On the Monday Tony is supposed to start on his new team, he shows up in the bullpen to clean out his desk. He should've handled it over the last few weeks, but casework, late nights, and his responsibilities on Gibbs' team got in the way. No matter how much time he tried to make, he never seemed to have any. He didn't even have a chance to shove his Mighty Mouse stapler into his backpack before he left on Friday.
Gibbs, Tim, and Ziva are nowhere to be found. Probably out on a case that isn't his anymore.
He slides into his chair, mentally preparing to clear out nearly a decade's worth of flotsam from his desk drawers. On his dark computer monitor, there is a lime green Post-It. See me, is written in Vance's serious, block script. Even the letters look menacing.
Tony checks through his drawers, but they are empty. His heart falls straight into his stomach. What happened to the Mighty Mouse stapler, that leg lamp from A Christmas Story, and all the other bits of his life here? There is nothing but one giant dust bunny, a pen cap, and a Reese's wrapper. Maybe the thieves got hungry while cleaning out his snack stash.
Sighing quietly, he closes the drawers. He'll leave the pen cap and the dust bunny for Stan Burley when he returns next week. He tosses the candy bar wrapper into his trash can.
Tony's belongings must be around here, somewhere. If anything, he does work for the federal government, and nothing ever truly disappears. It might take a few months for it to be sent to a desk across the building, but it'll turn up eventually. Or sometime next year, he'll get an e-mail from some NCIS agent in Okinawa with a name that sounds nothing like DiNozzo—Johanssen, probably—who received Tony's belongings by accident.
Tony allows himself one last, long look around the bullpen. It's a place he has called home for the better part of a decade. Sure, he'll be able to come back and visit—Gibbs willing, of course—but it won't ever be quite the same again. He has spent more time here than in his own home. More time with his coworkers than anyone else in his entire life. He wonders just how much he'll miss it. Once he is done, Tony stands and slides in his desk chair with a sense of finality.
There is no trace of him left here.
Tony takes the stairs up to Vance's office. Once there, he squares his shoulders, trying to walk with a sense of purpose and an air of authority. He feels more like an interloper than he did when he was coursing through these halls as a senior field agent.
I'm a team leader now. I need to act like it.
No matter how many times he tells himself, it doesn't ever quite feel like it. A part of him still believes he'll wake up under his desk when Gibbs announces they have a body.
Tony heads through the doors into Vance's office. Surprisingly, the secretary's desk is empty. So, Tony moves towards the door to gently knock. A careful and almost cautious, rap rap.
"Come in," Vance calls, surprised.
Tony pokes his head in. "You wanted to see me?"
Vance breaks into a smile. "Just who I was looking for."
"Well, it wasn't like there was a Post-It on my computer summoning the Great and Powerful Oz."
It's an extremely weak joke by Tony's standards, but he wants to determine how deep Vance is into schmooze mode. Vance chuckles, forced, but polite. His smile stretches to show all his teeth, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Full schmooze mode then.
Tony decides to go with it. "What is this about, Director?"
"I thought you'd like to get settled into your new space." Vance gestures at a cardboard box on his desk. "Agent McGee took the liberty of packing your things after you left on Friday. He wasn't sure if you would want to see Agent Gibbs today."
Tony forces a smile. "It wouldn't have been a problem."
Vance's laugh is unconvinced.
Before they start moving, Tony glances through the box's contents. Not that Tim would steal anything, but he wants to be sure one of his belongings isn't en route to Okinawa. Everything is carefully organized based on which drawer it came from. The contents are then sorted further by size. The Mighty Mouse stapler rests on top of everything else as though it could protect everything. Though, Tony's snack stash has been decimated. Namely, anything with peanut butter is suspiciously MIA.
As he rises from behind his desk, Vance gestures for Tony to follow. Tony hoists up his box, wondering how almost ten years' worth of belongings could weigh so little.
They head back through the doors and past the secretary's desk. She is back now, shooting Tony a bewildered glance as if he managed to teleport past her. He offers her a megawatt grin and that only causes the confusion to settle deeper on her face.
"As you already know, floor space is at a premium around here," Vance says.
"Of course," Tony replies, but doesn't know what it means.
Hopefully Vance doesn't stick us next to the snack machines. I have a figure to maintain.
As they head back down the stairs, it looks as though Vance might set them up right next to the bullpen. Vance stops by the cluster of desks that are on the opposite side of the bullpen. Tony barely manages to fight off the panic threatening to overtake him.
