Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Title: Cut the Line
Summary: When Ziva turns off the listening device during an undercover op, Tim ends up injured. Tony learns it might not be the first time. Not for Ziva fans.
Rating: Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General series spoilers though mostly early seasons. Some violence. Nothing worse than on the show.
Author's Note: This story is a WIP. I'm done the main story, but editing it. About half is already up on AO3. I'm going to post as often as I can here until they're caught up and do simultaneous updates from there. It's mostly an IA investigation. I likely got a lot the details wrong. It's inspired by Dead Air, but not based on it. The comment made in that episode never happened in this story.
It's around 20 chapters. Probably a few more.
This isn't for Ziva fans. It is McGee friendly. Eventually.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Tony DiNozzo sits in the agency car, staring blankly at the nondescript office building in front of him. The building is long, grey soot colored and the length of half a city block. While he is used to the stakeouts and undercover work, he is usually the one inside, usually the one going through the motions. Rarely, if ever, is he left in the car.
And right now, he is crawling up the walls.
The team's most recent case isn't one in his area of expertise. A Navy lieutenant was found murdered on a base in Norfolk two weeks ago. During their investigation, they uncovered information that led them to this characterless office building in suburban Alexandria. The lieutenant's murder had something to do with computers and that's about all Tony understood. Whatever caused it wasn't really Tony's forte—or his problem. Tim talked a blue streak about an encrypted file that led them to this office and Tony, he and Jethro Gibbs pretended to understand exactly what Tim said. To Tony, Tim might as well have been speaking Klingon.
All Gibbs needed to know was the murderer worked here. And they'd flush hum out by any means necessary and that meant sending Tim McGee inside undercover as the resident IT geek. While Tim preferred to be called a computer specialist, it's just a computer geek by any other name.
And that's how Tony was left in the car with Ziva David. Listening to Tim as he falls into the role of the ever present, ever helpful computer guy. Fixing all your problems with a smile and a joke if you just give him a few minutes in front of your machine. Each day, the team keeps the on-base hours. A healthy nine-to-four that Tony isn't quite used to, but he could grow to love.
They've been at this for nearly a week now and Tony has learned more than enough computer lingo to last him a lifetime. Blue screens of death, ethernet ports, Wi-Fi, out-of-date drivers, incompatible software and the omnipresent and just as dreaded Windows Update.
Tony and Ziva keep their eyes on the building, the earwigs listening to Tim drone on to an ensign about not covering his computer fan. Something about overheating the machine and causing it to shut down. Tony finds himself almost wishing for the machine to catch on fire, so this day could be over. As much as he loves a good stakeout, this one leaves him wishing he'd never be on another one.
In the earwig, Tim sounds like he's moving. "Hey guys, I'm heading over towards a David Robins' cubicle. He had a problem with the last Windows Update."
Tony groans into his hand. Not another Windows Update. If he never hears Windows Update again, it'll be far too soon. He glances at the dashboard clock, relieved to find it's almost two.
Tim's work is slow going and monotonous. While inside, he is supposed to be checking the workers' computers for any encryption or files that could link them to the lieutenant's murder.
Tony wishes he had a clue what Tim is up to, but he doesn't understand a thing. Just that the junior agent is using the worker's permission to fix their computer to gain access. A good way to go around getting a warrant for each and every machine in the building. Thankfully, the owner of the company was more than willing to allow the team access to their network, but to check, Tim needs to examine each computer individually. Hence, the undercover IT guy bit.
Turning to Ziva, Tony quirks an eyebrow and intones in a robotic voice: "'Shall we play a game?'"
"I have a Sudoku puzzle, Tony," Ziva offers. "Though I did not believe you were interested in such challenging things such mathematics."
Ignoring the dig, Tony meets her gaze. "'How about Global Thermonuclear War?'"
"That does sound far better than our current assignment," Ziva says, laughing.
When Ziva grabs her Sudoku puzzle book from the floor, Tony shakes his head. He isn't really interested in Sudoku right now. He just wanted a few minutes of conversation, something that wasn't about computers or through a listening device.
They've been alternating short breaks to keep themselves from losing their minds—or killing each other—in the tight space of the car. A few minutes of MSM magazine for him and a few minutes of Jane Eyre for her. It might be only a few minutes, but it's enough to keep his brain from leaking out of his ears.
