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.
To Guest: Tim isn't a bad guy in this one. I actually like the character. He has reasons for doing what he. He doesn't get off completely without consequences. This story is set pre "Dead Air" as I wanted Ziva's comment at the beginning to be the first time that Tony heard the microphone was turned off. So, the episode "Dead Air" never happened in this continuity.
A couple more chapter and I'll be caught up to what's already posted on AO3.
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Before Tim has a chance to blink, it's Monday again. He spent his weekend going through the motion as best he could with the last tendrils of his concussion. Grocery shopping. Settling into his apartment. Not playing video games. That conversation with Tony, that he won't even think about.
He had to figure out how to contact his association rep because that's something he never thought he would have to do. Ever. He barely remembers where he buried the paperwork when he joined the association after graduating from FLETC. He always thought of his dues as a waste of money, an unexpected expense he couldn't really afford. He hated it until he needed to call someone for help. The voice on the other end of the line was that of a soothing, elderly gentleman with a deep Southern twang. The voice on the phone made it sound like Tim's predicament was almost normal, like it happened all the time. For Tim, it is the worst experience of his life. For the voice on the phone, it's just another day.
On Sunday night, Tim almost felt relieved. A strange sense of calm as though the whole thing might just blow over. Like he might actually return to field duty before the end of the week.
Now he's waiting outside Conference Room Three, the gentle edges of panic are beginning to claw at Tim all over again. Schuyler Harris is just on the other side of that door, ready to blow Tim's career to hell.
Tim's agency representative is late.
Just a few minutes, but it's enough to think that the voice on the phone didn't care about him either. Enough to make him realize his career is probably over. That what began as a punishment assignment in Cybercrimes might be the best he can aspire to.
Suddenly, Schuyler Harris pokes out his head. His face is relaxed, open and easy. Tim has learned that he shouldn't let his guard down. He forces a tight-lipped smile. When Harris offers over his own, his face pulls up to the right. Ghastly and ghoulish.
"Ready to get started, Agent McGee?" Harris keeps his tone light like they are old friends at a bar.
That pit in Tim's gut tightens. "I'm still waiting on my rep."
Harris nods. "I'm ready whenever you are."
Then, he retreats into his lair like a snake waiting to strike.
Leaning back against the wall, Tim hugs his arms to his chest. Pushes a breath through his teeth and checks his watch. There's a difference between being fashionably late and not showing up at all. Any later and he will have to walk into the lion's den alone.
Whenever I'm ready, Harris said. Like I'll ever be ready to watch my career go down in flames.
He leans his head back against the rough wall.
Can I even get hired in the private sector if Harris blacklists me?
Tim decides to give his rep a few more minutes. Though, if she doesn't show up, he won't be paying his association dues this year. He only hopes that he'll still be a federal employee and able to make that decision when all of this is over.
Just as he is about to talk to Harris alone, there is the rough staccato of heavy footsteps heading his way.
"Agent McGee!" a woman's voice calls shrilly.
Glancing over, he finds an older woman rushing towards him. She is older with short hair as grey as her impeccable business suit. She is tall and zaftig with a model's build. Her face is tanned and smooth, making her an indeterminable age in the same way Gibbs is. As far as Tim can tell, she could be as old as Ducky or as young as Tony. On the front of her suit, she wears a visitor's badge marked with a large, red V. The scarlet V Tony always calls it, right before he launches into a dramatic soliloquy from some movie that Tim has never seen.
"Are you Agent McGee?" she asks, pointing at him.
Tim stands up straighter. "Yes?"
Without breaking stride, she heads straight up into his personal space. As she pulls to a stop, she holds out her hand. Still a little confused, Tim shakes it. Her grip is strong and unmoving.
"Are you from the association?" he asks.
"Yeah. Sorry, I'm late." She sounds like she doesn't mean it. "The security guards gave me the wrong directions. They were supposed to escort me, but apparently, they had a situation to deal with. They accidentally sent me down to autopsy and there, I met your medical examiner. The man's a damned chatterbox. I got a whole history of high heels before I could escape. Why would I care that men wore them first as a sign of royalty?"
Tim smiles nostalgically. "That sounds like Ducky."
