The four weeks of Tim's suspension slip past for Tony, slowly at first before picking up speed. He tries to spend time with Tim, but the younger man grabs the first flight out of town to visit his family. So, Tony settles back into case work. He never forgets how much work is involved with field duty, but it is still exhausting after a short reassignment that adhered to bankers' hours. He never even had a chance to enjoy his suspension. Not that he could, that constant looking over his shoulder and wondering if his career was over, that constant fear of Schuyler Harris tightening the noose around his neck, the thought of having to clean out his desk, the thought of surrendering his badge.
Now, he is settled back onto Gibbs' team with a freshly and frustratingly redecorated desk because the TAD touched his stuff. Agent Tyler Brahe fits into his and Gibbs' two-man—though, it's looking more like a three person—team with a surprising ease for a TAD. Except she isn't a TAD anymore. Before Ziva David was formally booked, Gibbs told Vance that he wanted Brahe permanently assigned to their team. And Gibbs, as always, gets what he demands. Tony doesn't know where Brahe was originally headed and he never asked, but she takes to the new assignment well. She even goes toe-to-toe with Gibbs on a regular basis and lives to tell about it.
On the first Tuesday that Tim McGee is back from his suspension, Tony makes the long pilgrimage to the sub-basement. He takes the stairs, not the elevator. He needs the time to consider how to play his hand, how to lure Tim back without tipping him off. He has a case file in his hands, some computer thing that Gibbs asked him to do. Maybe, in his own way, Gibbs is helping with the planning to drag Tim back because Brahe isn't bad with computers. Gibbs could easily have asked her, but he chose Tony. And Tony, he is great with unspoken orders.
When he hits the level of the sub-basement, the warm and humid air smacks him right in the face. Jimmy Palmer told him once the Navy Yard diverts all the air conditioning down to autopsy. Tony never believed him until now. Too many computers in too tight a space with too many people working. It feels claustrophobic like the walls are too close and the ceiling too low. The cubicles are nearly on top of each other. Just underneath the whirr of the computer fans, there is the drone of constant typing in the background. Thirty agents, give or take, all typing like Tim does.
Tony loosens his tie. His eyelid twitches.
If he has to stay down here too long, he'll lose his damned mind.
It doesn't take long for Tony to locate Tim in the sea of computer nerds. He sits like the rest of them, hunched over his keyboard, eyes glazed and mouth pulled into a frown. The only indication that he isn't a statue is how quickly his fingers fly over the keyboard.
Tony rolls onto the balls of his feet as he sneaks behind Tim. He manages to leave over Tim's shoulder, slowly, slowly, slowly sliding his face right next to the younger man's. Tony ends up with his cheek nearly grazing Tim's, but the younger man never even moves. His typing never slows.
"Boo," Tony whispers.
"Gah!" Tim yelps, nearly leaping out of his skin.
He throws his body forward, thumping into his desk hard enough for the keyboard to jump. He presses his hand against his chest, breathing hard. It isn't until that moment that Tony realizes just how bad Tim looks. Drawn and pale, sunken cheeks and bags under his eyes. He might have survived his four-week suspension, but it didn't treat him well. Tony doesn't have the heart to ask him how his trip was because he doesn't appear that he enjoyed it.
"What are you doing here, Tony?" Tim says.
Tony just wears that trademark grin. "I came to say hi, McGoober."
When Tim starts to talk, a computer nerd in an adjacent cubicle aggressively whispers shhhhh like a librarian with an unruly patron. Tim's cheeks flush an unnatural shade of red and he mutters an apology. All that earns him is another shhh. Tony shoots a death glare in the direction of the noise because he doesn't even know who made it. The lights are too dark to see down here.
Tim drops his voice when he says: "Hi, Tony. I need to get back to work."
He starts to swivel his chair around, but Tony stops him.
"Actually, I need some help on a case," Tony admits.
Tim purses his lips. "Did you put in a request?"
"Why would I have to do that when I have an inside man?" Tony asks.
Tim's face pinches, but there is the telltale beginning of a smile pulling at his cheeks. He looks almost like himself, but it's gone an instant.
Tim holds out his hand. "Let me see what you have."
