Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his Mustang, Tony rubs the back of his neck. The neighborhood outside the Navy Yard stretches around his car like a tapestry of desolation. Abandoned concrete warehouses and forgotten factories make up the bulk of Southwest. Here and there, he finds pockets of civilization. But on this night, at this hour, he feels like the last man on earth.

He waits at the red light. Stares at the empty intersection.

Beside him, Kate haunts the passenger seat.

He doesn’t look over because if he keeps his eyes on the red light, he won’t see her. If he doesn’t look, she isn’t actually there.

No matter how many times he says she isn’t real, she is still there with her wide eyes and that bullet hole in her forehead.

“Why’d you tell Gibbs that Ziva couldn’t join the team?” Kate’s voice sounds nothing like her real one.

He ignores her, eyes still fixed on that red light.

“I can tell it’s bothering you.” Kate is still talking. “You’re being weird. Well, weirder than usual.”

Tony sets his jaw. “Am not.”

“Are too," she replies.

And with that, Tony presses the gas pedal and runs the red light. No one comes to give him a ticket because there isn’t another living person-let alone a police officer-on the entire block.

He drives the Mustang to…

He doesn’t know where he is headed. Just somewhere that he can find proof of why Ziva David can’t join the team. Maybe if he drives far enough, Kate’s ghost will stop bothering him.

“You don’t trust her,” Kate says.

Tony glances at her out of the corner of his eye. From where she sits, Kate appears exactly the way she did in life. She wears that no-nonsense pant suit she liked to wear to court because it made her look professional and serious. Her hair perfectly styled to her shoulders. She isn’t even transparent like movie ghosts. The only indication that she shouldn’t be here is the neat little hole in the center of her forehead. As if to make the point, a drop of blood lazily weeps from it.

She appears to be ready for just another day at the office. After death, Tony wants to believe she would have something more interesting to do. When he dies, Tony would like to think he could hang around the women’s locker room at the gym, lurk around the old movie theater by his place, or haunt his favorite bar. There must be something more exciting for Kate to do than to go back to work.

If I have to work cases after I’m dead, so help me…

“’Why don’t you go haunt a house?” Tony quips. “’Rattle some chains or something.’”

Kate raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know that one.”

“Ghost.” Tony throws her a meaningful look. “Patrick Swayze. Demi Moore. Guy is murdered and spends the whole movie trying to warn his girlfriend. Though, he talks to the medium who is played by Whoopi Goldberg.” He makes a face to himself. “There’s no way you’re Patrick Swayze and I’m Whoopi Goldberg. Hell no…”

“And you think I’m here to warn you?” Kate laughs.

Tony glances back at the street in front of him. He hadn’t noticed that he drives in circles and by all accounts, he is talking to himself. Tony tries to lean into that feeling of doubt. He wouldn’t be seeing—hallucinating—Kate if it weren’t for something big. His lower gut rumbles as if he ate a bad burrito or too much pizza. He never knows exactly what is going on until there is a giant aha moment where everything comes perfectly into focus. But right now, he is talking to the ghost of his dead teammate. Focus isn't even on the map.

Kate shifts in her seat. “Why can’t you trust Ziva? Gibbs obviously does.”

That simmers in the car for a long time. As if on reflex, Tony points the car west towards Maryland.

“Because he never trusted anyone that fast.” He throws her a look. “Sure as hell, not me. Not even you and he let you join the team with almost no pushback. Don’t you remember how hard it was for him to take on McGee?”

Kate laughs. “I remember the first time he had to send his own e-mail.”

“And when we didn’t have his cell phone ‘rebooted.’” Tony laughs too. “All he kept saying was ‘reboot it.’ I’m surprised we convinced him that we needed another teammate. You took so long with the background searches that it pissed Gibbs off.”

“Me?” Kate presses her hand over her heart. “That was you.”

Tony wears a shit-eating grin. “I always annoy Gibbs. It comes with the job.”

They drive in silence for what feels like a long time.

“I miss you,” Tony announces into the quiet.

Kate smiles sadly before replying. “I know.”

As Tony drives through the dark side streets, the silence lingers between them. A song by the Rat Pack wafts out of the speakers, but it’s low enough that Tony can’t make out the words. It doesn’t take long before Tony reaches his intended destination. He pulls into a small parking lot that is half-filled with older Hondas and Toyotas. The vintage Mustang sticks out like Tony in his designer suit.

