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.
I'm up to chapter 11 on AO3. I'll try to post one a day here until we're all caught up and post updates at the same time both places.
Just as a head's up, this is going to seem like it's anti-McGee for a while, but it isn't. Might not be for Vance fans though...
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
For two whole days, Tony waits for the Internal Affairs agent to arrive. The hours of his days bleed slowly from one into the next until he notices that it's a respectable time to leave. He doesn't try to visit Gibbs, nor does he call Tim. Right now, there isn't much to say.
He bides his time morosely reviewing a cold case involving a dead Petty Officer, but his heart isn't in it.
After being pulled from field duty, Tony was shunted clear to the opposite side of the fourth floor. Over where the cubicles are packed more like sardines, farther from the windows and closer to the orange walls. Up close, he never noticed the walls were the color of orange sherbet. Tony hates orange sherbet.
While Agent Steve Barrows and his team have an identical set-up as Gibbs' bullpen—cubicle half-walls surrounding four desks with a plasma screen in the middle, just more compact—it doesn't feel like home. Barrows and his team pop in and out as their case allows. Most of the time, it's only Tony toiling away in that tight space like a little kid in time-out.
Barrows set up Tony in the corner. At the perpetually unused desk for those rare times when they have a TAD. He gave Tony an apologetic smile, a tight squeeze to his shoulder, and said, "Don't worry, sport. It'll blow over." Tony tried not to make a face. Instead, he smiled and muttered, "thanks, I'm sure it will."
Right now, Barrows and his team are in the field, collecting evidence on what sounds like a particularly gruesome murder. Tony shouldn't be jealous because, well, someone is dead. But he can't help it. If he were still with his team, that would be their case. That would be their murder.
It's not fair…
When Tony checks the clock, his frown deepens. It's just past 1030 on Thursday, but it already feels as though it should be quitting time. If this is going to be the rest of his career, he only hopes IA will drop the axe on him. Getting fired might be preferable to wasting away behind a desk until retirement. He has only been working like this for days, but it already feels like years.
Disinterestedly, he flips through his cold case file again. He has already been through the case details at least three times, but nothing is sticking in his brain. Today, his mind is like a sieve: in one side and out the other. Tony is usually better than this and that's the worst part.
The wife did it.
He double-checks the Petty Officer's marital status. Unmarried.
Fine, it was the fiancée. Or maybe his boyfriend.
Tony makes a note for a case agent to check that angle when they get a chance. He shoves his hands against his eyes, hard enough to see the stars explode on his retinas. Whatever he is going through, surely this dead man deserves more than what he's getting. A spaced-out, emotionally drained agent who can't keep his head in the game.
Tony grimaces at himself.
His mind should be on work. He shouldn't even be thinking about what his team is up to. Though, if scuttlebutt is to be believed, Gibbs is currently terrorizing three TADs. One is already begging for a transfer on day two. Still suspended, Ziva is doing who knows what. And Tim, he is out on medical leave. Tony thinks he might have gotten out of the hospital yesterday, but Tim never called him. Tony didn't bother with it either. He just doesn't know what to say.
Pulling his hands away from his face, Tony blinks a few times to clear his vision. His eyes are still blurry, and it takes a moment for the world to solidify around him. He should dive back into his cold case with renewed vigor. He might have a true turn of heart, but he knows he needs to do his damned job. He needs to give the dead man real justice. Or at least try to.
Someone by the edge of his desk clears their throat.
Tony nearly leaps out of his skin.
Some ace investigator you are, DiNozzo.
Tony glances up at the tall, lithe man beside his desk.
The man is right around Tony's age. His face is so long it seems to be caught in a perpetual state of disappointment. His posture is impeccable, back ramrod straight and shoulders squared. Ex-military, Tony ascertains right away, probably Army or a Marine. He wears a brown, obviously off-the-rack suit that, somehow, hangs in just the right places.
His curly, dark brown hair dusts against the tops of his ears as though it might distract from the man's most striking feature: a jagged scar running down the left side of his face from the crown of his head to the edge of his jaw. Over the years, the edges have gone white and puckered. It cuts into his left eye, leaving it milk-white with no pupil. His right eye is dark blue.
At the sight of the scar, Tony tries to hide his flinch. It doesn't work. He drops his eyes to the man's striped tie, but the man must have noticed. He offers a friendly smile like he's been through this before. His smile is uneven, tilting only up on the right. It looks like a slash mark.
"Agent DiNozzo?" His voice is deep and rough, tinged with the hint of a New England accent.
Tony's eyebrows jump. "That's me. And you are?"
