True to his enigmatic nature, Gibbs never returns to the office after leaving to get coffee. He never calls Tony or Tim to check in. And maybe it's better that way because Tim sits at his desk, seething with a face like thunder. Tony slowly reviews the files Vance gave him, but the junior agents only. He manages to reduce the pile down to two with a likely one that will be his junior agent. Even though it really isn't much of a contest, he wants to pretend there's an actual choice in there. He picks a recent FBI transfer with a black belt in tae kwon do and a law degree.
The senior agents, Tony will review them sometime when Tim isn't sitting right across from him in the bullpen. While Tim isn't paying him much attention, it doesn't feel right to pour over the files with one of the candidates sitting in the same room as him, breathing the same air.
So, the end-of-day routine falls to Tony as the second in command, the default in charge. Mercifully, they don't catch a case. Once the clock hits five on the button, he cuts Tim loose with a wave and a 'see you tomorrow.' Tim doesn't question the early departure, merely gives a little furrow of his brow before he gathers his things. Then, he sprints for the door before the phone rings or Tony changes his mind.
Tony stays late to glance through the senior agent files.
On paper, they're almost exactly the same. Where the junior agents candidate were each—except Tony's choice—all lacking in one department like range scores or physical fitness or OPSEC, the senior agent candidates are all virtually the same. They're all smart, strong, capable people with high scores and nothing but glowing recommendations.
Despite how many times Tony sifts through those files, he keeps getting drawn back to the one he left to the side. The one he shouldn't even consider. The one he isn't allowed to think about. The one with whom he shares a history and the one whose strengths fill Tony's own weaknesses.
Tim's file.
I want to hire McGee, but Vance and Gibbs will kill me.
As the hour grows later, he shoves the files into the bottom drawer of his desk. There, he can't touch them or look through the scores again. Everything is blending together, the range scores and the work history and their origin stories—as Tony likes to call their pre-special agent lives. He still thinks about them, still riffles through them in his brain, but by now, he has everything emblazoned in his brain.
He grabs his gear and heads out. Since he's leaving closer to rush hour than normal, he isn't accustomed to the traffic. He points his car in the opposite direction of his apartment. Heading for Kingman Park where Gibbs lives as if on reflex.
By the time he pulls up against the curb in front of the aging Craftsman, the sun is slowly dying. The bright yellow lighting giving way to the inky purple tendrils of night. When he climbs out of the car, the air is still sticky hot and hard to breathe, but it's more tolerable than when he went in to work. Gibbs' neighborhood is teeming with life. Kids play a game of pick-up baseball in the street, joggers are out on the sidewalk. An ice cream truck trolls slowly down the street with its merry music blaring.
No one notices the man in the designer suit heading up the sun-baked driveway to the only house on the street where the owner's life is on pause.
Tony heads into Gibbs' house without bothering to knock. As he heads inside, the air is still stifling, still makes his lungs burn. It reeks of must and unwashed clothing. No light filters through the closed shades and Tony makes his way to the basement, careful not to trip over anything. Not that Gibbs has anything to leave on the floor. Maybe a bourbon bottle, but that would be it.
Tony opens the basement door with a flourish, trying to make enough noise for Gibbs to know he is there. The last thing he wants is for Gibbs to come up shooting.
He finds Gibbs exactly where he should be: planing a spot on the hull of his handmade boat. Tony moves down the stairs to stand beside him. He shucks his suit coat and tie before rolling up his sleeves. Gibbs hands Tony a pair of spare safety glasses and a huge piece of sandpaper.
He points to a spot on the boat.
"Right there," Gibbs says. "But not too much."
Tony goes through the motions. For all the times he has been here, he should know what he's doing. Know how to work the wood until it gleams like glass. For some reason, the tools always feel awkward in his hands like he is holding a child's toy. Give him a piano and some sheet music and Tony can breathe life through the hammer and strings, creating beauty and life from nothing. Give him tools and he'll only use them to destroy whatever beauty he is attempting to create.
They work at their spots. Gibbs turning wood to glass and Tony leaving his wood rippled like a riverbank. Gibbs keeps an eye on Tony, adjusting his hands every so often.
Suddenly, Tony asks: "What's going on with you and McGee, Boss?"
Gibbs' eyes widen and the wood plane jerks in his hands, a larger piece of wood than necessary goes flying. That's the only indication that Gibbs even heard.
When Gibbs doesn't reply, Tony presses harder. "When I talked to McGee, he said Stan Burley is coming back."
Gibbs' smile turns sour. "And I thought I was going to have to talk you out of second thoughts."
"About leaving?" When Gibbs stays quiet, Tony blinks. "No, Boss, it's time."
"I know, but I thought…" And whatever Gibbs would say drifts into silence as he turns back to his boat. Whatever Gibbs is thinking, he doesn't say, and Tony doesn't pry.
"Is it true that Stan is coming back?"
All Gibbs has to offer is a nod.
Tony furrows his brow, keeps working the wood.
"You know McGee should have my job."
Gibbs' face pinches. "He isn't ready."