Sure, he'll be able to work with Gibbs on cases. Tony figures it'll be easy-peasy to commingle on cases with Gibbs. However, he doesn't know how he'll function just on the other side of a cubicle divider without snapping to attention every time Gibbs barks "Grab your Gear!"
Eventually, Vance puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. Almost as if he forgot where he was supposed to be stashing Tony. Then, he turns on his heel and takes a sharp right. Tony follows as they head through the agent cubicles before they stop right by the staff lounge.
Frowning at the space, Tony tries to figure out why it doesn't look right. Then he remembers. There used to be a collection of round tables and chairs with a stereotypical water dispenser here. In the place of the lunch tables are three desks complete with lamps and computer set ups. They are clustered together a rough circle with a cubicle half-wall corralled around them. The view is the entrance to the staff lounge and the men's room.
So, this is my office. And I use that word loosely.
Vance throws his hands out. Ta-da.
Laughing, Tony clicks his heels together. "There's no place like home."
"You'll have to make it work until I can make other arrangements." In bureaucratic-government lingo, Vance means deal with it because this is all you get.
"I can make it work." The thought of his very own space for his very own team lifts Tony's heart.
Vance clips a nod. "To recap, Agent McGee will be joining you on Wednesday pending his casework and the onboarding paperwork. Agent Bogart will start in approximately three weeks. She needs to close out her cases and figure out living situations."
"Right," Tony says, nodding.
"Agent Barrows should need some help, shortly." Vance sighs. "I was hoping everyone could handle things on their own until the dust settles, but you know how it is. Reach out when you have a chance."
Without leaving Tony a chance to reply, Vance disappears. At the sudden solitude, Tony is relieved. He slides into the tiny cluster of desks, relishing the idea that this place is his. Reveling in the idea of being able to call the shots. To be the one in control. He never minded working for Gibbs—not that he would ever admit if he did—but it was just time to move on. Time for him to do his own thing.
He tries out the three desks because they're all the same size. One has a view of the wall, one the men's room, and the last a partial view of the snack machines. Eventually, he settles for the view of the wall. Maybe he'll put up an old school movie poster to stare at while he's thinking about inspiration. He leaves the view of the lounge and the men's room for Tim and Bogart. Let them fight it out.
He sets up his desk, slowly and carefully. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he doesn't have casework or an arrest to consider or evidence to comb through. He allows himself to enjoy the moment, to fully make himself at home as he goes through his belongings. Some of them end up in the trash. The dead pens and expired snacks and boxes of paper clips. The rest, like Gibbs' medals and his movie memorabilia and the odd snack Tim spared, all find their way into their new drawers. He feels a lot like Meg Ryan in Working Girl, taking care to put everything in its proper place. Then, he drops back into his chair and props his feet up on his desk.
It's good to be the boss.
"Getting comfortable already, Tony?" someone says.
Flinching as if he's been shot, Tony drops his feet to the ground. He swings his chair to find Tim, who inspects the space beside the half wall. His lips are pulled into a slight frown.
"Not quite what I was expecting," Tim says.
"But it's mine," Tony replies.
Tim wilts a little. His frown deepens.
Maybe Tim expected Tony to say the space is theirs, but that isn't true at all. Tony lets the words hang between them as he climbs to his feet.
"You should pick a desk before Bogart gets here," Tony suggests. "That's one of the perks of being SFA. You can call shotgun on the desk."
Tim points to the one with a view of the lounge. "I already put a few things in that one. I figured you'd want the one facing the wall."
Tony's brow furrows as he gives Tim a look. He doesn't know how Tim figured that, but he decides not to ask.
"Good choice. That means you can pick your snack without stopping work."
Tim genuinely laughs. "As long as they keep it stocked."
"I'll let Vance know as my first order of business."
That makes Tim laugh even harder.
"And thanks for packing up my desk, Probie." Tony uses his chin to gesture at the box on the floor. "But I could've handled it. No problem."
"I wasn't sure if you were ready to see Gibbs." Tim's face turns thoughtful as he tilts his head. "Or if Gibbs was ready to see you."
Tony blinks. "What do you mean?"
Tim raises his eyebrows. "Gibbs has been on a warpath since I got here. He and Ziva are at a crime scene. Dead Marine in Rock Creek Park."
"Where were you? I thought you went with them."
