Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited and followed.
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Everything happens so quickly that Tony barely soaks it all up. He might be a seasoned law enforcement officer, but there is nothing like that moment when a crisis erupts, and adrenaline takes over. His body turns onto auto-pilot, going through carefully rehearsed motions, with his mind along for the ride.
Tony keeps his eyes fixed on Tim's face, the color draining from his cheeks more with each passing second. Tim's blood snakes down the cardboard until it licks at the side of Tony's pant leg. White hot and scorching against Tony's skin. He should move, but the heat is keeping him in the moment.
McGee and I, we do this sometimes.
The emotions start to claw into his throat, but Tony manages to bury them down into that deep dark pit. That part of himself where things go and never come out. He'll deal with it later because right now, he has a job to do. A partner to get to the hospital. A scene to clear. Dirtbags to catch. He will have to worry about the truth to Ziva's words when he has the chance to let himself think.
He hears the sirens long before he sees the ambulance come screaming into the parking lot. The ambulance skids to a stop, the lights still going. Two paramedics leap out of the back, gurney and gear at the ready. They are inside the dumpster in the blink of an eye with their equipment. When they land heavily on the cardboard tower, it teeters under the sudden, new weight. Tony grabs Tim to prevent him from sliding off.
One of the paramedics, a blonde woman with brilliant blue eyes, asks Tony questions. They come, rapid-fire, like the bullets from a submachine gun. Tony rattles off Tim's important medical details: name, conditions, and allergies. Everything Gibbs makes them memorize as soon as someone joins the team.
Tony helps stabilize Tim's neck while they strap on a cervical collar. Bits of Tim's blood, tacky and thick, sticks to Tony's fingertips. Then, he helps roll his partner's limp body onto a stretcher. Once Tim is lifted off the cardboard and out of the dumpster, the sight of all the blood turns Tony's stomach. There was so much more than he thought Tim would have lost from a simple head wound.
"What happened?" the paramedic asks.
"I don't know," Tony answers mechanically.
"Do you know what he was hit with?"
Tony shakes his head. "No, I don't."
"How long's he been out?" she asks.
"I don't know." Tony fumbles. "Maybe ten minutes?"
She gives a strange look. As though he should know these things.
"I don't know," Tony says. "We lost contact and I had to search for him. I managed to find him in the dumpster." Thrown away like a piece of garbage, he can't bring himself to say.
"He'll be fine," she whispers. "Try not to worry. We'll be taking your friend to St. Eustache because it's the closest trauma center."
Then the paramedics are off, rushing Tim on his gurney into the back of the ambulance. The doors swing shut and barely a moment later, the engine revs and the ambulance sets off with its sirens at full blast.
The word she uses—friend—rattles around inside Tony's brain. Those emotions start to claw their way out of that pit, sinking their claws into his insides as they try to dig their way out. He shoves them back down, forcing himself to quiet his brain. He lets himself go numb.
Tony falls back into his training. Goes through the motions. He looks around for Ziva, but she's probably somewhere else worrying about her BOLO. So, he sets to securing the scene by himself. Photos with his point and shoot camera of the scene where he found Tim, the bloody cardboard and his computer bag with its contents strewn across the dumpster.
All the while, Ziva's throwaway comment pinballs around his brain. Taunting him like a bad voice over in a made for tv movie. He forgot how much he hates voice-overs until right this second.
McGee and I, we do this sometimes.
The way she said is what gnaws at him. As though it would be perfectly normal to stop listening while your partner is the middle of an operation that could get them killed. Just look at what happened to Tim. In the middle of an office building, playing IT guy at a small company. Less than five minutes with the microphone off and he ended up unconscious in a dumpster.
And yet, this might not have been the first time.
What could have happened to me if I were in the middle of a drug buy? Or a gun deal? Or meeting with terrorists? Or…anything, really.
He exhales loudly through his nose.
McGee could've been killed.
