Tony doesn't talk to Gibbs about his possible promotion. He doesn't hear from HR either. Though, he does have an interview to update his clearances. The interviewer, a drop-dead gorgeous woman with a perfect smile and long blonde hair, shows up a few weeks after Tony and Vance talk. Tony says all the right things, smiles at all the right times. He flirts with her, but only a little. As it turns out, she is an avid movie watcher too. She loves Shirley Temple, and he lobs quotes, rapid-fire, from The Little Colonel and War Babies. He wants to ask for her number, but it wouldn't be professional. Their meeting comes and goes, like a summer storm. Hard and fast and gone in the blink of an eye. The only thing left behind is wet pavement. He still doesn't believe it's happening.
The days blend together until Tony starts to believe his meetings with Vance and the clearance interviewer are nothing more than fever dreams. Something brought about by too much Scotch and Chinese food and falling asleep while his television played a Shirley Temple movie marathon.
While it's only been a few weeks, it might as well be a lifetime.
Somewhere in there, Tony updates his cell phone to the latest model.
Tim shows him all the features as though he is trying to sell it to Tony, but he doesn't care because he already owns it. Tony just needs to be able to answer when Gibbs or his girlfriend du jour calls. The heck with everything else. Tim does that little smile thing—that one where he wants to help, but he can't because his charge is beyond hope. Tim offers to set up an alert anytime Tony gets an e-mail. Distracted with their current case, Tony waves his hand and says, "Just make it work, McWizard."
And that's how Tony ends up with a phone that pings with every e-mail he receives.
Every. Single. Fucking. E-mail.
He never realized he received so many e-mails. Ones from witnesses with something they just remembered and messages from the NCIS tipline and Tim and Ziva and Abby and Ducky and Jimmy Palmer, too. Someone must have signed him up for spam because his official NCIS e-mail receives offers for male enhancement and cheap watches and Nigerian princes with promises of millions of US Dollars.
And he can't silence the phone because Gibbs might call in the middle of the night.
One day, Tony asks Tim: "Can you fix it?"
Tim's brow furrows, lower lip jutting out. "Why don't you just set up a list of preferred senders? Then, it'll only notify you when you receive an e-mail from one of them."
Tony can't admit he doesn't know how to do that.
One of those e-mails happens to be regarding a BOLO on their current case: a petty officer suspected of murdering his pregnant Marine girlfriend. The petty officer was sighted at an old storage facility in Southwest, not too far from the Navy Yard. Based on Tim's intel, the storage facility is just a bunch of shipping containers abandoned in a huge parking lot beside a vacant warehouse.
Tony guides the agency Charger into a small, deserted parking lot. In the passenger seat, Tim is relaying directions from his phone.
Tony finds a parking space and kills the engine. There are only a few other cars in the nearly empty lot. Most of them are rusted-out husks from the early 1990s. One has four flat tires and is covered in so much grime they can't see through the windows. On the far side of the parking lot, there is a sea of shipping containers stretching to the edge of the Anacostia. The sky is a bright, cheery blue with not a cloud in sight. It might be a nice spring day if they weren't stuck in the worst neighborhood in the city.
Making a face, Tony tries to calculate just how many containers are there. He and Tim might be here all day.
Tim surveys the scene, frowning. "Do you really think Jake Simmons is in there?"
Tony presses his lips together. "We'll have to – " ping " –see."
Tony's eyelid twitches while Tim throws him an amused glance. When Tony checks his e-mail, it's another Nigerian prince—third one today—offering him millions and millions of USD if he just wires over his life savings. Rolling his eyes, Tony deletes it and tucks away his phone.
"Have you set up that e-mail list yet?" Tim asks.
Tony looks at him balefully. "I haven't had time."
ping.
If it's another Nigerian prince, so help him, Tony will chuck his phone straight into the Anacostia. At this point, he doesn't care if he's unreachable. He never wants to see another cell phone as long as he lives.
When Tim looks at him expectantly, Tony pulls out his device.
As soon as he notices the e-mail is from HR, his heart drops straight into his stomach. His mouth gapes and he can't load the e-mail fast enough. The content stops him in his tracks because it's the offer letter for the team leader position in DC. Everything Vance told him about…and more. The offer letter is complete with lists of benefits and perks. The increase in salary is far more than the typical COLA—cost of living adjustment—and it's enough to keep Tony clad in Zegna and Armani and Gucci until retirement.
"Holy crap," he mutters.
Tim's eyes widen as he leans over in his seat.
"What is it?" Tim asks. "Something about our case?"
Tony clutches his phone to his chest like a little kid caught breaking into a cookie jar. Tim throws Tony an aggravated look, eyes narrowed and mouth pinched.
"It's an e-mail from my new lady friend," Tony says.
Tim just stares at him.
"She wants to try some new things later." Tony waggles his eyebrows lasciviously. "New and exciting things you've probably never heard of."
