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'm glad to hear you're enjoying it.
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That night, Tim is the first to leave. Right at six, on the dot. When Tony looks up, Tim mumbles something about plans. Big, big plans he forgot to tell anyone else about. Yeah, that doesn't look suspicious at all.
He shoves the file with the Top Secret document into his laptop bag. It has its own heartbeat now.
Lub-dub. Lub-dub.
First, it sits on the front seat of his Porsche where Tim can see an eye on it. When the beating grows too loud, he chucks into the backseat. Well, where the backseat would be if the sporty coupe had one. There, he keeps an eye on it with the rearview mirror.
He doesn't know how long he drives around. Hours, maybe. Traffic on the Beltway. Up past his apartment well into Maryland and back again. He heads back into downtown DC, drives past the Capitol building, and backs towards NCIS.
Outside, the sun dips low against the horizon. The sky turns a murky blue before turning black. Streetlamps fizzle on. Night settles in.
Tim keeps driving.
He turns up the music—jazz to bluegrass to R and B and finally, loud heavy metal that Abby Scuito likes—to drown out the thumping. Even with the bass pumping through his car speakers, he still hears it.
Eventually, he finds himself parked at the curb right outside Tony's building. He doesn't know when he got there or how long he's been sitting. For all he knows, he might've run out of gas here.
I should've come here first. Why didn't I tell Tony as soon as I found it?
He swallows hard, his heart wedged firmly in his throat.
Oh yeah, because I don't have any evidence of Ziva spying. Just a piece of paper in my possession.
But Tony will know what to do…
Tim kills the car engine before wrestling the laptop bag out of the would-be backseat. It gets caught on the passenger seat like a toddler not wanting to leave a carnival. He wrestles with it for a few moments until it finally relents. As he slips out of the car, he tightens his grip on the bag.
The air is hot, still stifling despite the hour. Maybe it's too late or maybe it's too early. Tim doesn't even know what time it is anymore. His head is still spinning, likely from the road hypnosis and from discovering his teammate is spying.
The light from Tony's apartment building blazes up the block, a beacon in a heavy storm. Tim rushes towards it, still clutching his laptop bag to his chest like a life preserver. He is all nervous energy and agitation carrying him down the deserted sidewalk.
He rushes through the double doors into the art deco lobby. Gold accents and fancy, uncomfortable looking furniture attempt to make the space appealing. Tim barely soaks it all in. He pauses by the doorman's nook, a little surprised to find it empty. That's one of those trivial things Tony always brags about his building, twenty-four-hour security in the form of a pot-bellied, middle-aged doorman. Unless the guy is an undercover federal agent, Tony might be the best security in the place. Tim can't even afford a place with a doorman. Usually, the lock on the main entrance to his walk-up is broken.
Tim glances around, ready to sign in, because those are the rules of Tony's place. Except, the only other occupant of the lobby is a young man with a buzz cut casually reading a newspaper.
He waits a few moments before giving up. If it's important, they'll see him on the security cameras.
Tim heads for the elevator, but he decides on the stairs. He needs to burn a little energy, come down from whatever panic he's feeling before talking to Tony.
The stairs pass in a rush, a blur of activity. Then, he is on the floor of Tony's apartment. Tim is out of breath, trying to breathe what he can from the stuffy and closed up air.
He finds Tony's door, stares at it for a split-second. His stomach is churning, his thoughts racing at light speed. He rips the Top Secret document from his bag, looking at it hard. His hands are shaking.
What am I supposed to say?
Tim knocks anyway, loud and hard. On the other side of the apartment, Tim hears movement. Rustling and shifting until the deadbolt turns. When the door opens, Tony's face is framed against a darkened apartment. He is still wearing his work suit, his tie loosened, and the top button of his shirt undone. His cheeks are sallow, there are bags under his eyes.
"McGee?" Tony blinks against the harsh hall lights.
Tim shoves the paper into Tony's face.
Tony squints at it, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. When he understands what Tim brought, his expression darkens and his eyes turn hard. He glares at Tim with a certain shock.
"Where did you get this?" he asks.
Tim opens his lips, fumbles the words. His mouth is dry from the drive and the adrenaline and not eating all day. He licks his lips before pressing them together.
"McGee!" Tony snaps. "Where. Did. You. Get. This."
"From Ziva's computer." His voice is nearly a whisper. "I found it while I was trying to figure out why she got the blue screen of death. And I – "
When Tim catches movement down the hallway, he turns toward it. Tony grabs his arm and hauls him into the apartment. The door slams closed, swallowing away the light. Inside, Tony's apartment the only source of light is television with a black and white still of two figures, a man and woman, locked in a tight embrace. Tony reaches over to flick on a light switch.