Shit, I could've been killed.
Shaking his head, Tony tries to keep his head in the game. There is no place for emotions here. Once the scene is cleared, the suspects apprehended and the case closed, he'll do what he must.
For now, there is a scene to work, suspects to hunt, and a team to lock down.
He pokes his head out of the dumpster, not surprised to find the parking lot deserted. He pulls out his cell phone to call Ziva when a Dodge Charger comes flying into the lot. The driver must notice Tony in the dumpster because the car doesn't even slow down until it screeches to a stop in front of it.
Jethro Gibbs climbs out of the car. His face is red with anger deepening the already harsh lines. His chest heaves with each breath. His muscles are coiled and tense like he could beat someone to death.
Tony scrambles out of the dumpster and launches himself over the side. He lands hard on the asphalt, feeling the impact rocket up into his bad knee. He winces at the sharp pain. He buries that too.
"McGee?" Gibbs gets out.
"Head injury. I think the perp punched him, but I don't know. I found him in there." Tony gestures over his shoulder with his head. "An ambulance took him to St. Eustache. The paramedic says he'll be fine. That's all I've got."
Gibbs' shoulders relax slightly. "What the hell happened, DiNozzo?"
"Ziva interrupted communication between our earwigs and the recording device," Tony says, matter of fact. "While it was dark, McGee got jumped by the suspects."
Saying the words out loud is worse than having lived through them. The raw panic of losing contact with Tim and not knowing if he was dead or alive couldn't compare to knowing that it never should have happened, to knowing that someone left him without back-up on purpose. To knowing that it wasn't even an accident.
Tony watches as Gibbs' entire demeanor changes right before his eyes. Gibbs tends to have two settings to his personality: pissed off at the world and actively erupting volcano. But this is something else entirely. Watching the anger slide slowly across his face is like watching a tornado move slowly across a field. The devastation is coming and there is no way to stop it.
Gibbs mutters something, but Tony doesn't catch it.
"What was that, Boss?" he asks.
"Where. Were. You." Gibbs bites out each word as its own sentence.
Tony doesn't flinch. "I got out of the car to get some fresh air, Gibbs. Ziva locked the door as soon as I climbed out. I offered her a break, but she didn't want to take it. She said that – "
Right before the words accusing his teammates of turning off the mic during his operations tumble out, he stops himself short. Tim's blood is still there on his fingertips. He flexes his fingers, feeling the skin of his knuckles crack with use. It reminds him of what Tim stands to lose if the accusations aren't true. Tony needs proof before he brings something like that to Gibbs. In law enforcement, a suspect is innocent until proven guilty. For Gibbs, it's the other way around. Tony isn't about to end Tim's career without more proof than a passing comment. Ziva, she's already done.
As if sensing Tony's hesitation, Gibbs crowds into his personal space. They're close enough for Tony to smell the coffee on Gibbs' breath, to catch the wrinkles in his shirt, to see the fire burning in his eyes.
"And?" Gibbs' voice is scary calm.
"She put out a BOLO with Metro for the suspects," Tony finishes.
"There's something else."
Tony presses his lips together.
The only tell to the depth of Gibbs' anger is the twitch of his jaw muscle. If time weren't of the essence, Gibbs would get the information out of Tony by any means necessary. He levels a glare at Tony that says they aren't finished before he pulls out his cell phone.
When he steps away, Tony takes a deep breath. Gibbs makes a quick call, growling into the phone. Tony moves through the parking lot, looking for evidence. He finds a few pieces that might be computer-related from Tim's bag or just random trash. Tony can't really tell the difference.
"DiNozzo," Gibbs barks.
Tony looks back. "Boss?"
"Barrows' team is coming to work the case."
"And us?" Tony asks, blinking.
"Sidelined due what happened." Gibbs makes a face. "Protocol."
And it's strange for Gibbs to be one to honor protocol. Usually, he tends to work on the case and figure out how to cover for himself later.