Well, it was working.
Tony reaches for the dashboard where their snacks are piled against the windshield. He grabs a bag of barbecue potato chips, still warm from their place in the afternoon sun. As soon as he begins scarfing them, Ziva makes a disgusted gagging noise. Keeping his eyes locked on the side of her head, Tony chews with his mouth open. Each lip-smacking chomp chomp chomp loud enough to echo through the car. Ziva's body goes rigid as she turns her back full to Tony. He leans closer to her. Chomp. Chomp. Chpomp.
Nothing like this to pass the time.
I didn't think Ziva would be easier to annoy than McGee.
In his earwig, Tony hears Tim walking somewhere. Tony figures it's a hallway because he says hi to people occasionally. Then, Tim says with a dropped voice: "Checking on David Robins' computer now."
At that, Tony grabs the clipboard where they've crossing off the names of the company's staff list. Tony has made good progress from people messing up their computers all on their own. By now, more than half the names are already crossed off.
Tony waggles the potato chip dust off his fingers at Ziva, who leans against the door and glares daggers at him. On their laptop, she accesses the company's personnel files. David Robins is a kind-eyed, grey-haired man who looks like a nice grandfather. He is heavyset with a thick neck and if he grew a beard, he would be passable as a very good Santa.
Ziva smiles at the man's picture. Tony just looks at it.
"At least we know it is not him," she announces.
"Never say never, Zee-vah," Tony shoots back. "We don't know if he's clear until the McGeek tells us so."
Ziva isn't swayed. "You are always too quick to judge, Tony. Not everyone is a criminal."
Tony makes a face. Still, he turns his face toward the window when he rolls his eyes. Ziva might be right that not everyone is a criminal, but to a law enforcement officer, everyone is capable of anything until proven otherwise. And even then, who knows what could push someone over the edge.
In the earwig, Tim's conversation starts up. "Hey Mr. Robins, I'm here to look at your computer."
"Oh, you're the new IT guy?" Robins says to Tim. "What happened to Alec?"
"Vacation this week. I'm Tim MacNamara, I'll get you back up and running today."
"With a name like MacNamara, shouldn't you be fixing Macs and not PCs?"
Tim's laugh is bright and genuine. Tony rolls his eyes so hard that he nearly sees grey matter. Even Ziva slides down in her seat, groaning at that one. And to believe, they've heard this joke at least twice today.
Tim continues: "What seems to be the problem?"
There's a short pause from Robins. "My files vanished. Just like that, they're gone. I don't know what's going on."
"Let me see if I can figure it out," Tim says.
Over the line, there is a shuffling as though Tim is sitting down into a chair. Then comes the typing. There is always typing, so much freaking typing. It's so much louder than it should be transmitted over the wire and into Tony's ear wig. It has a straight shot right into Tony's cerebellum. Loud and frenetic, clack clack clacking until Tony feels it in his teeth. Ziva rubs at her right temple as though she has a migraine coming on.
Tony groans as he rubs at his forehead.
Tim and Robins banter a little bit about Macs and PCs. Shooting the shit over vacation plans and what kind of coffee is currently stocked in the staff lounge. Never in his life has Tony ever been so grateful that he ended up in law enforcement, rather than a cushy corporate job. He'd eat his gun before he could pretend that life was so exciting that he had to gossip about who ate the yogurt in the staff lounge fridge when it wasn't theirs. And suddenly, he understands why Tim is the one who went undercover this time...not just because of the computer stuff.
Then, Tim says, "Looks like we're all clear here."
That's the sign that Tim didn't find any evidence and Tony can cross David Robins' off his list. As Tony draws a line through Robins' name, Ziva's grin turns smug. As if she somehow knew this exactly would happen.
"Hey Tim," Robins says, "did you hear that we're having cake in the conference room today? It's Marjorie from accounting's birthday."
"That sounds nice," Tim says. "I'll be over as soon as I'm all packed up here."
"I'll wait," Robins says. "We can head over together."
Tim and Robins continue talking in the background. They're discussing Robins' grandchildren and what he likes to do with them on the weekend. He asks Tim if he knows any good parks. Tim laughs and says he doesn't have any kids. Robins tells him that it's a shame.
