Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read, alerted and left a review. I hope you enjoyed reading it.
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EPILOGUE:
Tony orders a pound of glitter. When it arrives, it doesn't seem like nearly enough. So, he orders two more pounds in different colors. As it turns out, his case of super glue expired a few years ago. The glue turned rock hard inside the tubes. After a quick stop at a hardware store, Tony stocks up on the necessities.
Late one night while the team works on a case, Tony announces he will be taking a quick nap in Abby's lab. Gibbs grunts in agreement because there's a lull in the excitement and Tony isn't needed . Whatever work they're doing is computer related. Tim takes the lead with Brahe running support. Gibbs isn't needed either, but he no longer leaves the team for anything longer than a coffee run.
Tony grabs his backpack, the three pounds of glitter nestled safely against four new packs of superglue. He tries to play it cool, tries to act like he isn't about to glitter bomb the hell out of Cybercrimes. As he heads towards the elevator, Tim and Brahe don't even look over. Gibbs watches him closely as if he knows what Tony is up to.
Tony takes the stairs to the basement, past Abby's lab and not quite to autopsy. There, he slips as covertly as he can into Cybercrimes. He avoids the security cameras as best he can. If his intel is correct, the place should be deserted because the cyber agents keep regular nine-to-five hours. After doing a quick sweep, he confirms the place is deserted before he slips into the shusher's cubicle.
Hidden deep in Tony's desk is a plan for getting back at the man for harassing his friend. They're labeled in messy little rows: Will Get Me Fired, Might Get Me Fired, Might Not Even Notice. They range from clear tape across the cubicle entrance (Will Get Me Fired) to switching out the computer tower (Might Get Me Fired) to setting up a glitter bomb above the cubicle (Will Definitely Get Me Fired).
In the end, he settled for something off the Might Get Me Fired list, but only if the victim figures out the culprit. His plan is to glue a few things to the desk and sprinkle a pound of glitter around the floor. Tony took care to leave no trace. He avoided the security cameras and if he works fast enough, there will be no witnesses. He even brought crime scene gloves.
Tony pulls on the gloves before opening a new pack of superglue. He relishes that new cyanoacrylate—thanks Abby for that word—smell. Then, he superglues the shusher's mug to the corner of his desk. He is in the middle of gluing down the mousepad when someone clears their throat.
Tony wheels around slowly, like the victim in a horror movie, to find the woman from when he brought down War Games. She holds a chipped mug of steaming coffee as she watches him. Her face is poleaxed.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asks at the same time Tony spits out, "It's not what it looks like."
But it's exactly what it looks like because he looms over a desk with a tube of superglue in one hand and a mousepad in the other. From his backpack, three one-pound bags of—hot pink and silver and baby blue—glitter have tumbled to the floor. How did the hell did he get so out of practice that he get caught red handed?
She's going to report me to HR. Though it won't matter because Gibbs is going to kill me first.
She shakes her head like a disappointed parent. "Are you trying to get caught?"
"Uh…no," Tony sputters.
He tilts his head, trying to read the situation. Huffing loudly, she puts her free hand on her hip and shakes her head at him. She is homely with kind dark eyes, full lips, and bargain basement store pantsuit. Her dark brown hair just graces her shoulders as she huffs again. Her expression is stuck between derision and pity. Tony can't decide whether she could be a co-conspirator or his downfall.
"You're doing it wrong," she says.
Co-conspirator it would seem. "If you were going to do it, what would you do? Hypothetically."
The grin that slides across her face makes her look like an entirely different person. The edges of her lips curl upward like a supervillain. Tony learns her name is Regina George and she might be the only person on the planet who never watched Mean Girls. When he learns her name, Tony comments, "'That's so fetch.'" She makes a face and says, "Is that you ask me to get something? I'm not a dog. Go get it yourself."
What she is, though, is a criminal mastermind.
"Eugene is a jerk," Regina announces as though it explains everything. And well, it does.
When she surveys Tony's handiwork, she wrinkles her nose. Shakes her head. Huffs again when she takes into account the angle of the mug. She mutters something that sounds surprisingly like, "What is this? Amateur hour?" Tony might be offended if her ideas weren't so good. He almost wishes she was around when he pranked Tim and Ziva over the years.
Regina takes stock of his supplies before frowning at the glitter.
"You don't need this much," she says. "It's like salt. A little goes a long way."
Shaking her head, she sets down her coffee. Then, Regina gestures for the super glue and Tony willingly hands it over. She takes the tube before squeezing out a huge splat across one side of the desk. Then, she squeezes out half a tube in the middle of the seat cushion.
"What's the point?" Tony asks. "He won't even get stuck."
Regina laughs as though Tony knows nothing. "The spot will be rough. When Eugene rubs his arm over it, it'll drive him crazy. He won't know why it's rough."
"And the chair?"
"Have you ever sat in a rough spot for hours at a time? It'll ruin your pants."
Tony licks his lips. Considers the idea. "Remind me not to piss you off, Regina George."
Her laugh is quiet. "Eugene isn't nice to anyone. We can't talk to each other. We can't walk around without getting sniped at. We complained to HR, but they can't do anything about because he isn't really bothering anyone. And it's not technically a – " she uses air quotes " – hostile work environment."
Tony sighs. "I could see that."
"But really, it is. Just look at how he ran McGee out. We liked McGee down here. He's a really nice guy, but Eugene kept harassing him too and now, he's gone." Regina rubs her hands together. "Now, it's Eugene is going to get it."
