape the clutches of the paramedics, Tim and Tony end up in the mall's only restaurant that is still open. It's a Tex-Mex place with sticky floors, Mexican flags, plastic cacti in every shape imaginable, and waiters in sombreros. Surprisingly, they have a rather impressive alcohol selection.
Tony sits at the bar, blankly watching bartender make their drinks, while Tim's glazed eyes zone out to the Spanish soccer game on the television overhead. When the Spanish-speaking announcer wails, Goal!, Tim pumps his fist like he's actually rooting for the home team.
Moments later, a Scotch on the rocks lands in front of Tony. Even though he quit drinking a long time ago, it feels okay right now. It's just one, he tells himself. He can handle just one. He takes a small sip while he tries not to look at the electric blue margarita that ends up in front of Tim.
"What?" Tim blurts out.
"Are you really going to drink that?" Tony asks.
"Yeah, so what?" Tim squares his shoulders. "I happen to like them."
Tony gestures at the glass that's bigger than his fishes' current home. "There is no way in hell that you can drink all of that."
"I bet I can." Tim takes a deep sip through the bright pink straw. "Maybe I'll even get another one. Nothing takes the edge off nearly being murdered like tequila."
Tony half-nods. "If you say so, McDrunk."
While Toby nods like his friend is completely off his rocker, he reaches towards one of the bowls overflowing with tortilla chips. When he pops one into his mouth, he suddenly understands why they're free. Even though they're harder than hockey pucks and saltier than the ocean, he slides the bowl closer. Tim samples one, then chugs half of his margarita.
Watching his friend, Tony can't help but smile. "Do you know how long It's been since we've done this?"
"We just went to that bar last weekend, Tony."
"No, not that. This." Tony gestures between them. "We haven't done this in a while."
Tim's brow furrows. "I don't follow."
Laughing, Tony pulls another sip of his Scotch. "Celebrated busting a bunch of dirt bags together."
"And here I thought we were trying to take the edge off nearly getting our heads blown off by some guys who tried to rob a store." When Tony frowns, Tim concedes: "But I guess we're also celebrating like we used to after a big case."
Before Tony has a chance to reply, a waiter drops off their food. Tony rips into his beef burrito with extra sour cream and cheese like it's his last meal. Tim picks at his enchilada, dragging his fork through the gloopy sauce.
Tim tilts his head to give Tony the wall-eye.
It's Tony's turn to ask: "What?"
"Do you ever miss it?" Tim blurts out.
"Working with the team? Oh yeah."
Tim shakes his head, smiles. "No, I mean being an agent."
Tony wants to tell Tim that he feels like he sacrificed a part of himself when he walked away from the job, but he can't seem to find the words. His daughter, he told himself at the time, had to come first. And when it came to the worlds of family and the agency, he had convinced himself that he couldn't have both.
That was before he realized the job comes as naturally to him as breathing. Before he understood that he wouldn't be able to live the rest of his life wondering what would have happened if he's just tried to be the best father and the best agent that he could be.
"Every day," Tony concedes.
Nodding, Tim turns back to his enchilada.
"You know, Tim, Vance called me last week," Tony says quietly. "He said the agency wasn't really the same without me." He licks his lips, looks away. "He offered me a job."
Tim nearly chokes on his margarita. When he finally gets enough air, he gasps out: "You're coming back? To the team?"
"Not quite." Tony hazards a small smile. "Steve Barrows is retiring in January. It turns out the other MCRT is going to need an SAC. Vance asked how I'd feel about having my own team."
Tim's mouth hangs in a tiny 'o' before morphing into a huge grin. "Wow, Tony, that's great news. Do you think you're going to take it?"
Tony turns in his seat to face Tim. "After today, I just might."
"That would be amazing. Everyone would be so glad to see you again. Abby talks about you all of the time. And so does Bishop. They miss you." Even though he doesn't say I do too, Tony is pretty sure that it's implied.
"Believe me, I know. They only e-mail me every other day."
Tim calls for another margarita, then says: "So do you have any idea who's going to be on your team? I heard Davenport is looking to transfer to Okinawa."
Tony nods. "Vance said I would have to find myself another senior agent since she won't be around much longer. I've already got my eye on someone."
Tim deflates before Tony's very eyes. "You've probably got a ton of files to look through, huh?"
"You're my first choice, McPessimist." Laughing, Tony elbows Tim in the side. "Assuming you pass the formal interview, of course."
Tim's expression sours even further. "Come on, Tony. You've worked with me for – "
"Hey Agent McGee," Tony interrupts, "do you think you have what it takes to be a senior field agent?"
Tim blinks slowly. "Of course. But – "
"Do you want a raise?"
"Who doesn't?" he replies, shrugging.
"Will you have my six in and out of the field? And proofread all of my reports?"
"I always have and I always will." Chuckling, Tim tears into his new margarita as soon as it appears. "But you really need to learn the difference between then and than."
"I'll try to work on that, promise. Other then that, McSFA, you're hired as soon as I get back." Tony wipes his greasy hand on his napkin before offering it to Tim. After they shake on it, Tony lets his expression turns serious. "But your promotion is contingent on one thing."
Tim's face matches Tony's. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Ask Delilah to marry you."
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Not long after dark, Tony creeps back into his apartment. It took a lot of work—and more than a few hours—to convince Tim to sleep off his three electric blue margaritas in the passenger seat of Tony's car.
All of the lights are off, save for the lamp on the side table that burns just enough for him to see his way through the mounds of toys and dolls. His father sits on the couch, reading a book, with Tali curled against his chest, fast asleep.
When their eyes meet, Senior sighs inaudibly. He puts the book down and studies Tony for a long time as though he could see through the walls that Tony spent his whole life building. For once, Tony lets them fall, lets his father back in.
He runs his hand through his hair. "Dad…"
"You've decided to go back to work, didn't you?" Senior whispers.
Tony nods. "I have to, Dad. For me."
"What about Tali?"
His smile is quick, fleeting. "Who says I can't have both?"
Senior opens his mouth, but seems to think better of it. Careful not to wake Tali, he rises from the couch and heads over to meet Tony by the door.
He clasps his hand on Tony's shoulder. "You can, Junior. Tell me what you need and I'll do whatever I can to help you achieve your dreams."
Tony holds Senior's gaze. "Thanks, Dad."
"I haven't always been there for you, son. But I'm not going anywhere now."
After they share an awkward smile, Senior delicately transfers Tali into Tony's outstretched hands. They say their quick goodbyes and Tony sees his father out. Tony plods down the hallway to Tali's bedroom, careful to avoid the landmines of squeaky toys and baby dolls and plastic food.
Once they're in her room, he cautiously lowers Tali into the crib. He stays there for a long time, watching the way her tiny chest rises and falls, the way her curls splay out, the way her pink footie pajamas look in the dark. Sometimes, he cannot believe that he helped make this beautiful, perfect creature.
He runs his finger along her cheek.
Half-asleep, she latches onto his hand. He freezes, unsure how to extricate himself without waking her up and causing another hour-long ordeal to get her back to bed.
Lost somewhere between dreams and the waking world, she looks up at him with glassy eyes.
His heart seizes.
Christ, she looks just like her mother.
"Abba," she slurs.
Pressing his free hand to his face, he chases away the tear that runs down his cheek. He doesn't bother to chase it away either. Instead, he pushes the curls away from her face. Her dark eyes burn in the low light filtering through the blinds.
"Love Abba. Love my hero," she whispers to herself.
Then nothing stops his tears from coming. He turns away so she won't see them.
"Not yet, TeeTee, but soon. Soon, I'll make you proud."