She makes a face. "Anyway, I'm Irene Golden. From the association. And before you ask, I'm former DEA."
Tim looks her over, uncertain. The last thing he wants is a former agent trying to defend him to keep his job. If she was fired too, what hope does she hold for him?
"Former?" he asks.
"I aged out last year." Golden's face pinches. "The mandatory retirement age is such bullcrap. I still have at least another decade in me. So now, I work for the association."
That makes Tim relax, just a little. "Okay."
"Look, I've already been briefed by your director. I know what's going on here." She looks at Tim as though he should know too. He doesn't. "I'm pretty sure you'll remain employed once you're done. But once we're in there, I need you to listen to me. If I tell you to shut up, you shut up. Got it?"
Nodding swiftly, Tim is suddenly grateful that he paid his dues all those years. What he wouldn't give for an ounce of the woman's confidence that he'll keep his career as a field agent. Right now, all he has is the bravado from his first weekend off in months and the half cup of coffee he managed to keep down.
She looks at him, clearly expecting him to say the words.
"Do you understand?" she asks.
"Yeah, I understand," he chirps.
She clips a nod. "Good. I hear Agent Harris is just a kid. Nothing we can't shake."
Closing his eyes, Tim is almost relieved. "Great."
"Don't screw it up." Then, Golden leans to whisper in his ear. "Now tell me, did you do it?"
His eyes fly open as he rears back. "Do what?"
Her eyes never leave his. They're brown, but so dark that they're almost black where the pupil blends into the iris until its all one shade. Tim might as well be staring into the abyss. The silence stretches as the seconds tick past until they're nearing a minute. He wants Golden to repeat the words, to say what terrible thing he might have done. The more he hears it, the more real it becomes.
Eventually, he relents. "I didn't stop listening. Tony is my partner."
The look on her face is strange, schooled and clinical. The same Tony wears when they're interviewing a suspect. Tim can't tell whether Golden believes him or not. Then, she tilts her head and suddenly, there is a rogue indifference cast over her features as though she couldn't care. She just wants the thrill, the challenge of going to war with Internal Affairs again. She just wants to win.
And just like that, every good feeling he had evaporates into nothingness.
Before he has a chance to say anything, Golden jerks her head towards the door. She leads the way without glancing back. Tim has no choice but to trail her inside.
Even though not much has changed since his last interview, Tim's time feels far more tenuous and borrowed. As though his precarious situation could change at any moment. All Harris has to do is snap his fingers and Tim is finished. In this room, Harris is judge, jury and executioner.
The air is staler and smells faintly of old pizza and musty boxes. Harris has managed to procure a pair of laptops and two notepads. Now, there are a few case files piled on the far corner. When Tim squints to read the names, he catches a few of them. These are cases his team worked over the last six months and they all have one thing in common. They are cases when Tony went undercover.
Harris and Golden make their introductions. Harris manages to remain friendly while Golden is standoffish to the point of malicious. While they talk, Tim folds himself into a chair.
Harris claims his chair while Golden takes one close to Tim. Golden keeps careful watch over both men. As if playing to her, Harris glances at her for the okay to start the interview. She grants it with a regal nod.
"It's nice to see you again, Agent McGee." Harris keeps his tone light as though Tim had a choice.
Tim presses his lips into a tight line. "Yeah, it's great to be back."
If Tim's sarcasm bothers Harris at all, he doesn't show it. He just reaches for the notebook that he was writing in the time since Tim was here. More pages have been filled. He grabs a pen, poised to take notes, while Tim worries at the threading on his chair. Golden gives Tim a thumbs up.
Yeah, if only she knew.
Harris turns on his recording device. Then he says into it: "This is Agent Schuyler Harris continuing Agent Tim McGee's interview from Friday. Today, Agent McGee is accompanied by his association rep, Ms. Irene Golden."
"Former Special Agent Irene Golden, DEA," she corrects.
"Right." Harris quickly moves on. "Agent McGee?"
Tim quickly states his name for the record.
"We'll pick up where we last left off," Harris says. "Regarding the allegations made about turning off a microphone during previous undercover operations. Do you know anything about that?"