Tony knows most of his murderers usually say something like that committing their crimes.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"We've been doing this – " she gestures to the space " – for months. Why do you think he is so twitchy?"
Before Tony can think of a response, Regina scoops one of the glitter containers from the floor. Tony watches her rush to her desk before returning back to Eugene's cubicle. She holds a pair of tweezers like Ducky has in autopsy and Tony decides not to ask whether she stole them.
Regina takes the superglue, glitter and tweezers before dropping to her hands and keeps. Using the superglue and tweezers, she affixes piece of glitter to the carpet in random spots. Tony tries to look anywhere but at her ass. He fails miserably because it's nice and it's there and he's a man and –
She pops up, hair falling into her eyes. "Admiring the view?"
"Not at all." His eyes are on the ceiling.
She laughs. "Yeah right."
Tony changes the subject. "So, you and McGee, huh?"
Regina gets back to work. "There wasn't anything. We went out to lunch a few times while he worked down here. Like I said, he's a nice guy." She pauses to dump a little bit of glitter out. "I thought we might've had something, but it turns out I was wrong."
"You might," Tony answers honestly. "McGee is going through some things right now. But why don't you come by the office sometime and talk to him? He might like that."
She climbs to her knees. "Do you think so?"
"Probably." Tony shrugs. "You won't know if you never try."
"Hm." Regina sounds like she never considered that.
She glues a few more pieces of glitter to the floor while Tony admires the view...of the ceiling. Of course, he is still looking at the ceiling. Then, she climbs to her feet and hands Tony the glitter container.
"Sprinkle some on the floor while I do the desk," she orders.
Tony does as he's told while Regina glues glitter, at random, to the desk. Then, she sprinkles a handful over Eugene's desk. They back up to admire their work before Regina shakes her head. She moves over to the keyboard and pries off the keys for letters E and S.
"Those are two of the most typed letters," she says as she pockets the key.
Tony suddenly regrets telling Regina to stop by the bullpen to visit Tim. She's going to eat him alive, but it might be what he needs right now.
"Nice job, partner," Regina says.
Tony makes a pretend bow. "I have learned new tricks from the master."
They bump fists before Regina shifts her weight.
"Just don't tell anyone, okay?" she asks. "I'd rather not get fired."
Tony mimes locks his lips. "Our secret dies with me."
She raises her eyebrow at him. "You are an interesting guy. Just so you know I'm commandeering these." She grabs the two other glitter containers and the rest of the superglue from his backpack. "Consider it a donation to the cause."
"Well worth it."
"Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow to say hi to McGee." When she looks over, her eyes are flashing with excitement. "You really don't think he'd mind?"
"A beautiful woman stopping by to say hello?" Regina grins broadly and Tony laughs. "What sane guy could resist that?"
Regina flushes and she tucks her hair behind her ears. Then, she scoops her coffee mug off the desk. Tony grabs his backpack, removes his gloves, and pockets them. He won't leave behind any evidence. There might be witnesses, but he can't do anything about that.
"Thanks, Tony." She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "I need to get back to work. I'm already behind on my hunt for a drug dealer."
"Crime waits for no man," he says.
"Or woman," she shoots back.
They both laugh like villains before admiring their handiwork one final time. Then, Regina darts back to her desk while Tony slinks back to the bullpen. He takes a different route, careful to avoid the security cameras a second time. By the time he gets back to the bullpen, hours have passed. Tony is more exhausted then when he left, but it was worth it.
Tim and Brahe are long gone while only Gibbs remains.
Gibbs gives Tony a hard look. "Have a nice nap, DiNozzo?"
"Oh yeah. Abby's futon is so comfortable. I slept like a baby." Confused, Tony plops into his desk chair.
Gibbs is narrowing his eyes. "Then why the hell do you look like a disco ball?"
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
The next day, Tony receives an e-mail from Regina George that merely reads, Tango Down. Later that afternoon, he hears through the grapevine that Eugene in Cybercrimes left NCIS for the FBI. Right before quitting time, the team is done with their case, and they might just be leaving at a normal time for once. They chatter excitedly about their plans for the night. Tony has a movie and popcorn on the docket, Tim finally bought a new gaming computer, and Brahe is going plant shopping. Gibbs is already gone.
Tony is packing up his things when he glances up to find Regina George striding towards the bullpen. She looks different than last night. Her hair is pulled into a smart ponytail and she's wearing deep red lipstick. Her dress hugs her figure in all the right places. He might've been wrong about calling her homely last night because she looks like a knockout in the daylight.
Brahe slips to Tony's side. "Whoa, who's the heartbreaker?" She lets out a little wolf whistle. "How are you going to let her down easy?"
When Tony doesn't say anything, Brahe's eyes go wild.
"Please tell me that you aren't breaking up with Sasha." She releases a little moan. "Think of me! I can't live without those cookies!"
"What makes you think she's here to visit me?" he asks.
Brahe just looks at him. Then, they both watch as Regina strides purposefully into the bullpen. She stops in front of Tim's desk where he is working on his computer. When she clears her throat, he looks up at her. His brow furrows before he seemingly recognizes her. Then, he grins.
"Hey Regina." As he takes in her entire outfit, his eyes widen slightly. "Wow, you look nice. Really nice. Did you get my last e-mail?"
"I did and I didn't want to wait." Her voice is breathless. Nervous. "Do you have plans tonight, Tim?"
"I…uh…no." He blinks slowly. "Why?"
"Good." She rocks back and forth on her heels. "Do you want to grab dinner with me?"