Tim still stares at Tony as though he is trying to determine if the whole thing is a joke. Tony's attempted redirect might not be fair to Tim, but he doesn't want the younger man to discover the job offer before Tony is ready to come clean. Tony can't remember the last time Tim had a date, and while they don't have that kind of teasing relationship anymore, Tony just needs Tim off his back.
"There are some things your delicate eyes shouldn't see, McNun," Tony jokes.
Tim levels a baleful glare at Tony before climbing out of the car. Tony feels guilty, but only a little. He will tell Tim that he is leaving when is ready. It isn't the time. Right now, they need to work.
When Tony scrambles out of the car, the air is slowly warming. It's just on the edge of summer when the weather is warm and the sky, a bright and cheeful blue. Right before the air grows thick enough to drink and you feel as though you could melt into the pavement.
Tony surveys the parking lot. From his vantage point, the storage area is suddenly bigger than it looked from the car. It takes up almost half a city block with a maze running through the containers to the center. Tony doesn't say what they're both already thinking: their suspect could be anywhere.
Tim slips around the car, his eyes on the parking lot.
"How big was this place supposed to be?" Tony asks.
Frowning, Tim checks his phone. "Public records say it's seventy feet by seventy feet, square."
Tony's gaze wanders from the parking lot to the containers that stretch out behind the neighboring warehouses. Tim's gaze follows before he sighs loudly.
"That doesn't look like seventy feet," Tony points out.
"I think the property records were tied to the parking lot, not to – " Tim gestures at the shipping containers with his phone " – whatever that is."
"Are we allowed to look around?"
"The parking lot and the containers have the same owner. We have his permission to look around as long as we don't open anything." Tim's face turns thoughtful for a moment. "What do you think he could be hiding in there?"
Tony shrugs. "That isn't our problem."
"Petty officer, right." Tim shifts his weight. "Do you think we can check the whole thing by ourselves?"
And that's when Tony realizes that Tim is thinking the same thing he is. There's a lot of ground to cover and only two of them to do it. Tony licks his lips, considering.
"We probably could use back-up," he concedes.
With a clipped nod, Tim slowly unholsters his weapon. Tony pulls out his cell phone.
ping
Real quick, Tony checks his e-mail. More spam from another Nigerian prince. Then, his finger hovers over the speed dial for Gibbs. Just how many more times will he call Gibbs before it's over?
Gibbs answers before it even rings. "Yeah."
"Hey, Boss," Tony says. "The place is bigger than we thought. We could use some help."
Gibbs talks to Ziva in the background before saying: "We're on our way."
"Should we wait for you?" Tony asks.
"No, secure the area."
"Are you sure, Boss? It's pretty big."
Instead of giving an answer, Gibbs hangs up on Tony. When Tony closes his phone, Tim is watching him. Tim keeps his weapon loosely at his side as Tony removes his own. Tony dips his head towards the shipping container sea. Without needing to be told, Tim follows Tony into the area. Inside, it feels like an old school corn maze at Halloween, only the sides are metal containers. The containers blot out the sky in spots. The air is far cooler here, scented with rust and a damp, metallic undertone.
A chill slithers down Tony's spine as he leads the way.
They arrive at a place where the path splits in two directions. When Tony tilts his head to the right, Tim nods at the order. They'll split up while they look for their suspect. Hopefully, Ziva and Gibbs will be here soon.
ping
The e-mail notification is so loud that it echoes like a gunshot. Tony cringes at how it reverberates against the metal walls. If Simmons didn't know they were coming, he sure as hell does now. Tony should silence it, but it could be better to draw Simmons out. They could have this whole thing wrapped up before Gibbs even arrives.
He starts off in the opposite direction from where Tim is headed.
Tony tilts his head, straining his ears for any sound of life. He hears Tim's soft footfalls nearby as he sneaks away from Tony. It's quiet here, safely cocooned from the regular sounds of the city. The rest of DC might as well be a thousand miles away. The only thing Tony listens to is the thud of his heart, the scuff of his own shoes against the asphalt, the rough sound of his breath, the –
ping
His eyelid spasms. Of course, the exhilarating ping whenever he gets an e-mail.
Moving slowly, he keeps his eyes and ears open. All he sees are the corrugated siding from the shipping containers, the faded logos plastered on their sides, the patches of rust. His gaze is focused on the small stretch of aisle in front of him. He hits another fork. Checks left. Right. Left again.
Then, he slinks to the right.
He moves for what feels like a long time without seeing any sign of life. Maybe their tip was a dead end. Or perhaps, Simmons moved before they arrived.
Then suddenly, there's a loud metallic thud. A panicked shout and an even more terrified, "Tony!"