"Schuyler Harris from Internal Affairs."
The mention of Internal Affairs makes the pit in Tony's stomach drop straight to the floor. A man like Schuyler Harris could be a death sentence for even a good LEO like Tony. Nothing good comes from an Internal Affairs agent showing up at the office. Even worse when they know who he is.
Tony straightens his tie, raises his chin. He keeps his eyes fixed on Harris' good one. He goes for a grin, but it doesn't reach his eyes. As if sensing Tony is putting up a wall, Harris offers another crooked smile.
"Do you have a place where we could talk more privately?" Harris asks.
Tony doesn't move. "Like an interrogation room?"
Harris' laugh sounds rough like sandpaper. "We're only having a conversation, Agent DiNozzo. After all, you were the one who made the allegations. You're a witness, not a suspect. I'm only here to find answers. I can assure you that a witch hunt isn't my intention."
With a clipped nod, Tony rises from his seat. "We can talk in a conference room."
"That would be good."
As Tony leads the way, Harris follows closely. Tony won't look back because he's worried that he'll turn to stone if looks at Harris too closely. As though the man himself might be a Gorgon. Tony uses the movement to ease his racing heart, to try to get his head back on straight. He keeps a look out for any agents that might be wandering around. The last thing Tony needs right now is to be the subject of scuttlebutt for talking to Internal Affairs. Thankfully, no one is around to see them as they slip into the nearest conference room.
Conference Room Three. My least favorite, great.
Tony flips on the lights. The fluorescent lights flicker a few times before finally coming on to show the grey, bland space with its' boring grey table and equally boring grey chairs. The air is thick and stuffy as though it hasn't been used in ages. And it probably hasn't. Usually, no one uses this room due to its poor ventilation, virtually no vents from the air conditioner and the fact the lights never come on fully.
Almost instantly, Tony is sweating through his shirt and Harris hasn't even started grilling him yet.
Tony looks back, trying to determine his next move. Trying to see if Harris might have gotten lost on the walk over. Of course, Tony isn't so lucky. Harris heads inside the conference room to put his briefcase on the table. Then, he pulls out one of the chairs. When Harris gestures to a chair, Tony doesn't move.
"We're just talking, Agent DiNozzo." Harris keeps his tone light, but Tony knows what's underneath.
Tony swallows hard. Tries to rally the fake confidence that he wears all too well. He straightens his tie again, but it's already perfect. Then, he plasters a huge smile on his face.
"'Not right now, Lumbergh, I'm kinda busy," he drawls. "'I got a meeting with the Bobs in a couple of minutes.'"
As soon as the movie quote is out, Tony's face grows hot. He hadn't meant to throw one, but they come like a reflex during times like this. As a defensive move or an offensive one, he doesn't know. Something to help him find his footing until he is on level ground. If there was a more inappropriate thing to do during an IA meeting, Tony probably could've stripped off his suit and run around the room naked.
Except Harris cracks up. "'Uh oh, sounds like somebody's got a case of the Mondays.'"
Tony tilts his head. "Do you like Office Space?"
"It's only one of the best movies from the 1990s," Harris replies.
When Tony meets Harris' good eye, he is surprised to find it welcoming and pleasant. Someone who is trying to offer an olive branch while he carries war with him. Someone used to being deemed an enemy on sight, but he might not actually be.
Tony decides to try.
"I understand you like movies," Harris continues.
Tony genuinely laughs. "Like is an understatement."
That makes Harris chuckle again. "What's your favorite?"
"Are you seriously asking me that question, Agent Harris? There can't just be one. It's like asking someone if they have a favorite candy. It depends on the genre, the actor, the director, the…" When he realizes they aren't here to discuss movies, Tony shakes his head. "Okay, what's your favorite?"
"Galaxy Quest," Harris replies without hesitation.
Tony's eyebrows pinch together. "You don't strike me as a space opera kind of guy."
Harris merely shrugs. "You asked, I answered."
"'By Grabthar's hammer, you shall be avenged.'"
Tony clips a nod. Harris is studying him now. Then, he smiles that crooked smile again.
"Are you feeling a little better now, Agent DiNozzo?" Harris asks.
Tony hadn't even noticed how his movie talk had helped him settle, helped lower his defense. You can tell a lot about a person about their favorite movie. To Tony, it's more informative than having an actual conversation. Now, he views Harris as someone he could be comfortable with. He is no longer the looming threat he was when Tony first met him. The danger is still there, but muted. If anything, Harris is good at his job.
"Do you mind if we get started?" Harris asks.
"Yeah," Tony replies.