"When?" he asks, tilting his head.
Her grin broadens. "Right now."
His expression is taken aback, his hands hover over the keyboard. Tim is frozen like a statue. There is a long pause until Tony clears his throat loudly. Suddenly, Tim is all elbows and frantic energy as he suddenly realizes what is happening. He scrambles to shove his case files aside as he scoops up his backpack. He slams into his desk, hard.
"Yeah, that would be great," Tim rambles. "I'd love to go to dinner. With you. I'd love to go out with you. Let me just…get my stuff."
He is still tripping and stumbling over his feet as he grabs his backpack and belongings. He throws Tony and Brahe a deer in the headlights look. Tony offers him a little salute as if to say Good luck. Brahe just wolf-whistles at them again. Regina holds out her arm and Tim turns to her, his face open and excited.
"Don't forget it's a school night," Tony jokes.
And then, the two of them sweep out of the bullpen in a burst of nervous energy. Regina is clasped on Tim's arm while he leans toward her. She is talking about something computer related that Tony doesn't understand. At all. Tim must because he's laughing. It must've been a joke.
"Ah, young love." Tony sighs.
"Who. Was. That?" Brahe asks.
"Regina George from Cybercrimes," Tony says.
"They look pretty serious." Excitement burns like fire in Brahe's eyes. "I wonder if she likes to cook."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Tony keeps time by the therapy sessions he attends with Tim. "Couples' therapy," Tony calls them with an easy smile to tell Tim that it isn't a big deal. Because really, it isn't.
During their sessions, Tony talks and Tim listens. Tim talks and Tony listens. They talk about things that matter and things that don't. They've been partners for nearly a decade and yet, they've never talked like they do in that tiny room with a therapist who looks like a schoolmarm. Dr. Banner stays quiet mostly while they air out their differences.
One day, they reach a breakthrough with a little help from her.
"I hate when you prank me," Tim announces.
Tony sets his jaw and nods. "Sometimes, you treat me like I'm an idiot."
"I…I never thought that." Tim's eyes flash. "Not even once."
"And yet, you act like it." Tony holds his hand out.
"I'm…" Tim starts, but he can't bring himself to break Rule Six.
Tony clips a nod. "I know. I am too."
After that, they start socializing together again. Movies at Tony's place and computer games at Tim's.
They had been occasionally heading to Schuyler Harris' uncle's bar, but they weren't able to talk there. Now, they go more often than before. The music is always too loud, the bar patrons always too close. When they're there, Tim tends to drink too much and sing karaoke too loud. Tony laughs easily and Harris even smiles, but only sometimes.
When Tim and Tony are together and the room is quiet, they still talk. And Tony, he still listens as closely as he can to catch whatever it is that Tim doesn't say. He won't make the same mistake again.
Despite the good place he manages to find himself, Tony still lives like they're on borrowed time. Ziva might've promised that it was over in her letter, but Tony spends his whole life looking over his shoulder and he isn't about to stop now. He dug that letter out of the trash can and it still lives buried deep inside his desk. Whenever it feels like it's creeping up on him, he digs the letter out to remind himself that it is supposed to be over. Ziva David is gone, exorcised like the demon she was.
Dr. Banner recommends that Gibbs attend a few sessions with Tim and Tony. And that's how couples' therapy turns into family counseling.
Tony and Gibbs spend the whole time staring at each other awkwardly. Tim sits between them, drumming his fingers against his knee. Tony desperately tries to fill the silence, but Gibbs glares him down. Tony is beginning to wonder whether Tim was kidding when he said Gibbs is a talker.
Dr. Banner's eyes dart between Tony and Gibbs. Tim smiles apologetically.
"This what a threesome is usually like, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks.
"Sometimes." Tony's cheeks blaze, he scratches at his hairline. "Not that I've had many threesomes." Gibbs smirks. Tony closes his eyes, takes a steadying breath. "Any threesomes. Not that I've had any threesomes. If I ever find out, I'll let you know, Boss."
The therapist looks at Tim for a long moment. "Is it always like this, Tim?"
"Most of the time." Tim doesn't look at Tony or Gibbs. "Oh, and our other teammate talks to her plant."
"I see, Tim." The therapist sucks on her teeth. Taps her pen against her lips. "This is interesting. Very, very interesting. Hm…."
The following day, Tim is cleared for field duty. He still attends the agency mandated sessions once a week, but he carries his weapon and works his job as a field agent. He comes to work in the morning, grinning and excited. Tony is grateful that he finally has an extra set of hands at a crime scene.
One day, Tony catches Tim in the bullpen as the younger man stares strangely at the bullpen. His eyes are roving around as if he doesn't soak it up now, he could lose it forever. When he catches Tony staring, Tim's face flushes an unnatural shade of red.
"Something on your mind, McThinker?" Tony asks.
"It's just Regina." Tim sighs. "I'm worried we might be taking it too fast. I want to be ready for a relationship, but I don't think I am right now."
"Take it as slow as you need, Tim. If she's serious about you, she'll go with the flow." Tony clasps his hands on top of his desk. "Just don't overthink it because you might have a good thing there. She seems nice." And she's a criminal mastermind who will prank me into oblivion if you dump her, he doesn't say.
Tim opens his mouth. Closes it. As if sensing that Tim is done talking, Tony jerks his chin at Brahe's desk.
"Don't let Brahe catch you staring at Roscoe, McPeepingTim."
Relief dances in Tim's eyes. "Is he even real?"