"That does sound nice," Ziva says vehemently. "Though this interview was a slice of pie. Can you believe he was not our suspect?"
Tony makes a face. "It was a piece of cake, Zee-vah. But that just means we're going to be here longer."
The sudden realization makes Ziva growl. "And now, we must listen to McGee go to a birthday party."
"We sure do," Tony says, sighing.
Ziva's hands tighten into fists as she leans back in the seat with an agitated jerk. Her entire body is coiled and tight, muscles ready as though she is about to beat someone up. She usually looks like this right before she shoots someone. On reflex, Tony leans closer to the door.
"Hey Ziva, do you want to take a lap around the block?" Tony offers.
Right now, the air in the car is growing thick with tension. While the temperature is comfortable, they have tried to avoid running the engine. It's starting to grow stuffy and hard to breathe. Not to mention, Tony would like a few minutes alone to collect his thoughts. Even if he has to listen to Tim stuffing cake into his face, he will relish a break from interviewing suspects.
"I will stay," Ziva offers. "You may go."
Tony looks at her, brow furrowed . An uncertainty crackles through him as he meets her eyes. Tony doesn't quite know what to think here because he senses her unease and agitation, that desperation to take a moment away from the stakeout. When she raises her shoulders as if to suggest that he move, Tony holds his hands out in concession.
"I'll just take a minute," he says. "Just gotta stretch my back."
"It is difficult to grow old, yes?"
If looks could kill, she'd be pushing up daisies.
Gesturing with her head, she tells Tony to move his ass. After that comment, he can't move fast enough. He clambers out of the car, stretching languidly as he goes. The sun is high in the cloudless sky, casting a cheery glow on the world around him. While the temperature is growing colder, the hold of summer still lingers like a jilted lover. Tony is comfortable in his suitcoat, but he can feel the reach of fall just around the corner.
Over the line, Tony listens to Robins describing Marjorie's birthday cake—peanut butter with chocolate icing—in great detail. Tony considers telling Tim to bring him and Ziva a doggie bag. Gibbs might not approve of him using their emergency contact system as a delivery service, but the cake sounds amazing, and Tony is starving. Those week-old chips and boxes of snack cakes just aren't cutting it anymore. He and Ziva already ate all the good stuff. Gibbs told them no more snacks until they found their killer.
Tony glances across the parking lot at the office building. The sunlight reflects off the windowed façade, nearly blinding him. He narrows his eyes as though he could see through the windows from here. What he wouldn't give for a piece of cake right now.
He stretches his back like a cat again. Bends his knees and arching into the stretch. People weren't meant to sit in a car seat for hours and days on end. He listens to the click and pop of vertebrae that shouldn't make noise.
I don't care what Ziva says. I'm not getting old.
Then it happens.
One moment, Tim and Robins are there in Tony's ear talking about Marjorie's birthday.
And suddenly, the line goes dead.
There is nothing but ear-splitting, earth-shattering silence.
On reflex, Tony removes his earwig to check that it's still functioning. Once he realizes that it is, he buries it back into his ear. Then he twists back to the car, ready to troubleshoot the equipment. For some reason, the door is locked. He ducks down for a better view of the interior.
In the passenger seat, Ziva works on her Sudoku book. Tony knocks on the window, but she ignores him.
"Ziva! Why is the door locked?" Tony's voice is wild.
She still doesn't look up.
He pounds on the window. "Ziva!"
"We are taking a break, yes?" Ziva says, her voice muffled through the window.
"No, I was stretching my back. You were monitoring the equipment." He tries the door handle. "Open the door. Now."
She doesn't reply. He pounds on the window, hard enough to rattle the glass and draw attention from a passerby. He is about ready to smash it when she looks over, unhurried.
"Open the door, Agent David!" he barks. "That's an order."
With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Ziva unlocks the car. Tony throws his body into the seat, hands going for the recording device. Ziva watches with a strange smile on her face.
"What are you doing?" she asks easily.
"McGee's line went dead," Tony says.
