Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read, alerted and left a review. I hope you're enjoying it.
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Tim ends up bunking at Tony's apartment for over a week while Fornell works out the kinks in procuring another protective detail. Towards the end of their stay together, Tim and Tony are at each other's throats. The clicking of Tim's keyboard while he plays computer games induces a twitch of Tony's left eyelid. That warble in the voice of the leading ladies of Tony's movies makes Tim want to strangle everyone who whines at him. Tim ends up with an aching back from his nights on Tony's couch. For some reason, Tony will randomly decide 2 AM is the perfect time to play a piano concerto while they're hashing out details on how to catch Ziva in the act. Not once do any of Tony's neighbors pound on the floor to tell him to stop. Tim can't walk across his own apartment after nine PM without someone screaming at him through the walls.
When he finally goes back to his own apartment, Tim is oddly grateful, but only for a few minutes. As soon as he realizes he is very much alone, the anxiety slowly creeps up. Sure, there are two agents—a gnarled husk of a man who looks like he should've retired years ago and a bright eyed probie fresh from FLETC on his first assignment—posted just outside his broken apartment building door, but it doesn't settle his nerves. Having another federal agent only feet away if something went awry was strangely comforting. He might actually miss Tony.
Tim sleeps with one eye open.
The days slide into weeks as Tim and Tony work their current caseload while Ziva goes about her days blissfully unaware. They spend their days pouring over evidence and catching suspects and their night in covert meetings at Tony's place to discuss the next step to catch Ziva. Tim feels like he's living through the boring parts of an action movie, and he hates it. Tony appears to be in his element, coming up with wilder and wilder ideas to catch Ziva in the act.
As time drags on, the cracks in Tim's armor slowly rise to the surface. Even the probie, Michelle Lee, picks up on his lengthy dissent in madness. And she is the one who isn't the most adept on the team, the one who usually steps over the actual evidence to pick up whatever useless thing she deems important.
Their current case might just be the end of Tim.
An AWOL sailor who might have been abducted or died, but there is no evidence of either. The man just left work one Friday and simply vanished. Almost like he'd been wiped off the face of the earth. It wasn't until he didn't show up for his shift on Monday that he was reported missing. It's almost as though he vanished into thin air right after he left work.
Tim digs through the sailor's financials, but he hasn't so much as spent a dollar since lunch on Friday. He starts to look into the sailor's phone records. He hunches forward, sticks his tongue through his lips as he types. There's a tightness in his gut that no matter how hard he tries, it just won't loosen.
Across the bullpen, Ziva studies Tim with a predatory focus as if he might slip up and spew his secrets. Even though she should be working, she tends to spend most of her time staring at Tim in that eerie way of hers. Today, Tony asked her to search for any traffic cameras that might've hit the sailor's car. Instead, she is trying to bore a hole through Tim with his eyes.
His skin crawls as though it's covered in bugs. Still, he won't look at her. He leans forward, trying to hunch further into himself. Maybe if he leans farther forward, he'll vanish completely just like their sailor. He should've brought his headphones. Music sometimes helps him forget that she's always there, always watching.
Could she know that Tony and I are on to her?
Despite his better judgement, he glances over. Ziva's brown eyes lock on his, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. He recoils, snapping his eyes back to his monitor. Sweat pours down his back.
Even Michelle Lee must know something is up. She rises from her seat, tottering her way over on her short heels. She stops in front of Tim's desk, leaning forward to catch his attention.
He glances up.
"What's up, Lee?" he asks.
She offers a sympathetic smile. "Agent McGee, I believe you may be having difficulties regulating your blood sugar. You seem to be sweating."
Tim's brow furrows. "What?"
"You're at increased risk of blood sugar deficiencies with your diet."
There's a certain disdain in her voice as she glances towards his trashcan, which is a wasteland of burger wrappers and pizza boxes and Chinese containers. When she's done visually belittling his food choices, she snaps her eyes back to his. He just stares at her, mouth agape and head cocked. As if suddenly understanding she overstepped, she laughs awkwardly.