Tony shrugs with one shoulder. "Hell if I know."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Long after the glitter incident and Eugene leaving, Acting Director Edie Shane calls Tony up to the director's—now, her—office. Tim shoots him a questioning glance. Brahe makes an ohhhhh noise like a kid in grade school where a classmate is sent to the principal's office. Gibbs doesn't even look up.
Tony and Edie Shane's relationship has been all cloak and daggers since her arrival. There were meetings in the breakroom and the stairwell and, very rarely, her office. She met with him routinely to discuss the fallout of Director Vance's arrest. He told her everything he knew. It was enough for her to limp through the Congressional appearances and an internal investigation and the news shows. Enough to keep NCIS from having a permanent black eye in the public opinion.
Today is the first time she stood at the landing and beckoned him upstairs with a wagging finger. If they keep this up, the current rumor going around the office that Tony is secretly dating the director is only going to gain more traction. He pretends he doesn't see the stares, pretends he doesn't hear the other agents whisper in hushed tones when he comes into the breakroom for coffee.
Once he is inside the office, he eases the door shut behind him. Shane seems different today. Her normally bright smile is absent, and it makes her look older. Her laugh lines are on full display just like the crow's feet beside her eyes.
She keeps her back to Tony as she heads to her desk. Tony's heart feels like someone chucked it straight off a cliff. His pulse quickens, his hands grow clammy.
She found out about the glitter and Eugene. I'm going to get fired.
Tony tries to keep his panic in check. He plasters his best grin onto his face, the one he saves for soothing suspects about to shoot someone and people about to shoot Gibbs. Then, he drapes his body into one of the visitor's chairs. He looks cool and calm and casual, but he feels none of it.
His smile tightens his cheeks. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
Behind what used to be Vance's desk, Shane crooks an eyebrow. Her expression is bland, bordering on boring. She must be one hell of a poker player.
"I wouldn't have call you up here, if I didn't," she replies.
"Ah," is all Tony has to offer.
Her eyes drop to a file on her desk. Tony hadn't noticed there are four piles tucked neatly at the edge of her workspace. As she flips through the pages, her lips draw into a tight line. Tony catches the logo of the HR department in the corner of the top sheet. Tony is about to throw himself onto his knees to beg for job when she looks at him.
"I already know what you're going to say," she says. "I still wanted to ask you."
Tony tilts his head as he grips the arm of the chair. He remains quiet.
"There's an opening for a team leader in Naples." She tucks an errant curl behind her ear. "I know they're a good team because they used to report to me. Their SSA is aging out at the end of next month. After what I've seen, I'd like to recommend you for the position."
Tony blinks slowly. "Wouldn't the SFA want the position?"
She shakes her head. "The SFA has a full plate at home. Three kids under the age of five and his wife is a Marine, who just got deployed. When we asked him, he nearly laughed himself into a coma."
Tony opens his mouth for a response, but one doesn't come. He closes it and then, he rubs his hand along the bridge of his nose. Something between a laugh and a sob catches in his throat.
After all these years of going without a promotion, he has one. Only, now, it's thanks to Ziva. Of course, he would get one for taking down a spy and a complacent director. He shouldn't be surprised because what brought him here is the stories of movies, the stories of legends.
But still, it's because of Ziva.
"I can't take it." Just saying the words out loud hurt.
Shane purses her lips. "You appear conflicted, Agent DiNozzo. Would you like time to consider it?"
"There's nothing to think about." He shakes his head, holds his hands out. "I want to earn the promotion on my own, not because of what Ziva did."
Holding up the file, Shane raises her eyebrows. "I read your file. You more than earned this by merit alone. I don't understand why you've turned down so many promotions over the years. I think it might be an agency record."
The words pinball around Tony's brain. He sits stock-still and staring at her.
So many promotions over the years?
"What are you talking about?" he asks. "The last promotion I was offered was in Rota, but that was five years ago. At least, I think it was. It was a long time ago."
Shane drops her eyes to the file. "That's not what it says here. You turned down seven…no wait, eight offers. Coronado. Seoul. Great Lakes. Okinawa. Cherry…" Her voice trails off when he releases a little strangled gasp. "Don't you remember?"
Tony's eyes are huge. "Remember? I never even knew about them."
Shane seems like she doesn't know what to say. Her expression slips into remorse and regret as Tony leans forward onto his knees. He rubs at his head, sighing hard. He isn't the kind of person to live in a what if, but for the moment, he mourns the what could have been. When he is done, he looks up at her with sad, sad eyes.
"Former Director Vance signed off on the declinations." She says as though it explains everything. And it does. "He cites, 'personal reasons' each time. I guess it's safe to assume those personal reasons belonged to Former Director Vance."
Tony runs his tongue along his teeth. "So, it would seem."
"In light of recent events, I understand why you might not be ready to leave your team. When you are ready, please let me know." She shifts back in her chair, crossing her arms. "It shouldn't be difficult to find you a placement in your first choice of location."
"I'll keep it in mind, ma'am. Thank you."
When Shane's eyes glide toward the door, Tony understands their time is finished. She returns to reviewing another file while Tony walks out. He is halfway to the exit when he turns back.
Shane looks up, eyes bemused. "That was quick. Did you already change your mind? I think you'll find that Italy is beautiful in the springtime."
Tony chokes on an awkward laugh. "I'm sure it is, but that wasn't on my mind. I was wondering if…" he shakes his head, sounding surer this time "…when I'm ready for a transfer. Would it be possible to have Agent McGee come too? If he wants to, of course. It's just after what happened, I think he's one of the few people I trust implicitly have my six."