Tim's eyes wander back towards the bullpen. "Gibbs left me behind again. I was helping Abby clean out one of her machines. I'm leaving the team and he still won't let me in the field."
Tony doesn't know what quite to say. As if sensing it, Tim slowly nods.
"Not like it matters anymore, I start here on Wednesday." He offers Tony a small smile and the older man matches it. "I've just got to ride it out for a few more days."
"It'll be over before you know it."
"Yeah, I hope so."
Crossing the tiny space that is supposed to be their office, Tim picks his way to his desk. On his trek, he nearly trips over Tony's chair and bangs his hip into what will soon be Bogart's desk. An audible groan leaves his lips. Then, he slides into his desk chair and surveys his view.
Tim looks as excited as Tony feels.
"Last chance to change your view," Tony says.
"So, I can know how often everyone goes to the restroom." Tim cranes his neck in the other direction. "Yeah, no thanks."
Tony barks a laugh before swinging his feet back onto his desk. They sit in silence, Tony enjoying a rare moment before the real work starts and Tim, likely dreaming about getting back into the field or what he'll be eating from the vending machines.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Tony notices a figure at the edge of the half wall. His first visitor to the…he considers what to call his new workspace. Bullpen is already taken. Maybe he'll try Campground on for size. That has a nice ring to it.
The visitor is Vance's secretary, who watches them with a bemused smile on her face. In her arms, she clutches a stack of folders so high that they nearly reach her chin.
"Agent DiNozzo, just the person I was looking for," she sing-songs. "Director Vance sent these for you."
He raises his eyebrows as he drops his feet to the ground. He moves to join her by the cubicle wall. He manages to maintain an air of professionalism without trying to look too excited. Whatever the task is must be big since it's straight from the director.
He holds his arms out and she dumps the files straight into them. They're so heavy that he nearly drops them straight to the floor. He tries to fumble to see their contents, but there are too many for him to even manage without sending the papers all over the place.
From his desk, Tim appears to be trying not to laugh.
"What are these?" he asks.
The secretary nods briskly. "The top two are onboarding paperwork for Agents McGee and Bogart. I need them back before the end of today. The rest are cases from your time on Agent Gibbs' team. Director Vance needs them closed out before…" she waggles her head as she considers. "…end of today."
Tony sighs at the pile. "I'll get right on it."
"And Agent Barrows requested a call. His team could use an assist with their current case."
"Just me?"
She nods. "Just you until the rest of your team is in place."
And just as she turns to leave, she seems to notice Tim at his desk. He grins wickedly at Tony, but she levels an index finger at him.
"I've been looking for you too, Agent McGee," she says.
That makes his face collapse into itself. "Oh?"
"I have some files for you to close out as well."
His smile is more of a grimace. "Great."
With a bright grin as if she's enjoying saddling them with paperwork, she rushes away from the Campground. Minutes later, she returns with an even bigger armload of files. When Tim starts to rise, she waves him away. Then, she dumps the pile on his desk. His face goes pale at the sight.
From where he's already started, Tony chuckles into the back of his hand.
The secretary watches the two of them. Then, she clips a nod.
"On my desk when you're done, gentlemen," she says. "And I'll give them to the Director."
And with that, she's gone.
Tony is already poring through his files. And he recognizes quite a few of the forms he's filling out already, but he isn't sure if he already filled them out or if he was dreaming. So, he keeps at the papers for what feels like forever. The only sound in the Campground are the scratching of his and Tim's pens.
At some point, Tim looks over. "Wanna grab some lunch?"
"It's not even ten hundred yet, McGee," Tony says.
Laughing, Tim stands and stretches. "I know. I just want to take a break."
Shaking his head, Tony gestures at the paperwork. "These won't fill themselves out."
With a sigh, Tim looks down at the paperwork as if it might be the death of him. Tony dives right back in. If it's going to kill him, he'll put up a fight.
At some point, Tim's phone ringing breaks the silence. He answers it and a second later, his expression turns panicked. As soon as he hangs up, he is on his feet with an armload of files.
"Gibbs wants to know why I'm not in the bullpen," he mutters.
"Then you better get back," Tony says. "We can do this again on Wednesday."
"With less paperwork?" Tim asks, ever hopeful.
Tony laughs. "I doubt it."
"Regardless, I can't wait."
And then, Tim is gone in a flash. Nothing more than a hunched, retreating figure.
Leaving Tony alone with his paperwork.