Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read, fav'd, followed and left a review. Right now, ff seems to be having some issues. I haven't been getting alerts for the past week or so. I keep logging on to check stats/reviews, but I'm having occasional trouble logging in.
Just as a head's up, this is already posted in FULL on AO3.
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For the following week, Tony spends most of his time at his desk and in meetings with Vance and Internal Affairs. From the shooting, he is assigned desk duty until the IA investigation closes. There are meetings with stern-faced, humorless IA agents for discharging his weapon and killing a suspect. Weapons training. Safety training. More weapons training. An agency-mandated therapy session where he competes with the therapist in a staring contest. She blinks first, clearing him for duty without asking a single question.
Tim ends up with more meetings than Tony. He splits his time between IA and the agency therapist for a few weeks. It's almost as if IA thinks if they interview Tim enough times, he might tell a different story than Tony did. Like he might say he handed the suspect his gun and asked Tony to shoot him.
At some point, it's all over and they're both cleared for field duty. Even after they're cleared by IA and the therapist, Gibbs still acts like Tim is on desk duty. Whenever the team heads into the field, Gibbs calls for Tony or Ziva—and sometimes, both—to join him. Tim is relegated to computer work and at odd times, assisting Abby Scuito. Whenever they leave, Tony can't miss the disappointed look in Tim's eyes.
Despite the entire event, Vance chooses to go forward with giving Tony his own team. Tony fills out the HR paperwork. Signs the offer letter. Hammers out a few more clearance interviews. Updates his polygraph. Gets everything set up to start on his own team. They'll contact him with a start date soon, HR says. Just as soon as they officially update his clearances.
The days pass, case by case, as they turn into weeks. Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs are still out in the field. Tim still unofficially relegated to desk duty.
Several weeks slide past before his e-mail comes through. It doesn't ping this time, Tim saw to that.
HR finally gives Tony an official transfer date. Four weeks from today, smack dab in the middle of August.
Tony is too busy reading it—too busy letting himself be excited—to hear Gibbs call him for a case. Standing at the edge of the bullpen, Gibbs lets out an actual growl. Tony rips his gaze off his phone, almost surprised to see Gibbs glaring him down. All it takes is a deepening scowl from Gibbs for Tony to understand what's going on. He grabs his gear, as quick as he can. On his way out, he can't help noticing how Tim didn't even move to follow suit.
He wants to say something, but it isn't his place anymore. Whatever goes on between Tim and Gibbs, they'll have to figure it out on their own because he'll be gone soon. And once he is, he won't bet there to buffer between them. Since Tim is next in line for senior agent, Gibbs needs to figure out how to handle him. And quick.
Tony follows them, deep in thought.
Just how am I supposed to tell Gibbs that I'm leaving?
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A few days later, Tony still hasn't found a good way to tell Gibbs. He hasn't grabbed the older man by the arm and dragged him into the elevator. He should've come clean the moment Vance offered him the team, but there never was a good time. And because of that, now it feels like it's almost too late. Tony doesn't even know how his boss will handle hearing that he'll be jumping ship. He doubts Gibbs would shoot Vance for even suggesting it, but that's still a possibility.
One day after having an early lunch, Tony decides he'll just come out and say it. Drop the bomb on Gibbs before everyone else gets back to the bullpen. Gibbs isn't one to take an actual lunch break, preferring to grab a quick sandwich from the cafeteria and scarf it in the elevator. The only sustenance Gibbs believes calls for an actual break is his coffee.
Tony heads back into the bullpen, fully expecting to find Gibbs at his desk, alone. Instead, he nearly invades Tim and Gibbs having a private talk. They stand beside Tim's desk, deep in earnest conversation. Gibbs, impassive as ever, sips his coffee. With his back to Tony, Tim's shoulders are rigid, and his hands are thrown out at his sides imploringly.
I shouldn't be here right now.
Hanging back in the hallway, Tony manages to stay unseen. If he strides in there now, he'll mess up whatever they're saying to each other. And he sure can't head back into the elevator right now because Jimmy Palmer is due back any second and Tony doesn't want to get trapped in another dissertation about how corpses will occasionally move around on the autopsy table. The last time Jimmy told Tony about the corpse that tried to hold his hand, Tony had nightmares for a week.
Tony tilts his head, managing to catch bits and pieces of Tim and Gibbs' conversation. They might be trying to keep their voices low, but Tim is getting upset. His voice carries all the way back to Tony.
Tony can't help creeping a little closer. He is an interloper right now, a trespasser in what should be his own home. He has felt like an outsider ever since he accepted the job. Even though the rest of the team doesn't know it yet, he might actually be. Though, he can still play the part of an integral member of the team. Once he tells Gibbs about the job, he'll be an outsider until he is officially gone.
"…in the field, Boss." Whatever Tim says now, Tony can't make out. "…should be out there because I'm a field agent. I should be – "
Gibbs clears his throat to cut off Tim. "You lost control of your weapon, McGee."
"But it wasn't my fault," Tim implores. "Internal Affairs cleared me and Tony of any wrongdoing. That guy jumped me before he threw me into the container. Then he grabbed me. I didn't – "
"Lost control of the situation," Gibbs continues. "Made DiNozzo shoot someone."
"I didn't make Tony do anything," Tim replies angrily. "He shot that guy to save me."
"It shouldn't have happened."