"Do you mean like you and Agent McGee as a package deal?"
"Yeah."
Puffing out her cheeks, she reaches toward another file on her desk. She slides it over and reads it slowly while he watches her carefully. When she is done reviewing it, she puffs out her cheeks.
"That would be a hard sell," Shane admits. "Given his history with Internal Affairs and Former Director Vance, Agent McGee comes with a lot of baggage. He is a good agent with a lot of promise and his work for returning to field duty is commendable. But his career is severely off-track. It might take years for him to be up for a promotion. A lateral move might happen if he continues the work." She sighs quietly. "Though, if you're serious…"
Tony just looks at her. "Did McGee turn down any promotions?"
Shane makes a face before dropping her eyes to the file. "Three. One for a Cyber position in Okinawa and two for field positions in London and Singapore. All of them were signed off by Former Director Vance citing personal reasons."
Tony groans loudly. Of course, Vance had sabotaged them to keep the team together for Ziva's gain. But Tony still doesn't understand why they didn't just let him transfer, especially since Ziva had planned to kill him outright. He swallows hard, trying not to think about the questions that will likely go forever unanswered and at the future he never got to have.
I still don't know if I would've been able to leave Gibbs if I had the chance.
"You still feel responsible?" Shane lets the for McGee go unspoken.
She'll never know about Ziva David's threat about how a few well-placed words will send Tim to prison for espionage. She'll never know about the how Ziva still has over him despite being incarcerated hundreds of miles away. Tony will never allow it to impact how he does his job, but he'll do what he needs to keep his teammate safe. He failed Tim once already and he isn't about to do it again.
Tony scuffs a shoe against the floor. "I am responsible. A lot of what happened was my fault. If I'd done my job better, it never would've happened."
Shane jumps to her feet. "That isn't true, and you know it."
"It sure doesn't feel that way."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
The days pass quickly as Tony falls into the comfortable rhythm that is life with his team. Regina George must be amenable to Tim's request to take things slowly because she becomes an almost daily fixture in the bullpen. Tim and Tony work cases like old partners that were never ripped apart by Ziva's spying. The normal might be new, but it feels as comfortable to Tony as his latest designer suit.
Slowly, he comes to love the way normal tastes.
He hangs onto it as best he can because he knows it won't last.
It never does.
One day, Tony stands in the bullpen while stretching out his lower back. Schuyler Harris darts into the bullpen at breakneck speed. His dark hair flops over his forehead as he draws to a stop. Harris' good eye is narrowed. Tony can't ignore the way Tim half-rises from his seat or how Brahe tilts forward. Or the way Gibbs listens, eyebrows raised and head tilted while reading a report.
"We need to talk," Harris hisses. "Privately."
Tony slips out from behind his desk without a word. He nods at Gibbs to convey that he'll be right back.
Tony and Harris head into the elevator. Tony doesn't know where Harris intended to take him, but Tony hits the emergency stop. Harris blinks at the buzzing alarm and the low lights before he turns Tony.
"The elevator?" He sounds confused.
Tony points to the wall and the ceiling. "It's the only place that never gets bugged."
Harris' expression appears as though he never considered that.
"What's so urgent, Harris?" Tony asks.
Harris draws himself to his full height before he groans loudly. "Agent Fornell contacted me this morning. Ziva David no longer wishes to confess to him. Apparently, she said that he has 'crawled into her organs.' Which I believe means he has gotten under her skin. She said that she'll only confess to us. And it has to be tomorrow. If not, she'll request that her case go to trial."
Of course, it didn't last. Normal never does.
The silence between them stretches for what feels like an eternity. Harris never moves a muscle. Tony wonders if the man even breathes. He keeps his back ramrod straight, his eyes fixed on the door.
Tony should be reeling from the sudden change in events, but he isn't. He expected something like this would happen. Normal, for him, never stood a chance. If anything, he wonders what took her so long to try and back out of a plea deal. How did Ziva let them believe they could ever be truly free.
Harris' voice is barely audible. "Will you come?"
Tony makes a face. "Do I even have a choice?"
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
That night, Tony ends up tucked away in Gibbs' basement. He needs somewhere safe, a place to unwind and pretend like the world isn't about to fall apart all over again. Tomorrow, he'll be strong. Tomorrow, he'll do whatever is asked of him.
Right now, he just wants some company and an old friend.
He doesn't tell Gibbs what or how he is supposed to be to road trip with Harris to a supermax prison at the same time the team is scheduled to attend a course on sensitivity in the workplace. Maybe he'll call out sick. Maybe he'll…he doesn't know quite how he'll handle it just yet.
On their usual nights together, Gibbs and Tony drink bourbon and talk about nothing of real importance. Wood types and sanding techniques and how to carve a shape from a block of wood. Movies and scripts and how those actors and actresses from the forties used to do that weird warble with their voices.
For their last few nights together, Tony worked on carving a wood block into a mermaid for the front of Gibbs' boat. The more Tony works at it, the more it ends up resembling a moose. Tony is trying to reshape the antlers into the arms they're supposed to be. It isn't going well.
From his spot under the hull, Gibbs asks: "Have you heard from Ziva?"
Tony nearly takes off his thumb with the knife. "No, Boss. Not at all."
There's a long pause before Gibbs slides out from under the hull. He stares at Tony for a long time until the younger man drops his eyes to the twisted wood in his hands. Maybe it's turning out more like a manatee than anything else. A manatee with horns.