"I mean no disrespect, sir," she says. "I merely thought it would help."
Her voice warbles. Tim's eyelid twitches.
She places something on his desk with a dull thud. His eyes land on a huge bag of carrots. Forcing a tight smile, Tim picks it up. As Michelle stares at him, her chest puffs out. She is expecting a thank you, a pat on the head, and a good work from her superior. As a probie, she is absolutely exhausting. If she'd brought him results, he would throw her a party. Instead, she gave him root vegetables.
"Thanks," he mutters. "I'll keep that in mind."
"You're welcome, sir," she says brightly.
As if on cue, Tony comes swooping into the bullpen. He carries a file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He is even starting to walk like Gibbs with that loping stride as if he's always late.
Tony's eyes snap between Tim and his carrots to Michelle and to Ziva.
Somehow, Tim and Tony are starting to have the same kind of relationship that Tony and Gibbs used to share. A look—raised eyebrows, pursed lips, tilted heads—could serve as an entire conversation. Sure, there are some—okay, very many—miscommunications, but they're getting better.
Tony's brow furrows as though he doesn't know what to make of a bag of carrots. He doesn't say anything as he sidles in front of the plasma.
"Does anyone have anything?" Tony barks.
"Nothing in the financials," Tim offers. "I'm starting to look into the phone history."
Tony's nose wrinkles. "Ziva?"
Ziva leans forward onto her arms, setting her jaw. "I have examined the traffic cameras in the area, but I did not discover anything."
When she goes silent, Tony turns around expectantly. He lets the silence stretch while he waits for her to say something more. She raises her chin in a challenge, trying to make him say more.
"Did you check the BOLO?" he asks.
She doesn't flinch. "Not within the last few hours."
"Check the morgues for any John Does?"
"I have not."
"Call Metro to see if they arrested anyone matching our sailor?"
"No."
Of course, she didn't do what Tony told her, she spent most of her morning scaring the crap out of Tim. Ziva merely sits there, staring at Tony and he stares right back. The only tell that Tony is growing angry is the slight tightening in his jaw muscles.
"Get on it," he barks.
After narrowing her eyes at him, she grabs her phone and starts on her work. She still keeps her eyes locked on Tim.
Before Tony can call on Michelle, she is already glued to his side while looking at the plasma. Their shoulders are nearly touching. He gives her a hard look, but she doesn't understand.
"What did we learn during our discussion on personal space, Agent Lee?" he asks roughly.
She tilts her head, considering. "That it's personal and there should be space, sir."
He stares down at her shoulder until she follows his gaze. It takes a full moment before she laughs awkwardly, taking two full steps away.
"Lots of space," she whispers from their earlier talk.
"Thank you," he says.
She nods before launching into her own work. "I looked into our sailor's school and criminal records, and it appears he had a juvenile record from before he joined the Navy, sir. He was part of a gang that robbed local stores, sir."
Tony's brow furrows as he thinks about what she told him. Then, he nods.
"Good work, Lee," Tony says blandly.
She beams at him, clearly expecting more. Tim is trying so, so hard not to be annoyed with her because he remembers what it was like to be a probie and excited about just being a federal agent and carrying a badge. He wants to be excited for her, but she is so exhausting. If that's how Tim feels, he doesn't even want to know what Tony thinks.
And Tony must feel the same way because he's already at his desk. Lee follows him.
"I'll look into it further," he says.
"I was also giving Agent McGee some helpful advice regarding his diet, sir. I think you could also reap the benefits from – "
"Lee," Tony says, head snapping up.
She tilts her head, "Yes, sir?"