At Tony's approval, Harris removes a notepad with a pen and a recording device from his brieface. He sets them on the table with a dull thud. Tony can't help staring at it while Harris pushes the Record button. Then, he looks up, intensely, at Tony.
"This is Agent Schuyler Harris, Internal Affairs interviewing Agent Anthony DiNozzo." He prattles off the date and time. "Agent DiNozzo, please state your name for the record."
Tony's mouth goes dry. "My name is Tony DiNozzo, Senior Field Agent."
"Thanks." Harris nods. "We're here to discuss the incident that left Agent Timothy McGee assaulted. Currently, the two suspects are being held by DC Metro police on unrelated charges. Is that correct, Agent DiNozzo?"
"Yes," Tony replies. "As far as I know, the suspects will be transferred into federal custody once they are arraigned."
"Right." Harris makes a note on his pad. "Can you tell me in your own words what transpired on the day in question? The events that led up to Agent McGee's assault?"
"We caught a lead on our murder case that took us to the office building. Agent McGee was working undercover. He was doing…" Tony's voice trails off as he realizes he isn't quite sure what Tim was doing.
"Just explain it to the best of your ability."
"McGee is our computer guy, and it was something related to an encrypted e-mail sent to our victim. When we found the computer it came from, we'd have our murderer." Tony leans back in his chair with a shrug. "If I'm being honest, it was a little over my head."
"That's okay. Computers are out of my wheelhouse too." Harris nods slowly. "So, Agent McGee is working undercover in the building. Where were you?"
"I was running support in the car with Ziva. We – "
"Do you mean Agent David?" Harris interrupts, pronouncing the name David, not Dah-veed.
"Agent Ziva David." Tony uses the correct pronunciation. Harris makes a note. "The current probationary agent on our team." Tony waggles his head. "Though she really isn't a probationary agent at this point. She's been on our team for years now. When she first joined, she was a Mossad liaison."
"Mossad?" Harris repeats the word like it's dripped in battery acid.
Tony shrugs with one shoulder. "It wasn't my place to question."
"Right." Harris' tone sounds like, I'll look into it. "And where was Agent Gibbs?"
"He went back to NCIS to ask Dr. Mallard, our ME, a few questions about the victim. He thought there might be more clues to help Agent McGee narrow down our suspect pool."
"Okay, so back to the events," Harris says, redirecting. "You and Agent David are in the car. Agent McGee is in the building doing undercover work. And I assume you were using a listening device?"
Tony nods. "Yes, we had ears on him. But we were only listening. Tim…Agent McGee didn't feel comfortable wearing an earwig during the investigation. He thought it would blow his cover."
"That seems reasonable." Harris makes another note. "So, you're in the car…"
"Yes, we were in the car. It was the second week of surveillance. Monday. We had just finished about fifty hours of surveillance last week. And this week was looking to be more of the same."
Sighing, Tony shifts in his chair. Just dredging up the memories of the hours of sitting in the car while waiting for something to happen until it did. When Tim's cover was blown. When Ziva cut the mic. When Tony didn't know if the junior agent was alive or dead.
McGee and I, we do this sometimes.
It digs its claws deeper, his blood turns to ice. For a moment, he's back in the car and frantically trying to re-establish communication with Tim's wire. All while Ziva is sitting there, telling him to be calm, with a dead fish stare.
Leaning into his line of vision, Harris is trying to catch Tony's attention. Until that moment, Tony hadn't noticed that Harris' bad eye doesn't move. It just hangs there, haunting and unseeing. Harris' good eye widens. Tony tries not to look at the bad one.
Tony's skin crawls.
"But that wasn't the case, was it?" Harris asks.
Tony shakes his head. "No, it wasn't. Agent McGee's cover was blown."
Harries pales considerably. "How?"
"I don't know because I didn't hear it happen." Tony looks at a spot on the wall. Anything to avoid staring at Harris' bad eye and his notepad and his recording device. "Agent David switched off the listening device while we were in the middle of the operation."
Harris gives a surprised huff. "And you, as her superior officer, didn't try and stop her?"
And there it is, the time where Harris gives Tony just enough rope to hang himself. He runs his tongue over the outside of his teeth, exhaling loudly. He shakes his head, mirthless. He should have seen it coming. With these bastards, it's always guilty until proven otherwise.
Tony starts, "I stepped out of the vehicle to – "
"Why would you exit the vehicle?" Harris blurts out. "Protocol dictates you stay in the car during an operation of this magnitude. You, of all people, should know that."