"You don't need to meet with her," Gibbs says.
Tony won't look at him. "How did you know?"
Gibbs stays quiet.
"It was Fornell, wasn't it?" Gibbs' silence speaks for him. Tony's grip tightens around the knife handle. "What am I supposed to do, Boss? Should I let Ziva pull out of the deal that's currently keeping McGee out of prison? Am I just supposed to turn my back on a teammate?"
"I don't know, Tony." Gibbs sounds so conflicted.
When Tony looks at his boss, Gibbs looks nothing like the man from the bullpen. Instead, Gibbs looks old and wrung out and dog-tired. His dirty sweatshirt hangs off him like a hanger. Tony hadn't even realized how much of a toll the whole ordeal took on him.
Tony clears his throat. "I know how to take one for the team. I thought that's what you would've wanted. I thought it would make you happy."
"It is and it does." Gibbs sighs quietly. "And Tony?"
Tony is studying the manatee. "Yeah, boss?"
"You did good." A long pause. "I'm proud of you."
Tony hates it when Gibbs is nice. Everything always feels so wrong, but at least, Gibbs is trying. Tony smiles morosely at the lump of wood in his hands.
Gibbs sidles next to him. "That's a nice-looking whale."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Tomorrow comes far quicker than Tony expects. He spends the whole night staring at his bedroom ceiling, wondering how he could himself believe the lie.
Normal, no matter how much he wants it, doesn't happen to Tony DiNozzo.
The day is already shaping up to be a bad one. Even the sky is angry with its slate grey, swollen clouds. The air is thick and freezing, the sidewalks slick with ice.
Tony doesn't bother with the bullpen. Right now, it would be buzzing with activity and excitement. The inter-agency trainings have a tendency to do that. Doughnuts and coffee and the team discussing just what they're expected to learn before they spend the whole day in a lecture sleeping with their eyes open or doodling on their notepads or texting each other stupid jokes. Tony won't even pretend because he doesn't know how he will deal with Ziva right now. If it's enough to make Harris worried, Tony might as well be too.
Tony meets Harris in the agency garage.
They don't speak while Harris signs out a pool car. His body is tight, his motions quick and efficient. Harris claims the driver's seat while Tony folds himself into the passenger side. Tony turns on the radio to settle for an old Frank Sinatra station. Harris quickly changes it to country music.
Outside the garage, the world is still a strange grey like the hour nears twilight despite being mid-morning. Tony can't tell where the concrete buildings end and the sky stars. To the west, the sky is blackening with the promise of a late winter storm. It wasn't supposed to snow today. That cute meteorologist on Channel Five promised clear skies for the rest of the week.
And I almost believed her.
Tony and Harris are settled into a strange sort of silence with a country singer's crooning pumping out of the radio. They head west on the highway as the city slowly melts away into snow-covered farmland that stretches for miles. The trip is going smoothly, but Tony refuses to say it out loud. He doesn't want to jinx it. He doesn't want anything to happen.
As soon as he thinks they may have missed the storm, the snow comes, hard and fast. Thick, fat snowflakes tumble from the sky like drunken ballerinas. When Harris turns on the wipers, they squick squick against the windshield. This must be what being stuck in a snow globe is like.
The car drifts into the opposite lane. Harris is squinting at the windshield.
"Pull over," Tony says. "I'll drive."
Clipping a nod, Harris pulls onto the shoulder. He and Tony switch spots, darting through the snow to the opposite sides of the car. Thankfully, Harris doesn't make a big deal about it. Though, he clenches his jaw and settles deeper into his brooding. He stares out the passenger side window.
Tony guides the car back onto the road. He drives for a little while before he clears his throat.
"'In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king,'" Tony quotes.
Looking over, Harris frowns. "Minority Report, huh? That's one I haven't seen in a while."
"Then I guess we know what we'll watch next." Tony smirks at him. "You'll like it. Just like you enjoyed The Parent Trap with Hayley Mills."
"I said that it wasn't that bad. I still prefer Lindsay Lohan."
Clutching his hand to his chest, Tony fake gasps. "Then, I guess we can't be friends anymore."
Harris laughs. "It would be nice to actually be king."
"The last I heard you might as well be with your promotion."
That makes Harris laugh harder. "I'm a team lead in Internal Affairs. No one liked me before and now, everyone hates me. I can't pretend like it's my boss who gave me the orders. I'm the one giving them. So it's good and bad. You know, I still don't understand why you turned down that promotion Shane offered you."
Tony rubs at the back of his neck. He doesn't know how Harris found out that Edie Shane offered Tony his own team in Naples, but the Internal Affairs agent has a knack for knowing everything. It must comes with the job. As much as he wished he could accept it, Tony felt like the promotion would leave blood on his hands. He couldn't take the promotion because then it would be thanks to Ziva.
He bites his lip. "I'm exactly where I need to be. Just like you are."
"Truer words were never spoken." Harris sounds like he doesn't believe it. "Though, the transfer has been treating me well."
"You have been spending a lot of time at Chuck's place."
Harris' smile borders on nostalgic. And Tony thinks that's the closest to a real one that he's ever seen.
"I haven't spent this kind of time with him since before I joined the Corps," Harris admits.
And with that, Harris closes the door onto his life again. They take the miles in silence with the country singer still crooning about the woes of his old pick-up truck needing an oil change.
As the car feasts on asphalt, the visibility worsens, and the road grows slippery. Tony goes slower than the speed limit because the snow is coming harder now. It feels like they're inching along. While it isn't a complete white-out condition, it's close enough. Harris would've never made it on his own.