Tony is reaching for a manila folder on his desk. From his spot, Tim knows exactly what he is going for. There is a huge stack of papers where Tony will pull out a random copy and ask Michelle to go find him another one. Usually from Abby or Ducky or sometimes, the evidence locker. Mostly, it's missions to nowhere, but it buys them a few hours while she is distracted by bothering someone else. Tim tries not think about how many tea parties he attended in autopsy or hours spent helping Abby when he first started. Maybe Tony didn't send him on his own missions to nowhere, but if Tim was half as bad as Michelle, he probably had more than his fair share.
"JAG asked for another copy of the autopsy report from – " Tony checks the name on his paper " – the Williams case."
Michelle tilts her head, a little suspicious. "Didn't I just get another copy last week, sir? I thought it was because Dr. Mallard placed an x on the box instead of a checkmark."
Tony purses his lips. "Yeah, this time Coleman thought there was blood on it. She wouldn't take it."
Michelle takes the paper, looking it over. "I don't see anything."
"Right there," Tony says, pointing at a spot on the top. "She was worried there was blood. She wouldn't even touch it. Had to do a whole bleach wipe rubdown before she touched the table. It was quite spectacular." He makes a show of pretending to wipe off his desk and hands. "Very Jeannette Nolan."
Michelle stares at him, waiting for an explanation that doesn't come. Eventually, she quietly admits, "I don't know what that means, sir."
"She played Lady Macbeth in Macbeth."
When Michelle looks to Tim for support, he nods because this is one of Tony's favorite movies to quote during murder cases. It's one of the few Tim recognizes.
"Out, out damned spot," Tim offers.
"Oh," Michelle whispers.
Tony claps. "Anyway, she wants a fresh copy, completely filled out with only checkmarks and signed by Ducky, not Jimmy."
"With no blood," Michelle ends.
"With no blood," Tony agrees.
"Okay, I'll go get another, sir," Michelle says with a quiet sigh.
And with that, she rushes off towards the elevator. Thankfully, she didn't go into her usual spiel about how whatever Tony wanted corrected wasn't a big deal because it would still be admissible in court. Ever since Tony began using Faith Coleman as a scapegoat, Michelle stopped fighting. If there's one person a lawyer can't argue with, it's another lawyer.
They all, Ziva included, breathe a collective sigh of relief as soon as Michelle is gone.
Tim tries to dive back into his work, but he feels Ziva staring at him again. Even though she is on her phone, she is still watching for him to slip up. He can't breathe. The air is too thick, the wall too close, his clothes too tight. He needs to be anywhere, but here.
Suddenly, he jumps to his feet and sends his chair sliding behind him. Tony looks over, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Tim laughs awkwardly.
"I'm going to hit the bathroom," he mutters.
Then, he rushes off. He slips into men's room, sighing at how the air is slightly cooler in here. The walls are a light blue, not the pulse pounding orange on the floor. He relieves himself and spends far too long washing his hands. It's almost a ritual, the icy water and the bubbles sliding away are strangely calming. He keeps his eyes fixed on his hands, watching disinterestedly as the bubbles slither down the drain. He could watch them all day if someone let him.
Behind him, the door opens. He doesn't pay it any mind because it's the only men's room on the floor. There is a lot of traffic here.
Whoever entered didn't go into one of the stalls. Their soft footfalls stop right behind Tim. He still doesn't turn around because it's one of the many unspoken rules of the men's room. Do your business, but don't interact with anyone.
"Are you feeling unwell, McGee?" Ziva asks suddenly.
Tim nearly leaps out of his skin as he whirls around. Ziva is right there, crowding into his personal space. He backpedals, but there isn't anywhere to go. His back bumps right into the sink. His hands are shaking, he reaches behind his back to grip the cold porcelain.
Ziva leans forward, tilts her head as she apprises him. Her eyes are hard, calculating. He feels like a bug under a scientist's microscope, one second before they decide to dissect him.
"There is something I do not understand," Ziva speaks, keeping her voice low.
Tim doesn't trust himself to say anything because she knows. She knows.
"You do not seem like yourself, McGee," she says.