Suddenly, the whole space is illuminated with a soft glow. For as much as Tony acts like a frat boy, he has an actual grown-up apartment. There are built-in shelves brimming floor to ceiling with DVDs, a baby grand piano, and an actual, real-life grown-up couch. The entire place is tastefully decorated in muted whites and greys. Tim still uses his grad school futon.
I don't think I've ever been here before.
"Nice place," Tim says, trying to be polite.
Tony looks over, dumbfounded, as his eyes dart between the paper and Tim's face. When Tim manages an anxious smile, Tony holds the paper out.
"Why do you have this?" Tony asks again.
"I found it on Ziva's computer," Tim repeats.
"And you printed it out?"
Tim licks his lips, suddenly remembering why he didn't go to Tony right away. He must look so fucking guilty with a paper like that.
"I didn't know what else to do," he says lamely.
Tony just stares at him.
"I didn't think anyone would believe me without any evidence." He shoves his hands against his head, pushing a breath through his teeth. "I guess I could've put it on a jump drive, but I didn't think of it."
"So, you printed it out." Tony drawls the statement out slowly.
And Tim, he feels like the world's biggest idiot. He feels the flush creep over his entire body. He glances back towards the interior of Tony's apartment, trying to piece together how exactly Tony lives in a place that is nothing like his personality.
"Why did you bring it to me?" Tony asks.
Tim rubs at the back of his neck. "You're my boss. I thought you would know what to do."
"And you waited until now?"
When Tony turns back into his apartment, Tim follows him closely. They head into the living room where Tony turns off the television. There is a highball glance full of something amber. Tony knocks the rest of it back, swallowing hard against the burn. He doesn't offer Tim any.
"I know it looks bad, Tony. I just panicked." Tim throws his hands out. "Ziva is spying on us, and I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to talk to you at work because I…I thought she might find out."
"We left work four hours ago."
"I needed to clear my head."
Tony nods thoughtfully, ruminating over Tim's statement. He tilts the glass back, draining the last dredges of liquid into his mouth. Then, he sets the glass down with a resounding thunk.
Tim drops the laptop bag onto the couch before collapsing next to it. He scrubs his hands against his face, blinking owlishly at the brightness. The adrenaline is finally ebbing from him, leaving him exhausted and depleted. He rests his head back against the cool leather of Tony's couch. Sleep is toying with him, flirting with him and he wants to sink into the couch for the next week.
Beside the television, Tony keeps his eyes fixed on the paper. His expression turns grim as he pulls out his cell phone. He fumbles through the buttons.
Tim looks up. "Who are you calling?"
"Fornell."
They wait in a strange kind of silence for Fornell to arrive. Without speaking a word, Tony pours a glass of amber colored liquid into a highball glass. When he hands it to Tim, Tony won't meet the younger man's eyes. Instead, he turns back to stare blankly at the couple on the television screen.
Tim takes a sip of the drink, cringing at the burn down his esophagus. It feels heavy on his tongue like expensive paint thinner and tastes worse. Another sip and he's nearly retching. As disgusting as it may be, the alcohol is helping to soften the spikes of his panic. He is calming down, only a little and medicinally induced, but it's better that how he arrived.
"Thanks." He hopes it sounds like he means it.
Tony offers a tilt of his head. "It was a gift from Gibbs. A goodbye and good luck present. I never even liked bourbon, but it might be growing on me like a fungus."
Bourbon and movies in the dark seem to be like the perfect blend of Tony taking on Gibbs' role after he left. If he tried to build a boat in the cramped apartment, Tim might need to consider an intervention.
"What are you watching?" Tim asks.
Tony doesn't breathe a word, merely keeps his face to the television screen. The only indication that he hasn't turned into a statue is the occasional movement of his arm to lift his drink to his mouth.
Tim doesn't try for conversation again. He lets the silence drag on between them until it's a living, breathing thing and there are three of them in the room. He works at his bourbon. It doesn't grow on him, and he is starting to think it tastes like fungus.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Three swift, one loud, two taps in rapid succession. A code of some kind, well thought out and used before.
Tony moves slowly to the door. When he opens it, Tobias Fornell rushes past him into the room. His tan suit is rumpled, his tie cockeyed. His hair is messed up, the bags under his eyes hang half-down his face. He doesn't even look towards Tim.
"Why'd you call me in the middle of the night, DiNutzo?" Fornell rants.