Tim checks with Golden, who nods her approval.
"Which undercover assignments are you referencing?" Tim asks.
Reaching across the table, Harris slides the pile closer. He points to each one with the top of his pen. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Each one cuts through Tim, deeper and deeper until it hits bone.
"Santos. Martin. Weiss. Crowley." Harris points back to a fifth one. "I'm not sure how to say that."
Tim still doesn't either, but he remembers that case. A few months ago, Tony went undercover as a Petty Officer to undercover a drug ring on a Navy base in Norfolk. It was a slam dunk and they closed it after only a few days.
When Tim looks at Harris, he tries to keep his expression even. He is waiting for the man to say something. If he is going to be accused of turning off the microphone, Tim wants to hear Harris say the words. Even Golden is interested to see how this will go, whether Tim will remain a witness or turn into a suspect. She leans across the table, holding her breath.
"Sources tell me that during Agent DiNozzo's undercover operations, the listening devices were switched off for an indeterminate amount of time." Harris' accusation is noncommittal, a way to give Tim just enough rope to hang himself.
Tim opens his mouth to speak, but Golden beats him to the punch.
"Do you have any proof of the allegations, Agent Harris?" she asks.
"Soon." Harris nods. "That's why we're just talking right now."
Golden is already out of her seat. "Then we're done here. If you're going to accuse my client – "
"You aren't a lawyer," Harris points out.
"Then what should I call him?" When Harris comes up empty, she continues: "My client. Agent McGee will be available when you can prove it. You can't just take someone's word for it."
Based on the way she spits someone, Tim figures it had to be Tony. Golden moves to his chair, but Tim doesn't stand up right away.
Instead, Tim holds Harris' gaze. That milk-white eye, the dead one, mesmerizes Tim today. He shouldn't be staring at it, but he can't look away. Harris must notice too, but he doesn't avoid it. He leans into it as though it could make Tim talk.
"Do you remember what it felt like, Agent McGee?" Harris asks. "When you realized your team wasn't coming. When you realized you were in the dark. Alone."
That unnerving, all-encompassing fear blossoms, a tiny thing deep in his gut before it sweeps over his entire body. For a split second, he feels like he is back in the room where he understood his team wasn't coming, when he learned he was on his own, when he thought Robins might kill him.
"That could've happened to Agent DiNozzo," Harris says. "That's your partner. I'm trying to keep it from happening again."
Tim swallows hard. There isn't any saliva left on his tongue.
"We're done here," Golden repeats.
She grabs Tim's arm, but he doesn't flinch. He keeps staring at Harris' face, but the IA agent might as well be made of stone. He isn't giving anything away.
"It's easier to talk to me now." He drops his voice. "If you tell me what happened before I figure things out, I might be able to help you."
Tim remains quiet, but he doesn't move either. He has made the same placation to so many suspects, but it's different hearing the words said to him. When he says them, he knows he usually doesn't mean them. But now, he wants nothing more for there to be some truth behind them. Tim actually wants Harris to be able to help him.
Golden haunts the space by Tim's shoulder, hand clamped around his arm hard enough to hurt. She is crowding into his personal space.
Harris holds up his pen. "Fine, you don't have to talk. Just do me a favor and listen."
Tim nods shakily.
Once Harris is certain that he holds Tim's attention, he slides a laptop within his reach. He logs into the operating system before loading what appears to be a copy of the listening device software. That pit in Tim's stomach starts dragging him back to the depths again.
If he makes me listen to my assault, I might throw up.
Harris clicks the mouse pad a few times before talking fills the room. As soon as it starts up, Tim recognizes the familiar sound of Tony's voice booming through the tinny speakers.
Tony is already mid-rant. "….believe what kind of sheets they're using on our bunks. I – " click, zzt " – swear we should be getting the 800 thread count. Have you ever slept on thread count like that before? It's like sleeping on a cloud, I tell you, and – "
Harris cuts off the recording as he closely watches Tim for any sign of recognition. Tim tries to keep his expression level and neutral, tired even. Inside, his heart is thrumming, the blood whooshes in his ears and all his muscles are coiled tighter and tighter together.