They’re deep in Silver Spring in front of an older, brick apartment building. Some of the windows still have air conditioners jutting out of them.

When he glances over at the passenger seat, Kate is staring out the window. Seeing his teammate’s ghost should scare the hell out of him, but he finds it oddly comforting.

“Why did you come to get McGee?” Kate asks.

Tony nods quickly. “Because I’m going to prove to Gibbs why we can’t trust Ziva if it’s the last thing I do. And for that, I need back-up.” When Kate points to her chest, he smiles warily. “Back-up that isn’t as see through as your shirt in a wet t-shirt contest.”

That leaves her rolling her eyes. And then, she vanishes before his eyes. Tony stares at the empty seat as if she was never there in the first place.

What the fuck?

Climbing out of the car, he slides out in the warm fall night. The day’s heat still lingers in the air, but there is an icy bite as the temperature drops. He tugs his dress coat closer to his body. Under the dim glow of the sulfuric lights, he hustles through the parking lot. His eyes glide around the cars, searching for Kate, but she doesn’t come back. He wants to sigh with relief, but he misses her.

The three floors up to Tim McGee’s walk-up leaves Tony breathless. His lungs heave with the effort on the last few steps when he tries to keep up his speed. He was benched with the plague a few months ago—of course he was lucky enough to catch a medieval illness in modern times—and his doctors told him he would bounce back.

He pauses at the top of the stairs, doubled-over with his hands on his knees and panting. His doctors never told him exactly what that meant.

Once he catches his breath, he heads down the poorly lit hallway of the apartment building Tim calls home. The door looks the same as the last time he was here…when he came with Kate Todd. The living, breathing Kate Todd, not whatever is haunting him right now. It wasn’t that long ago. Really. Mere months and now, she is cold and gone. His own body scarred and ravaged by the plague.

They were different people then. They were healthy and alive, whole.

Shaking his head, he clears his head.

Tony knocks on the door, hard and hollow.

Behind the door, Tim barks, “I’m just walking! Quiet hours don’t start for twenty minutes!”

Brow furrowed, Tony stares at the door. He never heard Tim sound so angry before. Maybe that’s the problem with living in a cheap apartment building like this one. You hear people wandering around their apartment and it probably sounds like elephants wearing tap shoes. Tony lives on the top floor—I just adore a penthouse view—and in his pre-war building, it isn’t a problem.

He knocks again, harder this time.

Inside, there is a slamming noise. Then, the sound of thudding footsteps toward the door. From where Tony stands, it really sound like an elephant wearing tap shoes. He hopes Tim is doing it to prove a point because Tony doesn’t want him sneaking up on a suspect like that.

 “I’m allowed to walk in my own apartment,” Tim snaps through the door.

“It’s me, Probie,” Tony says. "Open up."

Just beneath the door, Tony catches the shadow of Tim’s figure. He must be looking through the peephole to check who dropped by. Tony throws out his arms theatrically.

“Open sesame!” he nearly shouts.

 From inside the apartment comes a strangled gasp followed by a “Tony!?”

“The one and only!” Tony knocks again for good measure.

On the other side of the door comes the unclicking of locks. One chain, two regular locks followed by a deadbolt—who knew Silver Spring was such a rough area—before the door swings open. Tony still stands there with his hands thrown out, a rictus grin on his face.

“’Here’s Johnny,’” he draws out, laughing.

Tim pokes out his head, face framed by the door, and Tony can’t see into this apartment. Despite what he says about how he is handling Kate’s death, Tim looks all wrong under the low lights of the hallway. His expression is drawn, cheeks pale, and face creased.

Could Kate be bothering him too?

Tony tries to keep the tone light. “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

Tim considers it for a moment. Tony takes a heavy step toward the apartment to show that he can play elephant too. Seeming to realize he can’t say no to Tony—because who can?—Tim releases a quiet sigh and slides out of the way.

Tony steps into the apartment, surprised to find the only light comes from a computer screen where a scene of a rolling field is displayed. On the desktop, there is an open box of Frosted Fossils—now with even more marshmallow dinos. When Tony notices Tim’s MIT shirt and boxers, he presses his lips together to keep himself from laughing. Tim makes it way too easy sometimes.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Don’t you own pants, McGee?”