Tony chuckles. "It's only 10:30, Fornell."
"And that's the middle of my night. We can't all work bankers' hours like you Navy boys. I even had to put my suit back on." The way he says it makes it sound like a profound act like curing cancer. "This had better be good. I don't get out of bed for just anything."
When Tony hands him the paper Tim brought, Fornell takes it. He squints at it, his frown deepening until it nearly swallows his face. Then, he pulls out a pair of reading glasses. He gives Tony a withering look, almost daring him to say something, before sliding them onto his nose and reading. As he looks if over, his eyebrows slowly climb into his hairline.
Fornell lasers his glare on Tony. While it might be close to one Gibbs would give, it still needs work. It doesn't even faze Tony.
"Is this from…" Fornell lets his voice trail off.
Tony merely nods.
"How did you get it?" he growls.
That's the moment Tony chooses to throw Tim to the suit-clad wolf. All it takes is the tilt of his head and a gesture with his highball glass for Fornell to notice Tim on the couch.
When his glare lands on Tim, the younger man tries to sink deeper into the cushions.
"Where did you get this, Agent McGee." It comes as a statement, not a question.
"From Ziva David's computer," Tim says.
Fornell's eyes narrow, that glare settling into his features as if it's his permanent expression. He shakes the paper at Tim as he draws closer. Tim has seen Fornell rant and rave at Gibbs and the director and suspects and Tony and pretty much anyone got too close, but never directly at him. His anxiety kicks up again as his heart tries to escape through his sternum.
"Tell me how." Fornell's voice sounds dangerous.
Tim can't get the words out.
Fornell takes a step closer. "This is the schematics for a nuclear submarine, Agent McGee. This is Top Secret. You shouldn't have this in your possession, and I think you know that. None of us, not even DiNutzo or myself, should even see this. It's well above our clearance levels."
Tim's mouth is moving before his mind catches up.
"I found it on Ziva David's computer," Tim sputters.
"And you expect me to believe she just let you have access to her computer? Just like that?"
"She did!"
When Tim looks at Tony for help, the older man nods carefully. Fornell seems to make note of it.
"Okay, so she let you into her computer. Why?"
"She wanted me to look at it."
Fornell scrubs his hand across his face. "Look, Agent McGee. I've giving you the benefit of the doubt here. If you don't start giving me real answers and fast, we're going to do this down at the Hoover Building. And believe me, I won't be nice there."
If this is Fornell's idea of being nice, Tim doesn't want to see him when he actually thinks he's being mean. When he doesn't speak up fast enough, Fornell takes a step closer and pulls out his handcuffs. Tim's eyes land on the cuffs, his eyes growing wide. He wants no parts of that.
Then, the words come pouring out of him. Quick and smashed together. "Ziva thought she had a virus on her computer, and she asked me to look at it. So, I did and then, she went to lunch. While she was gone, I found a weird file. The name and the extension weren't right for what it should've been and the size. I opened that file thinking it might've been virus and – " he throws his hand out, sloshing bourbon all over his pants " – it's definitely not a virus."
"Why am I holding it in my hands?" Fornell shakes the paper at him again.
The flush starts at Tim's ears before engulfing his entire face. He tries to hide it behind his free hand.
"Because I printed it out," he says, voice almost inaudible.
"What?" Fornell barks.
"Because I printed it out," Tim says, louder this time.
That makes Fornell soften a little as his eyes jump from Tim to the paper and back again. There is a certain kind of understanding on his face as though he thought Tim was collecting evidence. Apparently Fornell didn't understand the multitude of technological ways Tim could've stored his find. So many better and more untraceable ways than hitting print.
Why the hell did I print it out?
"And why didn't you tell DiNutzo about it until now?" Fornell asks.
"Honestly, I don't know. I didn't know what to do with it and I didn't want to tip Ziva off while we were still at work. I didn't know how she'd handle it." Maybe when he says it like that, it doesn't sound so bad.
Fornell apprises Tim who is still trying to shove himself deeper into the couch. Fornell has his handcuffs in one hand and the paper in the other. He glances at Tony out of the corner of his eye. Tony stands by the television, watching the scene with rapt interest. If Tim didn't know any better, he'd think Tony might actually be enjoying this.
"And you're sure they aren't working together, DiNutzo?" Fornell asks.
Pressing his lips together, Tony shakes his head. "McGee isn't involved."
That sends Tim's heart plummeting straight into his stomach. So, Tony already knew about Ziva spying. How could he never say anything?
Fornell doesn't move. "How do you know?"