Pressing his hand against his lips, Tony shakes his head. Instantly, he recognizes that certain finality that comes with Gibbs' tone when he already made up his mind. No amount of wailing and gnashing of teeth will change it. Based on Gibbs' track record, Tim will be released back into the field whenever he passes whatever series of tests Gibbs will set up for him. Gibbs won't tell Tim how or when he's being tested, but he'll be expected to know. And when Tim passes, Gibbs will simply nod and send him out to a crime scene. It could be tomorrow or a year from now. And Tim, he'll never even know what happened.
How many times did Gibbs do that to me and I never even noticed?
Tim stands there for a long moment as if giving Gibbs a chance to change his mind. Based on his posture, Tony guesses the younger man is scowling and crossing his arms.
Suddenly, he stalks in the opposite direction. Over towards the vending machines and the men's room. Tim tends to find refuge in the staff lounge when he's having a bad day. Tony usually catches him counting the number of snacks in the vending machine to clear his mind.
And with that, Tony heads into the bullpen. He doesn't acknowledge Gibbs. Instead, he follows Tim.
"Let him go, DiNozzo," Gibbs orders.
As if he's a trained dog, Tony stops dead in his tracks. He freezes at the opposite edge of the bullpen, mid-step. He is almost on his way to his desk when he catches Gibbs' expression. Like he is the one in complete control. Remembering he won't have to deal with any of this in a few weeks, Tony decides to follow his gut.
It's time to live by my own rules.
He stops at his desk long enough to reach into the top drawer. Grabs the emergency pack of Nutter Butters he keeps on hand for these moments.
Then, he is rushing out of the bullpen.
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs calls after him.
Ignoring Gibbs, Tony tracks Tim into the staff lounge. He finds Tim staring morosely at the vending machine. Inside, there are empty racks that the Nutter Butters and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and peanut butter granola bars usually occupy. Tim leans his head against the machine with a quiet thwack and he sighs so deeply his very soul seems to leave his body.
Silently, Tony slides beside Tim. Then, he waggles the Nutter Butter package.
Under normal circumstances, that would perk Tim back up. Today, he doesn't even move.
"'Peanut butter, fills the cracks of the heart. Go away, pain,'" Tony says.
Tim's brow furrows. "I don't think I've ever heard that one before."
Tony's face flushes. "It's from Paul Blart: Mall Cop." When Tim turns to stare questioningly at him, Tony turns even redder. "I dated a girl last year who liked movies, but only the bad ones. It was a really, really weird time in my life, and I'd rather not talk about it."
"I wasn't going to ask."
Tony bristles, fully expecting Tim to launch into a joke or two about his taste in films slipping. But Tim doesn't, he just takes the proffered Nutter Butters and dives right in. He offers the open package to Tony, who shakes his head. Those sickly-sweet cookies turn his stomach. Not to mention, food should only look like what it is. If a food is shaped like a peanut, it should be a peanut.
Tim tilts his head as if to say, Your loss. Then, he frowns at the package and glances back at Tony. His face slowly goes red, starting at his ears and working its way down.
"How much of that did you hear?" he asks.
Tony sighs. "Enough to know why Gibbs isn't putting you in the field."
Tim laughs morosely. "I guess I'm not much of a field agent anymore."
"It's just for now." Tony tries for damage control. "You know what Gibbs is like. He'll have you back out there once he gets his head on straight. Once he knows you're okay."
"I'm fine," Tim says. "IA and the therapist cleared me to do my job. Just like you, we're both ready to get back to work. Just, Gibbs won't let me."
Tony lets the silence stretch between them. If it weren't for the job offer, Tony would still be striving for damage control. He would be telling Tim what he thought was going through Gibbs' head and helping devise a way to get Tim back on Gibbs' good side. He can't do that now because, in a few short weeks, Tim will be at the mercy of Gibbs' fickle moods and powder keg temper.
Eventually, Tim says: "This feels different, Tony. I don't know why, but it does."
Opening his mouth, Tony nearly falls into the trap of coming to Gibbs' defense again. By now, it's so ingrained into his mind that it's like he is preprogrammed.
Time to live by my own rules. It might not have a number yet, but here's my newest one: Be honest with your people.
He snaps his mouth closed. Looks Tim in the eyes. Nods.
"You might be right, McGee," Tony says.
Tim scrubs a hand across his face. Then, he spends a long moment absently nibbling on a cookie. Whatever Tim expected Tony to say, it probably wasn't what came out of Tony's mouth.
"I get that I messed up," Tim whispers. "I lost control of the situation. I lost control of my weapon. You had to kill a suspect. IA had to investigate all of us, including Gibbs for not being at the scene when it happened." He groans loudly, his head leans toward the ceiling. "This was bad. I just…I just thought once we got cleared by IA, we could move on."
Tony sighs. "I wish I could say this thing with Gibbs was going to blow over quickly."
When Tim meets Tony's eyes, they are so hopeful. Almost like he is pleading with Tony to lie and tell him everything will be okay. That Gibbs will send Tim into the field tomorrow. And at one point, Tony would have, and then he would've harassed Gibbs until the older man realizes his mistake and relented.
"But I can't." Tony's voice is barely above a whisper.
Nodding, Tim shoves an entire cookie into his mouth. They stand there with Tim's chewing to serve as conversation. He chews slowly, mechanically. Eventually, he swallows. Based on his expression, it looks as though Tim's entire world just collapsed into a heap at his feet.
Tim glances at Tony. "Thank you."
Tony blinks. "For what?"
"For being honest."