"Yes, that is because I turned it off." When he stares at her flummoxed, she merely shrugs as though this is normal. "I believed we had chosen to take a moment of quiet. McGee is fine. He is with his new friend and celebrating Marjorie's birthday. Do not worry, the device is still recording."
That makes Tony freeze in his place. His mouth hangs open, flapping like a fish on dry land, before he manages to snap it shut. How could she think it would be okay to turn off the listening equipment in the middle of an operation? Sure, listening to Tim drone on and on about computers is boring enough to make Tony want to pierce his eardrums, but it still wasn't a reason to turn off the sound equipment.
When he reaches for the laptop to re-establish contact with their earwigs, she drags it out of his reach. He lunges for it, but she manages to keep it away from him.
"McGee, he is fine," she says.
"Turn. It. On." Tony bites out each word.
"McGee and I, we do this sometimes."
Tony blinks owlishly. "You and McGee what?"
"We will occasionally stop communication between the listening device and our earwigs while you are working undercover." She shrugs with one shoulder as if it is normal. As if it doesn't matter. "If you are somewhere safe, what would be the reason to listen for the entire time? McGee is taking a break just as we are. It has never been a problem, Tony."
For a moment, Tony's vision nearly goes out. The words make him want to burn down the office building and salt the earth, but now, now is not the time to deal with it. He must keep working the job, keep tabs on the agent who's six he's supposed to have. He'll talk to Gibbs and do what he must later.
With a thunderous expression, he jabs a finger at Ziva.
"Turn it back on! Now!" Tony yells.
She huffs loudly and rolls her eyes, but she flicks the switch back on. For a moment, they are meant with more silence. Then, there's a crackle as the microphone comes to life in Tony's earwig.
Tim's voice comes over, loud and clear. "…need back-up. Where are you? I'm in – " Then there's a crack and cry, followed by a hollow thud.
Then, Robins' voice, now dark and sinister murmurs, "It's time to take out the trash, gentlemen."
A new voice: "How'd you know the IT guy was a cop?"
"Alec isn't on vacation," Robins replies. "He's in jail."
The color drains from Ziva's face as she meets Tony's wide eyes. Tony's heart falls straight into his stomach and he's got his weapon out as he bolts towards the building. He doesn't care if Ziva is following him. His only objective is to locate Tim before their botched operation ends with a dead agent.
Tony pulls out his cell phone and calls Gibbs. Before Gibbs even has a chance to speak, Tony blurts out: "McGee's been made, Boss. We need back-up and we need it now. I'm enroute to intercept him."
Then, he flips the phone closed. Behind him, he hears the steady thud of Ziva's footfalls.
And in the earwig, he hears Robins mutter, "Shit, he's wearing a wire. That means there's more of them around here somewhere."
Suddenly, the line goes dead.
Tony and Ziva rush straight through the office building's heavy double doors. Inside, the building is dark and drab with high ceilings and light wood accents and minimalist furniture and Edison bulbs everywhere. It is struggling for a Scandinavian home furnishing store vibe and failing miserably. Behind an oak wood desk, there is a pretty receptionist on the phone.
Without even breaking stride, Tony bolts right past her. Before they started the operation, Tony studied plans for the building. The staff offices are in the back just past the staff lounge. Since that is Tim's last known location, they'll start there and work their way out.
The receptionist jumps to her feet. "You can't go back there, sir!"
"NCIS!" Tony yells over his shoulder.
"I don't know what the hell that means! I'm calling the cops!"
Great, like I need Metro for back-up. They're still pissed at Gibbs for last week.
Tony slows down when he passes a staff lounge where a huge group of suit clad people stand around a huge, brown sheet cake covered in a plethora candles. A gnarled old woman who looks like she should've retired last century has her hands clasped to her chest, eyes soaking up the scene.
Tony pokes his head into the room. "Has anyone seen the IT guy?"
The woman, who must be Marjorie, flashes her dentures at him. "You mean, Tim? Nice young man. What a great addition to our team, he – "
"Where is he?" Tony interrupts. "I really need to find him. It's an emergency. My computer kinda blew up." He makes a ka-boom noise for good measure.
Her eyes flash. "Everyone is in such a rush these days. I saw him head towards the back of the building with David and Lloyd. I think they were going to check the server room."
Ziva pulls up behind Tony. "What is Lloyd's last name?"