Just as Tony is about to ask, he catches sight of Ziva across the parking lot. As far as he can tell, she appears to be almost at ease as she jogs towards them. When she notices Gibbs standing there, her expression becomes more somber and serious. She raises her chin to Gibbs as she draws closer, but she won't look at Tony, who busies himself with pictures of his evidence. They are computer parts, he decides. He takes a few more photos.
"Agent David," Gibbs barks, "where were you?"
She sidles beside Gibbs, blinking slowly.
"Speaking with a police officer in regard to the BOLO," she says quickly. "They did not have any intel on McGee or the suspects yet. They will – "
"Tony found McGee," Gibbs says. "He's at the hospital."
Relief dances in her eyes. "That is good news."
"What the hell happened?" he asks.
Tony raises his head ever so slightly to see what she is about to say. Ziva opens her mouth before snapping it closed. For someone so extensively trained in the art of espionage, she can't come up with a lie on the spot. Or maybe she has too much respect for Gibbs to lie right to his face.
"Did you turn off the listening device?" Gibbs continues, voice like granite.
She doesn't breathe a word, just matches Gibbs' intense stare. Tony snaps photos without really looking. He is trying not to make his listening so obvious.
Taking her silence as a confession, Gibbs holds out his hand.
"I need your badge and weapon, Ziva," Gibbs says.
Ziva doesn't reach for them. "You are suspending me."
Gibbs' face twists into a duh expression.
"What is the reason, Gibbs?" Ziva asks.
"McGee almost got dead because of you."
Her jaw works in defiance, her eyes narrowed. She shoots Tony a look that would kill him if he weren't so used to Gibbs' glares. With an exaggerated huff and a disgusted face, she removes her holster and badge. She nearly throws them at Gibbs before stalking back across the parking lot.
Tony watches her go, almost shocked that she relinquished her gear without a fight. To Tony, it means something, but he doesn't know quite what.
Sighing defeatedly, Gibbs slides the badge and weapon into his pocket.
"Tony?" Gibbs calls.
Tony looks over. "Yeah, boss?"
"We work the scene until Barrows gets here."
"On it," he replies with a nod.
With a task in front of him, Tony manages to force the ordeal from his mind. It's easy to do the work, to go through the motions, to not have to think. He manages to forget, if only for a moment, his teammate is suspended and the other, an assault victim. Working a crime scene is second nature now, an innate and built-in reflex like blinking and breathing.
Together, Tony and Gibbs sweep through the parking lot. They find scraps of evidence that Tony overlooked on his first pass. A small blood trail from the office building to the dumpster, bits of computer parts strewn across the parking lot, a strap from Tim's undercover bag. Tony takes pictures while Gibbs crouches, his mind working overtime to collect evidence for a case they can't work.
Tony and Gibbs head inside the building to secure the scene. They search for the location of the assault before finding a splatter of blood in the office kitchen. During their canvass for a weapon, SSA Steve Barrows and his team arrive to take over. Before they've even unpacked their gear, Tony passes his camera to Barrows' senior agent, Eloise Davenport.
"Thanks," she says. "Do you mind if I ask you about what happened?"
Tony shakes his head. "Later when we're back at the office."
"But it's better right after the event." She leans into his personal space, staring deep into his eyes. He recoils. "Your mind is still fresh. There are details that you'll – "
"DiNozzo said, later!" Gibbs barks from across the room.
Eloise holds out her hands and drawls, "Okay."
"I need to process what happened," Tony says. "It was McGee…"
Eloise's smile borders on sympathetic. "It's hard when it's your partner. I'm sure he'll be fine."
Tony bites his lower lip. "Yeah."
Ziva turning off the recording device isn't something Gibbs will want getting out until he talks to Vance. How am I supposed to make a statement without that little tidbit?