Golden squeezes his arm. "We should go."
Tim doesn't move.
"Do you recognize that, Agent McGee?" Harris asks.
Tim licks his lips. "Not that exact case, no. I'm sorry."
"That was the Santos case. The one – "
"Where Tony went undercover as a Petty Officer who was fed up with the on-base housing. We uncovered a ring that was re-routing military supplies into private hands."
Harris nods. "That's right. But tell me, what was that noise?"
Tim blinks, tilting his head. "What noise?"
Harris replays it. Again and again.
Click, zzt.
Click, zzt.
Click, zzt.
"Is this a joke?" Golden asks angrily. "That's interference. DiNozzo got too close to a speaker."
"That's what I thought too, but it's on every single one of Agent DiNozzo's undercover operations." Harris shakes his head. "I think Agent McGee knows exactly what that is."
Tim feels the color drain from his face.
He starts, "I – "
"I don't care what it is," Golden erupts. "We're done here."
"I can help you," Harris says, leaning into Tim's line of vision.
"Don't you dare." Golden throws up her hand. "My client isn't talking."
Tim is still staring at the computer screen. Golden tries to drag him out of the chair, but he can't bring himself to move. All he keeps thinking about is how it felt to know his team wasn't coming, that he was completely and truly on his own.
"How much do you know about computers, Agent Harris?" Tim's voice sounds strange to his own ears.
Harris bites his lower lip. "Enough to get by."
Frowning, Tim leans back in his chair and scrubs his hand over his face. It figures the one person who might save him is a Luddite like Gibbs. He tries to speak, but Golden squeezes his arm.
"Just shut up, Agent McGee," Golden advises.
Tim presses his arms deep against his chair. "I need to get it out."
She releases his arm, throwing up her hands. "Go ahead. It's your future."
Golden gives a derisive exhale through her nose, but she doesn't leave Tim's side. If he's going down, she'll make sure he doesn't do it alone. That's part of her job as his association representative. That's what all his dues are for. She is meant to advise him, but if he won't listen, that's on him.
"During Tony's…" Tim drops his gaze to his knees. "I mean, Agent DiNozzo's undercover ops, Agent David got tired of listening to his movie quote. He has this thing where he quotes movies, constantly. He likes to work them into a conversation if he can. It drives Ziva insane. She used to say, 'he was a bird in her brain.'"
Harris tilts his head. "A bug in her ear?"
Tim nods. "Ziva never gets idioms right. Anyway, sometimes the movie quotes and the commentary and just Tony would get under her skin. With the longer ops, she could barely stand to listen to him. I'd tell her to take a walk around the block, but there are only so many times she can leave me alone in the car..."
"What you're saying is that she left you during an active operation."
"Well, yeah." Tim shrugs with one shoulder. "Sometimes, I left her too. You know how it is during surveillance. After a few hours in the car, you need to take a walk, use the bathroom, grab a bite to eat."
Based on the way Harris nods, he must've been there at some point. Long before his eye went dead and something ripped apart his face. Golden puts a hand on Tim's shoulder as if she knows where this conversation is heading. He pushes her hand away.
Harris gestures with his head. "Go on, Agent McGee."
"We give each other five-minute breaks," Tim says. "Enough to stretch your legs, but not that you'd be too far away if anything went down. Someone always stays behind to monitor the devices in case something happened. We've been doing it for years.
"Okay," Harris says.
"During the longer ops, those little breaks ended up not being enough for Ziva. About six, maybe eight months ago, she decided we should turn off the microphone."
Harris' good eyebrow jumps. "Why?"
Tim heaves a sigh as if he can't believe what he is about to say. "It was really cold, and she didn't want to leave the car."
Harris leans forward, the anger ripe on his face.
"And you let her?" he bellows.
"Of course not!" Tim counters. "You think I would just let her?"
When Tim looks up, he meets Harris' good eye. His own face is pinched, anger twinging his otherwise kind face. He squares his shoulders, trying to size up Harris. He can't stand the kind of agent Harris thinks he is. The kind of person Harris thinks he is. Golden squeezes his shoulder, trying to tell him to stop.
Golden leans over. "Agent McGee, I advise you to shut up."