"Bennett," Marjorie replies in a tone that implies duh.
And just like that, Tony is bolting towards the back of the building. Wherever they took Tim, it couldn't have been far. They rush through the cubicles, getting curious glances from the desk jockeys that didn't make the cut for Marjorie's party. Tony and Ziva rush towards the back of the building where there are even more offices. Tony and Ziva clear the bathrooms and the smaller offices quickly. They reach the back entrance with no sign of Tim.
Tony throws Ziva a look that could freeze hell. Ziva keeps her eyes fixed in front of her.
When Tony opens the back door, there is another parking lot with clear sight lines to the back. On the far side of the parking lot, there is a group of several dumpsters.
From the looks of things, David Robins and Lloyd Bennett might be on the move with Tim. Though, without knowing exactly where they're headed, Tony doesn't even know how to start. Tony leans out the back door, breathing hard, as he soaks up the parking lot. His head is tilted, his face pulled into deep thought. His chest is heaving. He rubs at the back of his neck, trying to determine his next move.
Ziva slides beside Tony's arm.
"We must look for this Robins and Bennett," she says.
Tony taps his forehead.
"Trash," he whispers.
Ziva narrows her eyes. "What are you speaking of? I said, we must find Robins and Bennett."
He turns to face her. "That's what Robins called McGee. Trash."
Her eyes turn into slits. "And?"
Realization slowly dawns on Tony as he whispers, "He might be one of those dumpsters."
"McGee is not there. That is not what they would go. They have taken him elsewhere." Making a face, Ziva pulls out her cell phone. "I will call in a BOLO."
She might still be talking, but Tony is tuning her out. His eyes are set on the dumpsters, groups of brown and several black, on the far side of the parking lot. Tony sprints across the asphalt, his lungs burning from the exertion. It doesn't take long for him to cross the parking lot, but it feels like a lifetime.
He attacks the black dumpsters first, throwing the lid back and scrambling up the sides. Inside, they are piled high with leaking garbage bags. The putrid air slams into Tony's face, coating the back of his throat when he inhales and leaving him retching into his sleeve. Each dumpster chips away a little piece of hope that he might find his partner inside one.
No sign of anything but trash.
But Tony still holds hope in his chest like a cross. Tim has to be here because if he isn't…Tony doesn't know how he'll react to losing a teammate on his watch. Gibbs trusted him to hold the fort while he ran back to headquarters to meet with Ducky and in the blink of an eye, everything went to hell.
Tony bolts to the brown trash can covered in recycling labels. Throwing open the lid on the first one, he scrambles up the side as quick as he can.
And there, right on top of a huge pile of cardboard boxes is Tim McGee.
His body is splayed, spread eagle. His face is deathly pale and there's blood matted against the right side of his head and smeared across half his face. The blood is pooling on the cardboard and turning the brown a ghastly shade of red. His bag of computer equipment is abandoned beside him.
Tony hoists himself over the side, landing heavily against the cardboard. In an instant, Tony presses his fingers pressed against Tim's carotid. The pulse is there, strong and heavy.
Oh thank G-d, he's alive.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Tony sits back on his haunches. He keeps his fingers against Tim's neck, allowing the younger man's pulse to tether him to the moment. Right now, Tim is okay. He'll probably wake up with one hell of a headache, but he's alive and breathing.
Tony tries not to think about how all this happened. How Ziva cut the mic. How, from what she said, this wasn't the first time. How from what she claims, Tim went along with it before.
Tony pulls out his cell phone to call for an ambulance. He relays his exact location and his badge info with a voice that sounds stronger than he feels. The victim is a downed federal agent, he says, as though it could bring them faster. The dispatcher promises that a bus is on its way, it'll be there as soon as they can. Within seconds, he hears the scream of a siren a few blocks away.
As the sirens draw closer, Tony makes a second phone call.
Gibbs answers before it even rings. "Update, DiNozzo."
"I found McGee, Boss. He's unconscious, but he seems to be fine. A bus is enroute."
There's a squeal of tires on the other end. "Good. Now, what the hell happened?"
Tony swallows hard. Stares at the blood seeping from the wound on the side of Tim's head.
"We need to talk, Boss."