Oh shit, McGee…
Tony sprints in the direction of Tim's voice. Somewhere to the left, back towards the parking lot. The shipping containers blur around him. Tunneling into a grey-lined nothingness as he runs. Tim doesn't shout again, and Tony can only continue in the direction of the junior agent's voice.
I know it's this way. It has to be this way.
Tony slides to a stop, chest heaving. He tilts his head, closes his eyes. Strains his ears. Listens hard.
To the left, close by. Voices.
He moves towards them, slower this time, on the balls of his feet. His shoes barely scrape against the ground. He keeps his breathing quiet, so it won't carry. When he peers around the side of the shipping container, he catches movement.
Tim is on the wrong side of his own weapon.
Their suspect, Jake Simmons, has his arm around Tim's neck and a gun against his temple. Tim's hands are out as if trying not to give Simmons a reason to shoot him. Tim struggles to keep his breathing even, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Tony hears it all the way from his hiding spot.
Simmons' eyes scan the space to look for Tim's back-up. To look for Tony.
I could use some help, Boss…
Not wanting to spook Simmons, Tony rounds the corner slowly. He keeps his weapon raised.
"NCIS," Tony announces.
Simmons wheels around to put Tim between himself and Tony. Tim's eyes are wide, his expression rattled. There's a momentary relief flashing in his eyes when he catches sight of Tony's face. Tony offers him a little nod, a barely noticeable movement of his head. Imploring Tim to trust him to resolve this situation. Tim takes a deep, shaky breath.
Tony tries for an easy smile. "Are you making new friends, McGee? It looks like you haven't read How to Make Friends and Influence People yet."
"Not funny, Tony," Tim replies through gritted teeth.
"You're right," Tony says. "You should introduce me to your new friend."
Tim releases a trembling exhale that Tony takes for a laugh. When Tony glances at Simmons, his eyes are whipping between Tim and Tony like he doesn't know quite what to do. Like he doesn't know quite how he got here. Simmons' weapon hand is shaking, his face red and his expression alarmed. Tony's attempt at humor didn't take the edge off the situation. Simmons is agitated.
I bet he's on something…I mean, he killed his girlfriend and his unborn baby.
"Petty Officer Simmons," Tony says authoritatively. "Drop your weapon. Now."
Simmons shakes his head. "If I do that, you'll arrest me."
"Nobody is getting arrested right now." Tony lines up his aim. "We just wanted to talk about Carrie."
Simmons' expression darkens further. "About how you think I killed her."
Tony doesn't say how they all know he is guilty. Simmons was the last one to be seen with the victim. His prints are all over the crime scene and the murder weapon and her body. The security cameras show him leaving her apartment, wearing clothes covered in blood. The case is as open and shut as they get.
"Pulling a gun on a federal agent isn't helping your case," Tony says. "If you let him go, we can talk – "
"There's nothing to talk about!" Simmons shouts.
As soon as the words are out, Simmons shoves the gun into Tim's temple. Groaning loudly, Tim screws his eyes shut. His teeth are clenched. He is holding his breath, bracing for a bullet.
Tony rechecks his aim and it's right where it needs to be. Just over Tim's right shoulder, there is a sliver of Simmons' forehead. It's a shot Tony can easily make, but he doesn't want to take it unless he has no other choice.
"Drop the weapon, Simmons," Tony orders.
Simmons laughs. "You know what, cop, you put yours down."
"I can't do that." Tony tightens his grip.
Simmons blinks as though he never considered that. "Oh yeah? And why not?"
"Because it's the only thing keeping you from shooting my partner." When Simmons furrows his brow, Tony continues: "If I drop my weapon, you'll shoot us both."
Simmons' face turns even redder. He drags Tim back a full step before stopping. Simmons' gun hand is trembling harder now. Tim must notice it because his body goes more rigid as if a bullet might bounce off if he is tense enough.
Tony keeps his shot lined up. He wants to end it quickly and quietly with everyone alive, but the situation is rapidly going to hell. The only good thing right now is Simmons' finger is still on the trigger guard. As soon as his finger moves to the trigger, it's over.
Simmons huffs. "Then, just get the hell out of here so I don't have to kill your friend. I'll let him go once I get out of here. Pinky promise."
"Yeah right," Tony scoffs. "I'm not going anywhere."
ping
At the e-mail notification, Tony visibly winces. Simmons frowns, his anger replaced by confusion. Even Tim opens his eyes to look at Tony.
"Aren't you going to get that?" Simmons asks.
Tony lifts his eyebrows. "Why?"
"Because it could be important."
As if an e-mail could be more important than the guy with a gun to his partner's head. They stand there, glaring at each other, clearly at an impasse. The only noise is Tim's strident inhalations.
To show he's serious, Simmons shoves the weapon against Tim's head.
Suddenly, Tony blurts: "Hey McGee, do you think I'm officious?"
Tim barely opens his eyes. "What are you talking about, Tony?"