Tony wheels around to face Gibbs. "That's not true, Gibbs. McGee has more than earned it."
When Gibbs turns to look Tony in the eyes, the younger man forgot just how formidable his boss can be. They stand, almost nose to nose, locked in a staring contest. Under any ordinary circumstance, Tony would be the one to blink first. But after all these years, he won't roll over in their last one so easily. Not when he knows that he's right.
"McGee lost control of his weapon," Gibbs says. "The suspect got that weapon and nearly killed him. He could've gotten you killed too."
Tony holds his hand up. "McGee got jumped by a suspect. It's happened to all of us at some point."
Gibbs seems to consider that before shaking his head. "Never had my weapon turned on me."
That's not the truth, but Tony decides not to call Gibbs out. Instead, he says: "If it hadn't been him, it would've been me."
Gibbs just returns to planing the boat hull.
"We didn't wait for back-up." Tony sighs, resigned and quiet. "Boss, you told us to secure the scene before you and Ziva got there. We had no reason to think Simmons was dangerous. If we all had been there, McGee would've had a partner. None of it would've happened."
At that, Gibbs stays quiet. His eyes might be a torrent of emotion, but his expression remains as impassive as always. He worries at the same spot on the boat hull long enough for Tony to think Gibbs might put a hole through it.
Eventually, Gibbs mutters: "Maybe in a few years he'll be ready."
Tony starts. "Boss, you – "
"Until then, Burley is back," Gibbs continues.
"But why would Burley come back? When I started, he looked like he couldn't run away fast enough. He skipped straight out of the bullpen after wishing me good luck." When Gibbs shoots a menacing glare, Tony laughs nervously. "Not that he couldn't wait to get away from you. Everyone loves working for you. So, so much. You're the best boss ever."
Gibbs' look calls Tony a liar.
"I just don't get why he'd come back," Tony says.
"You know Burley has been an Agent Afloat for a few years now?"
Tony nods. "Last I heard, it was surf, sun, and sand."
Or as I liked to call it: beaches, babes and booze.
"It didn't go well." Gibbs presses his lips together. "He ran into some trouble."
Gibbs' eyes drop to the floor. It takes Tony a moment to notice that Gibbs is looking at a mason jar half-full of Bourbon. It's as close as Gibbs will ever come to admitting that Stan Burley is, probably, an alcoholic from his time as Agent Afloat. After his stint on that destroyer years ago, Tony understands the temptation. He was only shipped out for a few months, but he knows the feeling of the drudgery, the never setting foot on dry land, and the constant feeling of being public enemy number one. Not that he'll ever admit it, but he can't set foot on a vessel without that terrible anxiety returning.
"Vance told me to straighten him out," Gibbs says. "Or he's done."
Tony makes a face. "And he can't do that as junior agent?"
Gibbs looks nonplussed. "You think Burley'll take it?"
"Not really, but it doesn't sound like he can afford to be picky."
Gibbs shrugs with one shoulder. "When he left the team, I told him the door's always open. If he needs anything, he can come back. Same goes for you, Tony. You need something – " he rests a hand on Tony's shoulder " – I'll be there."
Tony just looks at him. "Thanks, Boss."
"And Rule Five," Gibbs says. You don't waste good.
Tony tilts his head. "That's exactly what you're doing with McGee, Boss."
Setting his jaw, Gibbs holds Tony's gaze. There's anger rising in his eyes because he isn't used to Tony questioning him, because he isn't used to Tony acting like an equal.
"If you think McGee is ready, then you take him," Gibbs growls.
Tony tilts his head, suddenly seeing his boss in an entirely new light. He doesn't want to think of Gibbs possibly pushing Tim out to keep part of his team together. Somewhere, anywhere. He isn't sure what Gibbs' play is, but Tony doubts that he'll ever know.
"Is that what you want me to do?" Tony whispers.
Gibbs merely stares at him, dead-eyed and impassive. "It doesn't matter what I want anymore, Tony. You're team leader for your team. Build the best one you can."
"And what about you?" Tony asks, taking a step back.
Gibbs steps forward. "What about me?"
"I shouldn't be poaching your people." Tony holds his hands out, placating. "It isn't fair to leave you high and dry when they're your people. When you trained them."
"Life isn't fair, Tony." Gibbs raises his chin. "Do what you need to do for your people. Rule Five."
"I know, Gibbs. You're wasting good by benching McGee."
Gibbs wears a barely-there smile. "The hell I am. I'd be wasting good if I kept you apart."
Tony furrows his brow. "I don't follow, Gibbs."
"You need to learn how to take what you want. You're a leader now. Act like it."
Tony's mouth falls open. He closes it. Sets his jaw and nods.
Gibbs squeezes his hand against Tony's shoulder. His smile is full-fledged now and there's pride dancing in his eyes. Tony never recognized it until this moment, but he has seen this expression on Gibbs' face countless times over the years.
Gibbs is proud of me.
Tony almost chokes up. Almost. If Gibbs believes apologies are a sign of weakness, Tony doesn't even know what he considers human emotions to be.
Gibbs raises his chin. "Give 'em hell, DiNozzo."