Tony hands him the file. "Gibbs told me to find the balance from a bank account that closed four years ago. I need to find the information before he's back from big bean hunting."
"We don't have bears in DC, Tony," Tim says as he skims the file.
"Big bean hunting." Tony pauses to let it sink in. "Coffee beans. Gibbs is hunting them down for coffee." He pauses to make a shotgun noise, but when Tim still doesn't understand, he sighs quietly. "He's on a coffee run, McDense. How long have you been down here?"
That makes Tim flinch, but he doesn't bite. Instead, he says: "That means we should have twenty minutes."
Tony pales. "I might've tried a few times before I came down. So, you've got more like five…maybe seven minutes if Gibbs stops to glare at Marty the security guard."
"Oh yeah, what did Marty do again?"
"He's the one who always tells Gibbs to have a nice day."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Tim half-smiles. "Though, it sounds like you've got five minutes. I can take as long as I need."
"Come on, McGee," Tony pleads. "Help me out."
Tim laughs. "I know, I know. Just give me a second."
Swivel his chair around, Tim returns to his computer. He closes whatever he was working on and brings up another window. He makes it look as fluid and effortless as he flips through the windows on the computer screen. To Tim, it looks as second nature as breathing.
Leaning over his shoulder, Tony watches in awe of how he works. When he tried earlier, he never managed to make any headway. Not that Tony was actually trying though, he fully expected to come straight down here as soon as Gibbs left on a coffee run.
A moment later, the printer on Tim's desk whirrs to life. Three pages glide out and Tim grabs them. He double-checks them quickly before handing them and the case file back to Tony.
"There you go," Tim says. Then to himself, he murmurs: "I still got it."
Tony raises his eyebrows. "Of course you do, Probie."
At that, Tim smiles again. Tony matches it.
"You know," Tim offers. "I can teach you how to do it."
Tony chuckles. "Why would I need that when I have you?"
Licking his lips, Tim dips his head. "Didn't Gibbs tell you?"
"That you aren't coming back to the team?" Tony asks. "Yeah, he told me. But as long as you're still in the building, you're still around. You don't mind if I ask…" He can't bring himself to say the words for help, so he gestures at the computer.
It takes Tim a moment to realize what Tony asks. In the end, his eyebrows jump and the surprise skips across his face before he schools it away. Whatever Tony expected—aggravation or annoyance or derision—he doesn't find it. If anything, Tim seems almost grateful.
He nods. "Come by anytime. I'll be glad to help."
"Thanks," Tony says, smiling.
For a long beat, Tony stands there awkwardly. He got everything he came for, but he can't quite bring himself to leave. He watches Tim as if waiting for the younger man to say something, anything. This time, Tim takes the bait.
"How is Gibbs?" Tim asks.
Tony shrugs. "The same. He wants you back on the team."
Tim shakes his head. "I'm staying down here."
"I know." Tony half-smiles. "I just answered your question. Have you heard from Fornell lately?"
Tim blanches. "Yeah. He said he doesn't think Ziva is going to plead out. We might have to testify."
"I think Fornell will do better than you think." There's an awkward pause before Tony whispers: "What happened between you and Ziva?"
Tim looks a little poleaxed. His face goes pale and he fiddles with his sleeve.
"She hurt you." Tony's words are a statement, not a question.
"I'd rather not talk about it," Tim mutters.
Tony knows he hit a nerve. He can't push too hard. So, he inhales deeply. "Do you smell what I smell, McGee?"
Tim leans forward. Sniffing as loudly as Tony. "Uh…that better not be your lunch."
"Jamaican Blue Mountain beans. Dark roast." Tony makes a face. "Gibbs is back, and he'll kill me if I'm not upstairs. I'll see you around, McGee."
Tim looks up, nodding. "It was good to see you, Tony. Movie night soon?"
"You bet."
Somewhere nearby, a chorus of shhh erupts. From the sound of it, half of Cybercrime is trying to beat Tony into quiet submission. He narrows his eyes in the darkness, trying to determine just which desk it is coming from. He still has super glue in his desk, somewhere. By the sound of it, he might need a few more tubes.
Then he says loudly: "I'll see you later!"