Harris awkwardly clears his throat. "Should we talk about Ziva?"
Tony drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Then, he shrugs.
Harris takes it as an invitation. "Do you think she'll actually confess? Or is she screwing with us?"
"I think she'll do what she says, but there'll be a catch." Tony shakes his head. "There's always a catch."
"Like what she did with McGee?"
"Yeah." Tony lifts his chin in thought. "Just before we walk in there, what dirt could she have on you?"
Crossing his arms, Harris turns to look out the window. He shakes his head, his lips pulled into a tight line. Then, he turns fully away from Tony.
"I don't have anything," he says quietly.
Tony starts, "Schuyler…"
"You know how much I hate when you call me that," Harris says quietly. "But no, I have nothing. I don't have a boyfriend anymore. My family is dead. I don't have friends. I – "
"Hey!" Tony snaps. "What do you call me and McGee?"
Harris looks over as if he never considered it. "Well, I have friends who can take care of themselves."
"Fine, I'll accept that." Tony is squinting through the windshield.
"Look, Tony, I know it's hard to believe, but I'm Internal Affairs. We aren't particularly well liked. Anyone close to me is a potential target. Anyone I care about becomes a liability." He sighs quietly. "I don't want anyone I care about to get hurt again. All I have is Uncle Chuck and I doubt many people know about him."
Tony raises his eyebrows. "How are you okay with that?"
Harris glances over, good eye blazing. "How can you be okay with Ziva holding McGee's freedom over you?"
"I'm not." Tony licks his lips. "But I'd rather have a friend to protect for than nothing at all."
That causes the remaining color to drain from Harris' face. He leans back in the seat in a stunned sort of silence as he crosses his arms to his chest. His body wracks with a heavy sigh.
After that, they don't speak. The snow pours down on them and if he weren't driving, Tony would admit that the world looks beautiful. The highway is slick and unpaved in spots. They make it to the prison just as the snow is slowing and darkness begins to peer out from behind the mountains.
Tony parks the car as far away from the prison as he can. If anything, he needs extra time to let the situation settle into his head. He has driven hundreds of miles to listen to Ziva David confess. Tony wants to believe it, but there is something…there is always something.
Tony and Harris move mechanically through the parking lot. The sky is stone grey now and the snow has stopped, but the slush piles in the parking lot are blackened. When they head through the front door, Tony isn't surprised by the smell of sweat and must and recycled air. The interior is hotter than hell. He loosens his tie and shrugs off his jacket.
They go through the motions of checking their identification. Tony leaves his service weapon with the desk clerk. As they move through the checkpoints, the doors clang behind them with a sense of foreboding. Tony feels as though he might be in a movie.
Their escort is the same gap-toothed woman as before. She throws Harris a look that borders on lewd.
If only she knew…
"I'm surprised you lot came back," she says. "Especially to see that one again. She's grown into a nasty piece of work. She threw the last guy out of here so fast he nearly landed on his ass."
"Agent Fornell?" Harris asks.
Their escort shrugs. "He was a short bald guy with a cheap suit who thinks he's funny."
"That would be Fornell," Tony says, and Harris nods.
After their escort leads them to the interview room, she leans up against the wall. She is staring at Harris meaningfully with a grin on her face.
"If you need help, I'm right here." She raises her chin. "Good luck."
Tony smiles. "We'll be fine."
Without another word, Tony and Harris head into the interview room. Ziva David waits at the table. If he didn't know better, he would think it's just another day in the bullpen. She appears well-rested, her hair washed and her skin tone, pale and even. Tony hates to say it, but prison looks good on her.
Pressing his lips together, Tony looks toward the cinderblock wall. He could walk away. Right now. He could skip playing whatever game she is playing. He could wait in the car until Harris is done the interview and then, he could drive them both back to Washington.
But I can't…
Whatever she is playing at, he needs to find out. If he doesn't, it will keep him up at night. If he doesn't, she could play her hand and send Tim McGee to prison. If he doesn't, she'll likely find her way out of jail and come back for them.
Right now, she is locked up and McGee is free. If I play along, I might keep it that way.
Still, he can't find the words.
It's Harris who moves to the table first. He slides into the only open seat across from her. When Tony looks back at them, Ziva studies Harris' scar as if she could imagine what caused it. The look in her eyes makes Tony wonder if she is trying to determine how to leave another one.
"Ms. David," Harris says.
Ziva smiles at him. "Agent Harris. It is nice to see you again."
Harris' good eyebrow jumps. "I wish I could say the same. I understand you're ready to confess to the charges of espionage."
"Yes, I am ready," she says. "Though I will be confessing to you and Tony because I do not wish to speak to Fornell any longer. He is burrowed into my organs."
"Gotten under your skin," Harris corrects. "Just so we're clear, you will be confessing to Agent DiNozzo and me, but the terms of your confession are still subject to the FBI. Agent Fornell will be the one continuing to work on your case. We are only enabling the confession at your request. Do you understand?"
Ziva raises her chin. "That I do."
"Good," Harris says. "I will be recording out conversation."
Harris removes his recording device from his pocket. At the check-in desk, that was one of the only personal items that survived the desk clerk's scrutiny. They even confiscated Harris' pen. In lieu of it, they gave him a tiny golf pencil. He pulls out with his well-worn notebook.
His finger hovers over the Record button, but Ziva clucks her tongue. He glances up, good eyebrow furrowed and expression set with annoyance.
Tony runs his hand through his hair. Holds his breath.