Tim shrugs her off. Keeps his gaze locked on Harris' good eye.
"What did you do about it?" Harris asks, challenging.
Tim sets his jaw. "I knew it was a matter of time before she did it anyway. I wrote a program that would re-route the listening device to my earwig if the connection was severed. So, instead of the audio transmitting to the speaker in the car, it would come to my earwig. Ziva would think I turned off the device, but it was still transmitting audio." As if realizing what he just said, Tim's face falls. "Just to me. The computer still recorded the conversation, but live audio came to me."
"Wait, it was you?" Harris is staring, wide-eyed, at him. "You turned off the device?"
Tim's mouth starts moving before his brain catches up with the words.
"I-I-I had to." He fumbles, searching for level ground. "If I didn't, my program wouldn't work. Ziva didn't know I was re-routing the audio. She couldn't…I…I…" His eyes dart between Harris' poleaxed expression and Golden's disappointed one. "Someone had to keep listening because Tony was undercover. If no one was listening, something bad could have happened. No one would have known."
Golden's nails digging deeper and deeper into Tim's arm finally shuts him up. He should shake her off, but it's enough to keep him in the moment. Her eyes whip between him and Harris as if she isn't sure whether Tim just implicated or exonerated himself.
Tim, he's pretty sure that he just signed his own death warrant.
"Why would you do that?" Harris breathes.
"It's…it's complicated," Tim mutters.
Harris' good eyebrows jumps, an invitation to keep talking. Tim looks away. As if sensing Tim is about to shut down, Harris nods quickly. He pivots to an entirely different conversation.
"Why didn't you tell me about this last week?" Harris asks.
"Tell you that I re-routed the audio during an active undercover operation." Tim presses his hands against his mouth as though he could take it all back. "I still broke protocol."
Golden mutters something that sounds surprisingly like shit.
"You sure did, Agent McGee." Harris' face screws up in thought. "Can you prove that you re-routed the audio from the recording device?"
Tim nods. "The source code is still on my work computer. I kept a back-up on my laptop at home. I can show you where to find it on my work one."
"That won't be necessary." Harris is already taking notes. "I've already pulled your work computer. I'll have forensics look into it because I'd rather not take a chance that someone could claim you tampered with it. Do you agree?"
Tim inhales sharply as though the thought never crossed his mind.
Harris pays him no attention. "Though, I would like a copy of what you have."
Tim clips a nod. He knows forensics will compare it to whatever they find on his work computer. They will want to make sure he isn't lying.
"I'll bring it tomorrow," he offers.
"Sure," Harris says. "We'll meet back here. Same time tomorrow. Does that work for you, Golden?"
She throws up her hands as if to say whatever.
"Great," Harris says dismissively.
Knowing they've been dismissed, Tim allows Golden to drag him from the conference room. She doesn't release his arm until they're nearly on the other side of the building. Finally, he digs his feet into the carpet and wrests his arm free.
She wheels around, hands on her hips. When she inhales, her nostrils flare.
"What the hell were you doing in there?" Her voice is terrifyingly calm. "I told you to shut up and you just kept talking. What were you thinking?"
"I was telling the truth," Tim says flatly.
"You think that matters?"
Tim takes a full step back. "Y-yeah."
"No, what matters is you keep your job." Crossing her arms, she shakes her head. "You weren't supposed to confess to the accusations and more. Nobody cares about you doing the right thing."
Swallowing hard, the realization of his actions slowly settles down on Tim. His job was already on the line and now, it seems as though that's completely gone. He spent his whole life working to get here and now, it's just…over. It feels so dirty and wrong.
Golden rocks back on her heels, curling her lip up with disgust.
"I'll be here tomorrow." She makes a face. "Bring whatever you promised Harris and an updated copy of your resume."
Tim does a double-take. "Why would I need my resume?"
"To see if I can find someone to hire you before Harris blacklists you." She gives him a hard once-over. He has never felt sicker in his life. "You're moral and that counts for something. As far as I'm concerned, the feds need more people like you."
Tim blinks disbelievingly. "But…but I work for NCIS."
Golden snorts. "After that, I doubt for much longer."