Across the small office kitchen, Gibbs updates Barrows on the situation. Their voices are hushed. Based on how the small smile slides from Barrows' face, Gibbs must be telling him everything. Barrows isn't the kind of man to ever let his permanently upbeat façade slip. By the time Gibbs is done, Barrows' expression has become outraged. It doesn't look right on the man's kind face.
Barrows nods at Gibbs. "My team will sort everything out here."
"Thanks, Steve," Gibbs says.
"Don't worry about, Gibbs. Your boy will be fine."
Barrows must be talking about McGee because he sure as hell can't mean me.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
After formally transferring their case to Steve Barrows and his team, Gibbs and Tony take the Charger that Gibbs brought to St. Eustache. Neither of them is in a particularly chatty mood. Gibbs because, well he is a functional mute, and Tony because his mind is still reeling at Ziva's words.
Despite his best attempts, his mind wanders through the possibilities. What could have happened to Tim if they hadn't been so lucky. How Ziva turned off the listening device and Tony couldn't stop her. How Ziva thought it was an acceptable thing to do. How it wasn't even the first time. How Tim might've done it before with Ziva while Tony was the one undercover.
The city blurs past the car windows, all dull grey concrete and pale blue sky. The hospital is a squat, red brick building from an era long forgotten. In the middle of the concrete jungle, it looks distinctly out of place. Gibbs barely finds a parking space near the emergency department. Once they're out of the car, they move in tandem through the parking lot.
Neither speaks because there isn't anything to say.
They head into the emergency department and Gibbs blows past the check-in desk. The security guard, a beefy Police Academy reject, blocks their way and tells them they need to check in first. As soon as Gibbs flashes his badge, the security guard's face melts into one of apologies. As if Gibbs might write him a personal letter of recommendation for his next application to the police academy.
"Where's my agent?" Gibbs growls.
The security guard nearly trips over his own feet to help them find Tim's room. It turns out the junior agent was admitted into a room on the third floor. Once the security guard personally leads them there, he lingers beside them for a moment too long. Gibbs chases him off with a glare that could freeze hell.
Tony is surprised by how cozy the hospital tried to make the space. There is still that lingering smell of disinfectant and stale air and metallic undertones and the same lifeless fluorescent lighting that all hospitals have. The room is all powder blue and white with seashell prints and seascape pictures on the walls. Whomever decorated channeled a roadside motel from the early 1990s.
Gibbs and Tony find Tim McGee sitting up in his bed.
His eyes are dull and heavy, his head wrapped with gauze to cover the spot where he was struck. His skin is as pale as the bandage. He watches a television show with mild disinterest. It's some sitcom that Tony doesn't recognize. One of those old shows with bland, recorded laughter and even blander jokes.
Gibbs heads into the room, knocking on the door as he goes. Tony follows closely. They reach the edge of Tim's bed, but it takes a few moments for the junior agent to notice.
Tim visibly brightens at the sight of them.
"Boss! Tony!" he exclaims. "I'm glad to see you."
"How's the head, McGee?" Gibbs asks.
His unfocused eyes turn even more puzzled. Then, Tim's fingers brush against the bandage on his right temple as if he forgot it was there. His brow knits together in confusion and then, he smiles sheepishly.
"It hurt." He shrugs, indifferent. "Now, it doesn't."
That sends the relief rolling through Tony. His partner, like everyone said, seems as though he's going to be just fine. He studies Tim for a long beat, trying to determine if this man is capable of Ziva's accusation. That this man could turn off the listening device on Tony and endanger his life.
Gibbs looks at Tony as if expected something more. A wisecrack, a joke, a McNickname. Something more than just a blank stare and the unsettling air that Tony releases.
So, Tony slips back into a role that he is supposed to play. The jokester, the jester, that likeable person everyone expects him to be at every moment. From the looks of things, Tim will be just fine. And for what comes next, that's all Tony needs to know.
Tony forces a bright laugh. "Did they give you drugs, McGoo?"