"This is between you and me, cop," Simmons says. "Not your friend."
"'Don't get officious,'" Tony continues. "'You're not yourself when you're officious. That is the curse of a government job.'"
While trying to figure out what Tony is talking about, Simmons screws his face up in thought. He backs the gun off Tim's head just enough for the junior agent to straighten slightly. It gives Tony a better view of Simmons' head, a better shot. He is already a big man and a big target, but every little bit helps.
Tim meets Tony's eyes, confusion clear on his face. To Tony, it's obvious he is trying to uncover the hidden meaning inside that movie quote. Tony just needed something to distract Simmons.
"Haven't you seen Harold and Maude?" Tony asks. "Ruth Gordon and Bud Cort? Great 70s classic."
Simmons shakes his head. "Can't say I have."
"You're missing out, man."
Making a disappointed face, Tony tilts his head. He is trying to shore up his aim in case his current idea doesn't work out. He hopes to confuse Simmons into surrendering.
Tim must realize he has an opening too because he suddenly bucks from the hold. He yanks at the arm around his neck while simultaneously twisting away from the gun.
"You son of a bitch!" Simmons yells.
Without a second thought, Tony pulls the trigger. The gunshot echoes through the shipping containers. Both Simmons and Tim topple to the ground in a pile of limbs. For a split second, Tony thinks Tim was hit too. But suddenly, Tim comes up, gasping for air, as though he just broke through the surface of the ocean. He backpedals, crabwalking, away from Simmons' body.
Tony checks Simmons first. Even though there's a neat little hole right above Simmons' left eyebrow, Tony checks his pulse anyway. Nothing. The blood pool slowly grows under Simmons' body.
Tony turns back to Tim, who is sitting on the ground. He looks all wrong with the pink mist on his face and bits of grey matter clinging to his hair. His cheeks are ghostly white, his eyes wide, and his body is shaking. Tony crouches in front of him, clapping a hand on Tim's clean shoulder.
"You're okay, McGee," Tony says. "Just breathe."
Tim is trying to. His shoulders hitch, but he can't get a breath in. Tony squeezes his arm, hard.
ping
"What happened, McGee?" Tony asks gently.
ping
Tim swallows hard, trying to look anywhere other than the body of their dead suspect. He is failing miserably, so Tony leans into his personal space. Tim's chest is heaving.
"Tim," Tony says as he shakes Tim's shoulders.
Inhaling deeply, Tim holds Tony's gaze. "He jumped me when I came around a corner. Shoved me against one of the containers. I dropped my weapon and – " Tim rubs at his face, smearing the pink mist all over " – oh my G-d, I lost control of my weapon. Gibbs is going to kill me."
Tony shakes his head. "No, he's not. Everything is going to be just fine."
Tim's expression breaks Tony's heart. "No, it's not. Gibbs is going to kill me."
ping
"He won't." Tony tries to smile. "You'll see."
Tim's look calls Tony a liar before he touches a hand to his forehead. To give Tim a moment to regroup, Tony pulls out his cell phone to call Gibbs.
Gibbs answers on the first ring: "We're almost there, DiNozzo."
"We need Ducky and the autopsy van," Tony relays.
There's a short curse on the line. "What happened?"
"Simmons tried to kill McGee." Tony sighs. "I did what I had to."
And Gibbs hangs up on Tony again.
ping
After he ends the call, Tony checks his e-mails. They're all spam.
Tony holds out the phone to Tim, who is still pressing his hands against his face. He waggles the phone at Tim until the younger man peers through his fingers.
"Can you fix it?" Tony asks.
Tim looks taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"The e-mails," Tony's eyelid has a twitch now. "Make them stop. I can't take the e-mails."
And slowly, the anguish leaves Tim's eyes as he slides back into work mode. A task at hand, something to fix, is what Tim can use to take his mind off what just happened.
He meets Tony's gaze. "Did you set up an approved contact list?"
"I don't even know what that means," Tony answers honestly.
Tim chuckles. "Who do you want on the list then?"
"The team. Abby and Ducky." Tony considers for a moment. "Vance."
For a moment, Tim seems as though he wants to ask. In the end, he decides against it. As Tim starts to tinker with Tony's cell phone, his hands slowly stop shaking. His breathing returns to an even, normal level. It takes Tim longer to fix Tony's phone than it would under normal circumstances, but these are anything but normal circumstances.
Eventually, Gibbs and Ziva show up and they secure the scene together. Tim stays off to the side, hard at work on Tony's cell phone. Tony and his team aren't allowed to touch the case, all due to him being involved. Barrows' team is reassigned from their current case to work the scene. They stay there long after it gets dark for statements.
Tony knows there will be paperwork as well as Internal Affairs meetings and therapy sessions to come. Hell to wade through before they can get back to normal.
But everyone is okay. Right now, they're all fine.
In the end, that is the only thing that matters.