"Everything is fine. I'm fine." He manages to keep his voice level.
"You do not seem to be. You have been acting strange for several weeks."
"I'm fine," he repeats.
"You are…"
She grows silent, head wavering as she considers what idiom she is going to murder right there in the bathroom. Tim braces himself for it.
"Like a lion on the portico," she says.
He squints his eyes, staving off the laughter, because he doesn't know what she means. It takes nearly a full minute, and she leans back a little, seeming to let her point resonate. He is trying to figure out what she means. Eventually, he believes he got the right one, but only because his grandmother used to say it to him all the time. He still never doesn't understand it.
"Do you mean a cat on hot bricks?" he asks.
Her lip protrudes in thought. "No, I do not believe so."
With a clipped nod, he lets it go. Sometimes, it's easier to just let her think she nailed the idiom than it is to continue to try and correct it. That's a job for Tony.
When she leans closer for another look, he rears back. Any further and he'll be sitting with his ass directly in the sink. Ziva just continues to rake her eyes over his face. He is struggling to keep his body level, his heart from escaping his chest.
He decides to try a lie. It's not his strong suit, but she is either going to stare him down until he spills his guts or someone chases her off. Since the bathroom is surprisingly deserted, it seems his only choice will be to spill his guts. So, he chooses to give her something. Anything. Hopefully, it's enough to get her off his case until he and Tony can close the case.
He laughs awkwardly. "There's a woman."
Ziva's eyebrows rise. "You are having a girlfriend?"
"Yeah, we just started dating and I – uh, I didn't want Tony and Abby to find out yet." He flashes a tight, albeit friendly smile. "Abby will get jealous, and Tony will never let me live it down. I'd rather know if it's the, uh – real deal with my girlfriend before they find out. You know how they get."
Relief dances in her eyes. "Yes, I am aware."
"So, you can keep it between us?" He smiles again, more frantic this time. "For now?"
Still watching him, her eyes are calculating enough for him to catch the inner workings of her mind. Slowly, she is trying to determine if there could be something else at play here. Tim suddenly understands what makes her such an effective spy, she won't take something, not even from a trusted source at face value. Her lips pokes out again, uncertainty written across her face.
He thinks she might be about to call him out on it when the men's room door opens. Before Tim can sigh with relief, he catches Tony in the door frame.
Did things just go from bad to worse?
Tony's gaze darts between Tim and Ziva.
"What are you two doing in here?" Tony glares at her, balefully.
Ziva swivels on her heel, places her hands on her hips. "We were talking. That is all."
When she shoots Tim a hard look over her shoulder, he nods like a broken wind-up toy. Despite his best attempts, his expression is more open and more panicked than he would like. Tony catches it, and that sends Tim's heart thudding in his chest.
"You shouldn't be in here," Tony says to her.
Ziva cocks her hip and her head. "Does it matter? A toilet is a toilet."
"It's a men's room, Zee-vah."
She raises her chin, defiant and headstrong. "And I am allowed to be in here."
Tony shoots her a derisive look. "Unless you're packing more than a knife in those cargo pants, I suggest you get back to work."
After the words, he opens the door and jerks his head towards the hallway. She narrows her eyes at him before turning back to Tim, who's still nearly sitting in the sink. She gives him a smile so sweet he nearly passes out from the panic. We're not done yet, it says. I'll catch up with you later.
Crap. What is she going to do to me?
And with that, she saunters out of the men's room. She pauses to give Tony a steady stare which he matches. When he doesn't back down, she moves down the hallway, back to the bullpen.
Tim sags back against the sink, turning his head towards the ceiling.
Once he is sure that she's gone, Tony slips into the bathroom. He locks the door behind him. Just as Tim is about to ask what he's doing, Tony holds a finger to his lips. Then, Tony checks under the sinks, the paper towel dispenser, and the trashcan. He even stands on each one of the toilets to check the drop ceiling. It doesn't take long for Tim to realize that Tony is checking for recording devices. Sure, Ziva might be paranoid, but Tim doubts even she would bug the men's room.