Tony whips his head back, barely managing to keep his anger in check. "I know it's hard to imagine what it's like to be on field duty. We can't just sit in a car for twelve straight hours. We take routine breaks during surveillance, Agent Harris. Sometimes, we need to use the restroom or get a drink or stretch our legs. Have you ever been stuck in a car for that long without having to use the bathroom?"
The silence stretches between them, a yawning chasm that Tony is desperate to fill.
"You're not a field agent," Tony continues. "So, you don't know that it's like."
There's a flash of something in Harris' good eye, so quick that Tony almost misses it. Sadness, yearning, hunger. Whatever it is, Tony can't quite place it. As though Harris might have been there before, but he can't bring himself to admit it. Maybe it has something to do with the scar.
"I understand better than you know," Harris snaps. "Why did you exit the vehicle?"
When Tony starts talking, he is a little too fast as though he can't get the words out quick enough. "I needed to stretch my legs. I offered Agent David a break first, but she chose to remain in the car. Once I was outside, she locked the door and – "
"Agent David locked you out of the car," Harris repeats slowly.
Tony nods, but Harris points to the recording device.
Tony sighs loudly before talking slower: "Yes, Agent David locked me out of the car. Then, she turned off the listening device. Agent McGee was dark for what I approximated to be about three minutes. During that time, his cover was blown, and he was assaulted by the suspects in Metro's custody. I don't know exactly what happened."
For a long time, Harris doesn't breathe a word. The only noise in the conference room is Harris writing copious notes on his notepad with a scritch scritch scritch. The noise cuts through Tony's already frayed nerves until he feels as though he might split in two.
"And during this time, you were?" Harris asks without looking up.
"Attempting to regain entry to the vehicle," Tony says. "The keys were in the ignition. I had to threaten Agent David with insubordination before she unlocked the door. Once I got back inside, I was able to re-establish contact with the listening device. That's when we heard Agent McGee's distress call."
"You turned the device back on?" Harris asks.
Tony nods. "That's right."
More silence from Harris and more writing. Tony fights the jitters that make it feel as though there are bugs crawling in his skin. He worries a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket.
"Anything else?" Harris asks.
Tony tilts his head. "We cleared the building and I found Agent McGee unconscious in the recycling dumpster. I….I – " The emotion starts to rise into his voice " – I thought he was dead when I found him. I thought my friend died on my watch."
Harris remains silent to let Tony get his emotions in check. Tony swallows hard, trying to bury that feeling of finding Tim and not knowing. The not knowing…an entire lifetime lived in a moment with two very different outcomes.
He nods to chase it away. When he speaks again, his voice is calm as if someone else is talking.
He says: " After I met up with Gibbs, we worked the scene until Agent Barrows arrived to relieve us."
Harris' eyebrow rises slightly. His face is full of more questions, but he merely keeps his good eye fixed on Tony. He flips through his notebook until he finds a fresh page.
He taps his pen against the page. "For now, I believe that sums up our discussion about the incident with Agent McGee. I will likely have more questions later, but there is another matter." Harris leans forward into the edges of Tony's personal space. "You reported to Director Vance that you have reason to believe your teammates have done this before. While you were undercover?"
"Yes," Tony says. "Agent David made a comment during the incident with Agent McGee."
"And what did she say?"
"'McGee and I, we do this sometimes,'" Tony repeats, setting off that sinking feeling in his stomach.
"And you believe 'this' – " Harris uses air quotes " – refers to what exactly?"
Absently, Tony scratches at spot on his forehead. "Turning off the listening device earlier. I reviewed my teammates' reports from cases where I was undercover. Both Agent McGee's and Agent David's reports from my undercover ops mention a few minutes where the listening device was not active."
The news makes Harris' face pinch further. "Surely, you reviewed those reports before they were filed. Signed off on them, even. Wouldn't you have noticed before they were made official?"
"Not if they were changed after my approval." When Harris starts to speak, Tony continues over him. "Look, I reviewed them as per protocol. Those words weren't there when I looked them over the first time. I have reason to believe they were altered after my review."
Harris leans back in his chair, toying with the tip of his pen. This time the silence stretches for what feels like a long time. Harris should be taking notes, but he just watches at Tony as though he could determine the truth by sight alone. Tony can't help staring at Harris' dead eye.
"Do you understand the gravity of these allegations?" Harris' tone is matter of fact.
"Yes, I do," Tony says, nodding. "I also understand what happens when agents are left without back-up. Agent McGee was lucky on Monday. Next time, one of us won't be."
Harris shakes his head. "That's assuming, if the allegations are true, there will be a next time."