With the files heavy in his hands, Tony heads straight back to the bullpen. Right now, he doesn't know quite what to do with them. He tries for inconspicuous, case files tucked against his chest inside his jacket, but he might as well be carrying around the StayPuft Marshmallow Man.
Man, I hope Gibbs isn't back yet.
Unfortunately, Tony isn't so lucky. He attempts to sneak back to his desk, unnoticed, but Gibbs' eyes laser right on him. Then, they slide to the files. Before Tony can say a word, Gibbs bolts out of his chair.
"Going for coffee," he says. "Be back later."
If anything, Tony knows better now than to ask when later will be. Gibbs adheres to his own schedule. Later could mean he'll be back in a few minutes or several hours or not at all. Tony will have to deal with damage control at some point, but right now…
He drops the files on his desk before lasering his eyes on Tim. Thankfully, it's just them in the bullpen. Ziva must be down in autopsy or working with Abby or in the gym or whatever.
Tony closes the distance to Tim's desk, but the younger man still works at his computer as if he's completely alone. Based on the way he is typing, it's an incoherent mishmash of words. Gibbs might be enough of a Luddite to not know when Tim is trying gibberish, but Tony isn't. From where he stands, it looks like Tim is typing the same few letters over and over again.
Tony just stands there, still and silent. Eyes boring a hole into the side of Tim's head.
Eventually, his typing slows until he stares at his computer screen. His expression turns bleak. He glances up at Tony as he forces a tight, close-lipped smile.
Tony doesn't match it.
"Got something, Tony?" Tim's voice is thin.
"Gibbs' office. Now," Tony orders, jerking his head towards the elevator.
And dutifully, Tim climbs out of his seat.
Tony leads the way with Tim in tow. Tony's heart is racing, his hands clenched into fists. He shouldn't be angry. This little blip shouldn't even be on his radar anymore. The ragtag group of people he worked with for years, this team, isn't him. He shouldn't let them worm their way under his skin, but he hates being blindsided by those he trusts. People are supposed to come directly to him when they make a life-changing, career-altering decision that involves him.
Why didn't McGee talk to me?
As soon as they're both inside the elevator, Tony hits the door close button. The car barely drops a few inches before he jams the emergency stop button. The lights drop to their emergency levels, that soft blue glow he knows too well, and the emergency buzzer kicks up in the background. It drones away, barely there like tinnitus after a head injury. Tony crosses his arms, trains his sights on Tim.
Tim stares at the floor, hands in his pockets.
"What the hell are you doing, McGee?" Tony blurts out.
When Tim remains quiet, Tony pushes a breath through his teeth. Long and low. Tony cracks his neck, trying to chase away some of that anxious energy. It feels as though it could gobble him up from the inside out and leave nothing but a hollow shell.
Tony sighs. "Why didn't you tell me that you were planning to apply for the senior agent position? Vance just told me. He wasn't even going to say anything, but I forced it out of him."
Tim looks up, face pale. "I didn't plan on it."
"So, you tripped on your computer and submitted your resume for a job application?" Tony laughs humorlessly because that's how he ended up here. "Suspects come up with better stories than that."
Tim rubs at the back of his neck. "I wasn't going to apply until I talked to Gibbs and…"
When Tony looks—actually looks—at Tim, he notices just how drawn and sallow the younger man has become over the past weeks. Tony stays quiet until Tim decides to continue.
"After you and I talked, I thought I might have a chance to be senior agent." His smile is wan and downtrodden. "Don't get me wrong. I'm going to miss you on the team, but I'd like to be a senior agent. I'd like to think I've earned it by now."
Tim grows quiet again, his face turning pensive.
Tony keeps his own expression as neutral as he can. He doesn't know quite where Tim is heading, but he has been through enough interrogations to let the silence do the work for him. Once someone starts talking, it's best to get out of their way and let them get to the point. Even if it takes a while, he likes to let them do it on their own. It feels more natural. Push too hard and they clam up again.
Tim sighs. "I hoped this whole thing with Gibbs wouldn't last long. When I talked to him about it, he said I had no chance."
"What are you talking about?" Tony asks. "I thought Gibbs was going to promote you."
Tim is shaking his head. Any harder and it'll come off his shoulders. "Gibbs said Stan Burley will be taking over your spot. Has to take over, I think he said. As if my years on the team don't matter."
"And you decided to apply to be my SFA."
"The other night after Gibbs and I talked." Tim settles into his stance, squares his shoulders. "Just like it's time for you, I think it is for me too. And I could be senior agent because I've done the work. I'm good at my job, but I'm not ready to leave DC. Not yet, anyway." He licks his lips, a strange expression sweeping over his face. "I recently started seeing someone. I think she might be the one."
Tony just listens.
Tim finishes with: "And I thought since we had a history…"
"That I'd hire you?" Tony snaps his fingers. "Just like that?"
Tim wilts, but only a little. "Maybe."
That makes Tony smile because after all these years on the team together, Tim does understand how Tony's mind ticks. That a shared history is a spot to hit the ground running because you know what to expect from that person on your six. Their strengths, their weaknesses, what turns them off or makes them tick. But it doesn't seem fair—to the other applicants, to Gibbs—to choose Tim for the sake of their history. As much as Tony hates to admit it, Tim might not be the best person for the job.
Tim rubs at the back of his neck. "You know how Gibbs has been lately. I'm only allowed in the field to clear crime scenes. No arrests, no interrogations. I passed my psych eval and IA cleared me to carry again. And Gibbs leaves me for desk work instead of letting me do my job." He releases a broken sigh, eyes roving back to the floor. "I feel like I'm being punished."
"You're not, McGee." Tony tries to sound convincing.
"Yeah, right." Tim laughs balefully. "You, of all people, should know how Gibbs can be. It's like you make one – " Tim throws up his index finger for emphasis, " – one mistake and it's game over. You never get on his good side again."
Tony hems and haws. He's spent enough time to know how fickle their team leader can be, but he still tries to play both sides. Still tries to keep falling into the game he usually does: playing devil's advocate to Gibbs….well, just being Gibbs.
Tony opts for middle ground. "That isn't the way it is."
"That's because you've never been on his bad side," Tim lobs back.
"Sure, I have. Plenty of times." Tony laughs. "More times than I can count."
Shaking his head, Tim looks at Tony now. Manages to hold eye contact. "Not like this, Tony. Never like this. I feel like I broke some rule I didn't even know existed. How am I supposed to work like that?"
Tony shifts his weight. "I don't know. But you should talk to Gibbs about it."
"I already tried." Tim splays out his hands. "I've given it time. I've talked to him. I don't really want to find out how long he'll let me ride a desk."
Tony presses his lips together, swallowing hard. "That's the thing, McGee. I don't know if I can take you with me. Vance is already breathing down my neck and – "
"It doesn't matter if you take me because I'm transferring." When he says the words, Tim almost seems shocked they came out. He nods as if to convince himself. "I don't want to work for someone who can't tolerate failure. Especially when it wasn't even my fault."