As he leaves, the chorus of shhhh follows him the entire way to the elevator. Over here, the air is cooler and cleaner, the lights brighter. The entire space feels more open even though it's smaller than Cybercrimes. Here, Tony feels like he can finally breathe.
From here, Tony can't see how Tim is working, but Tony pictures him, dull and lifeless and boring. All the things Tim hasn't been since he was in the field. Whatever Tim thinks he is proving by staying down here, he won't find it. This place isn't a penance. It's a prison.
Whatever this place is, Tim doesn't deserve to be here.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Sometime during Tim McGee's suspension, Tony DiNozzo begins receiving phone calls from Schuyler Harris. Tony doesn't know exactly when they start, but they slowly start to come almost every day. Tony can almost set his watch to Harris' calls. They are always pleasant with an unspoken undertone Tony can't place. Harris will ask a question vaguely related to Ziva's case—"Did she ever threaten you in the workplace, Agent DiNozzo?"—before roundaboutly questioning Tony about something else. Usually, the questions tend to involve Director Vance. When Tony asks him if he is investigating the director, Harris will quickly thank him for his time and end the call. Tony should push the matter harder, but he is far too intrigued to force the issue.
What exactly is Harris up to?
The Thursday after Tim returns, Harris calls Tony during a bad time. Tony is kneeling over half of a dead body, one hand in the victim's jacket pocket to search for a wallet when his phone rings. The case—a petty officer in his dress whites literally exploded in a park in downtown DC on a chilly Thursday morning—is already shaping up to be a doozy for four people, let alone working it with only three. But Gibbs is determined to hold Tim's job and Tony is hellbent on getting him back. So, he's ready to dig in and work the case as best he can with what he has.
He doesn't need the distraction.
There are bits and pieces of the petty officer littered all over the grass. Tony is crouched, knees spread wide, in the only space where there isn't body parts. His knees are growing wet, and it had better be mud, not petty officer. Though, he is pretty sure it's petty officer.
His phone cuts out before the ringing starts up again. Glowering, Tony shucks off his glove and pulls out his still ringing phone. It's shrill against the stillness of morning. The birdsong cuts out. Across the small park, Gibbs' head pops up from where he is walking the blast radius with Tyler Brahe. He glares Tony down, who makes an embarrassed face.
Tony checks the caller id. Of course, it's Harris.
Why the hell is he even awake?
"Is our vic interrupting your personal life?" Gibbs barks.
Tony dips his head. "I need to take it."
Gibbs growls at him, but Tony answers it anyway. He clenches his teeth, trying to summon up some modicum of social nicety before he rips into Harris.
He answers with a clipped: "DiNozzo."
"Agent DiNozzo." Harris' deep tenor fills the line. "I have another question regarding my case against Ziva David. We're adding additional charges and I – "
"Harris," Tony interrupts.
The other end of the line goes quiet. Tony has lost his patience today. Maybe it's the way Gibbs is glaring at him with a Hang up before I shoot you expression. Or maybe it's the case load or the lack of sleep or his stomach churning with the NCIS house blend of coffee.
"Why are you really calling?" Tony asks.
Harris sputters. "I – uh…it's regarding my case."
"'Every time I call it a game, you call it a business and every time I call it a business, you call it a game.'"
Harris chuckles over the line. "North Dallas Forty. Interesting choice, Agent DiNozzo. I don't think I've ever met anyone else who's seen that movie."
Tony lets the silence linger, but Harris doesn't speak. From the other side of the park, Gibbs motions with his hands for Tony to hang up. As if Tony would be taking a phone call from a date while he was working. Okay, he might do that, but it's only sometimes and when Gibbs isn't looking and he never stays on the line this long.
I'd rather Gibbs think I'm talking to a girlfriend than Harris.
"I need to go," Tony says. "I can't keep pretending like I don't know you're working on something. You've been finished with Ziva's case for weeks."
Tony hears Harris swallow audibly. "This isn't a conversation I'd like to have over the phone. I'll be in town tomorrow night because I'm working another case at the Navy Yard. I'll text you the name of where we can meet."
"Sounds good. Should we say around eight?"
"I'll try to make it work. Don't let the word get out that we're meeting." There's a pause. "And another thing, Agent DiNozzo, the dress code is casual. Very casual."