Tim's face drunkenly smushes up. Then, he leans forward to whisper conspiratorially to Tony: "Maybe, but don't tell Gibbs."
Tony and Gibbs share a look. Tony shrugs with one shoulder.
"I think that's a yes, Boss," Tony says.
Tim's face turns betrayed. "You said you wouldn't tell Gibbs."
"So, sue me McGoober," Tony replies. "You can't keep a secret from Gibbs."
And that statement causes Gibbs' eyes to focus right on Tony, who won't look over. Instead, he chooses to watch Tim struggling to suppress a fit of giggles about to wrack his body. Tim swallows hard, trying to school his face into a serious expression. His body quakes with repressed laughter, but he manages to swallow it down. Just barely.
McGee and I, we do this sometimes.
The phrase rises from the dredges when Tony least expects it. He feels the anger bite at him, but he manages to shove it back down at him. Tony hugs his arms to his chest.
Gibbs merely stands there, staring a hole into the side of Tony's head.
Eventually, Tim quietly admits: "The doctors gave me some medicine. They said it was the good stuff. It feels like real good stuff. I have a concussion." He stumbles over the word, and it comes out like con-cushion. "I have more tests later. They want me to stay here overnight for observation." He massacres that word too.
"And that big brain of yours? Is it still working okay?" Tony asks.
Tim nods like a wind-up toy. Whatever it is about the motion makes him dissolve into peels of giggles.
When Tony doesn't laugh, Tim sobers up almost instantly. He stares at Tony with that drunken clarity that is only found at the bottom of a bottle. He squints at Tony as if he's trying to put the pieces together. Though no matter how hard he tries, they don't seem to quite fit.
Even Gibbs turns to face Tony. He is open and ready, willing to talk and seemingly nice. Gibbs is never nice. Only when the world is on fire and someone has a gun to your head is Gibbs nice and even then, it isn't a given. Right now, Gibbs seems to know something is bothering Tony. No matter how hard he tries to hide it, Tony can't hide anything from Gibbs.
"Is everything okay, Tony?" Tim asks, his dull eyes widening. "You seem like you're mad at me."
"We'll talk about it later," Tony says. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Tim smiles drunkenly. "I am too." Then, he seems to think of something as his face darkens. "Hey, where were you and Ziva earlier? I called for help and you didn't come when I needed back-up."
At that, Tony flinches. "We'll talk when you aren't drugged out of your gourd, McGee."
As if seeming to accept he doesn't have the mental capacity for that conversation, Tim clips a quick nod. Then, he settles back against the bed. His eyes wander back to the television and Tony takes it as his cue to leave. As soon as he hits the hallway, Gibbs catches up to him.
"What's going on, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks.
Tony won't look at him. "I don't know yet, Boss. Look, it's been a long day. Do you mind if I take the car back to the office so I can get started on my report?"
Gibbs just stares at the side of Tony's head, his eyes searching as though he could stare straight through muscle and sinew down into Tony's very soul. And Tony almost spills his guts right there in the hospital hallway, mere feet from the overstaffed nursing station. To prove his point, Tony turns away so that Gibbs can't see his face anymore. If he can't see Gibbs, he might be able to beat the temptation to talk.
When he finally accepts that Tony won't crack, Gibbs nods slowly. Just enough to tell Tony that, after all these years, he trusts the senior agent's judgement. That he expects Tony to come to him when he's ready and when Tony does, Gibbs will expect the entire truth.
I'll be ready, Boss. Just as soon as I know what's going on.
Without a single word, Gibbs and Tony exchange keys to their agency cars. Tony will take the one in the parking lot while Gibbs will find his own way back to the office building. Gibbs gives Tony one long look before he doubles back to Tim's room. As if Gibbs knows whatever is bothering Tony involved Tim to some degree and if Tony won't tell him, he'll drag it out of the drugged junior agent.