After what feels like forever, Tony jumps off the toilet and exits the stall. He draws closer to Tim. Close enough for Tim to smell Tony's aftershave and the coffee on his breath.
Tony drops his voice. "Did you tell her anything?"
"No, of course not." He shakes his head emphatically, hands splayed out.
Tony skewers him with a look.
"I swear I didn't," Tim says.
Tony stands there for what feels like a long time, quietly assessing him. He puts his hands on his hips and sighs loudly.
"You're cracking, McGee," Tony says.
Tim presses his lips together. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are." Before it has a chance to delve into a childish squabble, Tony continues: "You're turning into the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz. Except you've got nothing on Bert Lahr."
"I have no idea who that is."
Tony makes a show of jutting out his lower lip, stroking at a pretend tail. "'All right. I'll go in there for Dorothy. Wicked Witch or No Wicked Witch, guards or no guards, I'll – "
"Okay, fine," Tim interrupts. "I get it. I'm the Cowardly Lion. Ha ha, very much ha."
Tony puts his hands back on his hips. "I don't think you get it. We get one chance to catch Ziva at this."
"I know, but it's been weeks since we met with Fornell. Why haven't they arrested her yet?"
"Because he wants enough evidence to make sure she doesn't walk. Enough that we don't send her back to Mossad after she gets arrested."
"Yeah, but I've gotten computer records and transfer files. You've pulled her – "
"I know how much we've done!" Tony snaps. "Remember I did this for weeks before you got roped in. Fornell won't make a move until we have something concrete. Something that doesn't get her released back to Mossad."
That makes Tim wilt. He hugs his arms to his chest, sags back against the sink. The cold of the porcelain cuts through his dress pants. He didn't even realize how hot it got in here. Tim pushes a breath through his teeth, lets his eyes rove to the drop ceiling.
"I'm trying," he whispers.
"Try harder," Tony barks.
And Tony sounds so much like Gibbs that it hurts. Because during his tenure as team leader, Tony has been almost everything that Gibbs was not. Compassionate, warm, thought-provoking, and open to his team members' ideas. Well, everyone except for Michelle since her thoughts usually involve some legal precedent that adds a week to their case time.
Tony must've caught his Gibbs-ness too because he bristles himself. He straightens his back and sighs, almost as if he's taken an invisible head slap.
Tony rolls his neck, closing his eyes for a split second. When he opens them again, Tony is watching Tim with those eyes that see everything. It's a strange sensation: being studied by everyone today. Tim has never felt more vulnerable, more on display in his entire life. It makes him want to be daring and bold, do something no one would ever expect.
"Right," Tim breathes.
Tony sighs again. "What would Gibbs think about this?"
Tim's mouth gapes. "Why would I care about what Gibbs thinks? You're here, not him."
Tony's brow furrows as if he didn't expect that reaction. A torrent of emotion slips over his face before it settles into an open and honest expression. Seeing the real Tony poking through sends Tim reeling. And maybe it's almost being found out by Ziva or the heat of the bathroom or Tony being so damn earnest, but he is suddenly feeling punch-drunk. He wants to say exactly what's on his mind and that's something he wouldn't do without this feeling. Whatever the hell it is.
"I want to know what you think," Tim continues. "Gibbs left. You're my boss, not him."
Clipping a nod, Tony channels his best inner Gibbs. "Get your shit together, McGee. I didn't work this case just for you to blow it now."
Tim flinches. "On it, Boss."
That's when Tim notices Tony isn't looking at him. Instead, he still stares over Tim's shoulder at his own reflection. Tim wonders if Tony sees the same thing he does: the confidence building over him through time, an effective and competent leader, someone he considers to be the start of a friend.
"I'll ask Fornell to move up the timeline," Tony says.
Hope blooms like flowers in Tim's chest. "For the love of G-d, please."