Here it comes. I knew it.
"You may record my confession, Agent Harris." Ziva leans back in her chair, eyes roving to meet Tony's gaze. "I believe you would prefer to keep our pleasantries on a CD."
Harris raises his good eyebrow. "Don't you mean 'off the record?'"
"Perhaps." She shrugs with one shoulder. "I believe you should hear the terms of my confession."
Harris places his material on the table before he looks at her. He holds out his hands, palms up, in placation. That makes her lean back in her chair and smirk.
Tony can't look away because he knew it was coming. He knew they were about to get played but still, he can't believe it's happening. He can't believe Ziva will still manage to have a hold over them.
It was supposed to be over. We were supposed to be done.
"I'm listening," Harris says.
Ziva raises her eyebrows, eyes still on Tony. "And Tony?"
"Yeah." Tony's voice is rough like sandpaper.
"I will tell you what Fornell would like to know." She places her hands on the table. "It will not all be today. There is too much. There will be additional visits. There – "
"That's not how this works," Harris interrupts.
Ziva chuckles. "There is much information that I will be able to provide. Secrets that Mossad does not wish the United States to know. Information I will tell. Gladly." Her eyes dart between both of them. "I can be useful again."
"And what do you get out of it?" Tony asks.
"A visit from a face I recognize." The grin she levels at Tony borders on disconcerting. "Two faces whom I know well. I find this place to be good for me. I have found a place here, but I do, at times, find it lonely without someone whose mind cannot match mine."
Harris throws Tony a bewildered look.
The news makes Tony swallow hard. He knew there would be a catch, but he didn't expect that Ziva wanted a visit from a friend.
"You leave McGee out of this," Tony says.
Ziva nods quickly. "I give you my word."
"And I'm just supposed to take it?" Tony laughs grimly. "After everything?"
"It is all I have."
Tony crosses his arms. His heart sinks straight to his knees, but it can't be helped. A deal with the devil herself to save a friend. If it leaves Tim a free man, Tony will do what he must to keep his friend safe. Even if it means playing besties with Ziva while she confesses her and Mossad's sins.
"We'll make it work," Tony whispers.
Ziva turns to Harris. "I wish to hear Agent Harris say it."
Harris makes a disgusted face but in the end, he bites out: "Fine, I agree to the terms. Social calls in exchange for information. What kind of show is Agent Fornell running?"
"The kind he always does," Tony says.
Harris looks over, his good eye widened. And suddenly, they're like two castaways on a deserted island. Bound together by fate and the mercy of the ocean.
He goes to turn on the recording device, but Ziva shakes her head again.
"I have an additional term, Agent Harris," she says. "I trust those men who your friend owes money to have not come for a visit, yes?"
Harris' expression darkens, his voice turning thunderous. He tucks the golf pencil into his sleeve. He looks like he might stab Ziva with it.
"You leave Uncle Chuck alone!" he barks. "He isn't part of this!"
"Then it is wise that you shall enjoy our visit as much as Tony shall." She smiles cruelly again. "You Americans are most strange with how you consider your family. I still do not understand how a man you are not related by blood is one you consider an uncle." She pauses for a moment, lip jutted in thought. "Or how a man can be referred to as 'Chuck.'"
"You told Agent Fornell you were ready to confess." Harris jabs his pointer finger at his notebook. "Are you going to do that? Did you bring us here just to mess with us?"
Ziva nods carefully. "I am following my fathers' order to confess. I am to remain here until I am summoned by Mossad. Just as my father advised Leon Vance to surrender when Agent Fornell came for him. The situation is to be resolved cleanly for Mossad."
"And for you?" Harris asks.
Her silence speaks for her.
Harris scrubs a hand across his face. He looks like he's about to be sick.
Tony leans against the wall as though it could keep him upright. His head is reeling with everything happening. His hands are balled into fists, his entire body rigid. Tony remains quiet as he ponders how he and Harris ended up stuck in the same web. Each trying to save a friend…
Leaning forward, Ziva catches Harris' attention. He glares at her.
"Today, I will tell you of a terrorist cell in Maryland. Mossad is aware of it, but they have not informed the United States yet." She licks her lips. "Then, I will explain how I accessed the NCIS database to obtain their files for Mossad. It is like I have stated. I will tell you everything that I know, but it cannot be all at once. There is too much. I promise to make myself useful again."
With a resigned sigh, Harris is poised to hit Record on his device. But for some reason, he doesn't. He just sits them as Ziva turns her attention to Tony.
Ziva watches him, careful and cautious. Tony ignores the urge to play with his sleeve. He wants to keep his cool, even if he feels anything but. The moment is strange, almost like they could be back in the bullpen if he ignores the cinderblock walls and the orange jumpsuit and the reek of the prison air. In her eyes, Tony catches a flash of the past. The memory of who she used to be, of what they used to be, of everything they went through threatens to strangle him.
She must feel it too because her expression edges into something Tony can't quite place.
"You are well, Tony?" Her voice is delicate.
He swallows hard. "You look like you're doing okay."
"I remain where I am ordered." She raises her eyebrows. "You are thinking of me, yes?"
The expectant expression on her face curdles Tony's insides. Even though the question should be full of life and emotion, her words are still cold and dead. Tony's blood feels as though it's ice in his veins. He settles into his stance, raising his chin as he watches her.
But what is a little lie if it saves a friend?
He nods like a broken wind-up toy. "Every. Single. Day."
"That I am most pleased to hear. Now, tell me, how is McGee?"