"I reviewed the security footage from earlier," Tony replies. "McGee didn't look like he expected to find that file on there. And when he rebuilt my computer a few weeks ago, I didn't find any surveillance programs on there. If there was a time to put them on, that would have been it."
Tim blinks incredulously at Tony. "Wait, you spilled coffee on your computer tower."
"Yeah."
"But it wasn't an accident?" Tim asks.
Tony shakes his head. "Sorry, McGee. It was a test to see if you were helping Ziva."
"You think I'm a spy?" He laughs incredulously. "Me?"
"Not anymore, kid." Fornell laughs as he tucks the handcuffs away. "Your tail said you didn't do anything other than drive around DC for a couple of hours."
"A tail? You had someone follow me." Tim can barely keep his anger in check.
"Kinda surprised you didn't notice," Fornell deadpans.
Tim ditches the bourbon glass on the coffee table as he crosses the room to Tony. When he stops directly in front of Tony, Tim works his hands into fists before holding them tightly as his sides. His eyes are searching his superior's face, but there isn't any emotion in them.
No guilt, no apology, nothing.
"How long?" Tim says.
The only chink in his armor is how Tony works his jaw.
"How long did you think I was spying, Tony?"
Tony licks his lips, takes a full step back.
"Since before Gibbs left," he admits.
Tim releases an angry exhalation as he crosses his arms to his chest. Sure, he and Tony aren't friends. Most days he isn't even sure if they like each other, but they've been on the same team for years now. They watch each other's six and protect each other's lives like it's their very own. If Tony didn't trust him, why would he follow Tim into the field so many times?
Tim feels like he wants to throw up.
Tony sucks a breath through his teeth, rubbing at the back of his neck.
"When Ziva arrived, the irregularities started," Tony says as though it explains everything.
Tim motions with his hand for him to extrapolate. Fornell suddenly finds Tony's DVD collection immensely interesting as he moves past them. They both ignore him.
"Evidence appeared to be compromised and I started looking into it," Tony says. "It wasn't anything major at first. Reports were copied. Personnel reports were accessed. I told Gibbs, but he wanted something more concrete than just my gut. I started digging, but then, he was gone. I shared my concerns with the Director, but she blew me off. So, I talked to Fornell." At the mention of his name, Fornell gives a little salute. "I suspected it was Ziva."
Tim crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes. "Okay. But what does that have to do with me?"
"Some strange computer things started to appear like back door accesses and – "
"Since when do you know about computers?"
Tony waves his hand. "Since forever. I handled all that stuff before you joined the team. I might not know a lot, but I can tell when something isn't right."
"I'm assuming you found that and decided it was me."
"Well yeah, I didn't think Ziva knew her way around a computer as well as you do." He shrugs. "You saw her earlier when she got the blue screen of death…"
Tim clenches his teeth until his jaw pops. He reels his head back as he continues to stare at Tony, who won't even look at him.
"Mossad has training on computers and other devices," Tim bites out. "You could've asked me, and I would've looked into it."
"And if it was you, you would've thrown me off the case."
Tim considers that. "Well, yeah. But it wasn't me."
Tony laughs mirthlessly. "Well, I know that now."
They square off for a long moment, both glaring at each other. Neither of them willing to back down. Tim pissed at being suspected of spying on his country and Tony unwilling to apologize. Tim releases a loud huff as he relents first.
Tim holds his hands up as he steps back from Tony. "Look, I'm going home to sleep. We'll figure this all out tomorrow."
When he heads towards the door, Fornell just clicks his tongue. As if he's a trained dog, Tim stops in his tracks and turns back.
"You can't leave," Fornell says.
Tim raises his eyebrows. "I thought I wasn't under arrest."
"You're bunking with DiNutzo tonight, McGee. Until we can set up a protection detail for you."
Tim's mouth drops. "Excuse me?"
Fornell closes the distance between them. "Since you aren't working with Ziva David, we can only assume she'll figure out what's going on. I don't think you're any match for Mossad training." He gives Tim a wicked smile, his lips curling up at the edges like a super villain. "Sorry."
Tim just narrows his eyes.
Now, it's Tony's turn to reel. He moves closer to Fornell.
"I thought we were done." He points at the paper in Fornell's hands, the one Tim brought. "You have your evidence, Fornell. We can arrest Ziva tonight, right?"
"This isn't enough, and you know that." When Tony starts protesting, Fornell continues: "McGee could have found this anywhere. Hell, any good lawyer could argue he planted it. Or that he's involved too."
"I'm not," Tim snaps.
"If you want to prove that to a jury, we need to catch her with something big."