Tim throws him a death glare. “You didn’t come over here to insult my clothing choices.”

Tony cracks a wry smile. “Clothing is clearly optional.”

The annoyance settles deeper onto Tim’s face as he puts one hand on Tony’s shoulder to shove the senior agent back into the hallway. Tony rolls his body to the left, a move from his college football days and delves deeper into Tim’s personal space. He heads for the bookshelf where he reads the titles to see what was made into a movie. Tony finds out by Ian Fleming, Dr. No. Tim rips it out of his hands before shoving back onto the shelf.

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Tim bites out. “Do we have a case?”

Tony grabs another Ian Fleming book. “Not quite. I need your help with something.”

As Tony flips through pages of From Russia With Love, he is surprised that Tim doesn’t snatch that book away too. When he looks up, Tim is watching him with confused interest. The younger man’s mouth is pulled into a tiny o and his eyebrow is raised. Tony is walking the fine line between playing it cool and trying to convince Tim to help.

Tony throws out his hands. “’Probie-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.’”

Tim’s eyes narrow. “Look Tony, if you can’t even take it seriously then – “

“Oh come on, McGee,” Tony interrupts. “It’s from Star Wars. You, of all people, must have seen Star Wars. You know, the big hairy guy and Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher in the bikini.”

Tim’s cheeks redden. “I know.”

Tony throws him a dirty wink. Rolling his eyes, Tim snatches the book out of Tony’s hand. They stare at each other for a long moment. Tony almost daring Tim to ask what needs because the senior agent isn’t quite ready to say it out loud. Tim’s eyes squint, his chin lifts. Tony channels his inner-Gibbs, trying to keep his face impassive and his body neutral. The only thing to break the tense silence is the whirr of Tim’s computer fan. Tony wants to fill the space between them with noise.

He takes a deep breath.

Tim cracks first. “What’s going on, Tony?”

“We’re doing surveillance for Gibbs.” Tony’s eyes slide up and down Tim’s body. “But you’re going to have to put on pants first. Assuming you have any.”

Tim’s lips twitch downward. That comment earns Tony an eyeroll as Tim disappears into the bedroom. While he’s gone, Tony searches through the bookshelf. There are quite a few novels he has on his own movie shelf at home. Who knew there were so many James Bond books? But then again, who knew there could be so many movies.

When Tim returns, he wears a pair of work pants and an oxford shirt. The colors are tragic—dark brown pants and a light blue dress shirt—but Tony can’t save every fashion victim. Not everyone was born with Tony’s fashion sense where a black Zegna suit and a crisp white shirt and black skinny tie could be a uniform. When Tim reaches for a tie draped over his computer, Tony clicks his tongue and shakes his head. Even in the dark, Tony catches the ugly pattern. Ignoring him, Tim puts the tie on anyway.

“Who’s the target?” Tim asks.

Tony fiddles with his own tie because he can’t stand the sight of that thing Tim wraps around his neck. It might be a good distraction for when Tony needs to voice his concerns about Ziva David aloud. He never thought how crazy his theory would sound when he told Tim. He just knew he couldn’t do it with Kate’s ghost talking him through the operation.

“Ziva David,” Tony says as though it explains everything.

Tim blinks slowly. “Do you mean the Mossad operative? She seemed nice when I met her.”

Tony’s eyebrows jump. “She’s a spy, McGee. They aren’t nice. They’re trained.”

Tim opens his mouth. Closes it again.

Tony gestures at the book that Tim just put on the shelf. From Russia with Love. Then, he quotes in his best Sean Connery accent: “’There’s a saying in England. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’”

Tim just looks at him. “You’re going to have to give me more than that, Tony.”

With a quiet sigh, Tony begins to regret coming here. Maybe he should have gone to watch Ziva David on his own. To put surveillance on an operative alone would have been insane and dangerous and downright suicidal, but it would have been easier than staring into Tim’s confused eyes. Tony often forgets how green Tim still is until moments like now.

"She killed her own brother,” Tony says.

“Because Ari was trying to kill Gibbs. Because he killed Kate.” Tim’s brow furrows before the confusion settles deeper. “How could you possibly know that they were related? I didn't see that in the file...”

“I looked at her,” Tony says as though it explains everything.

Tim’s eyebrows climb into his hairline.

Tony pushes a breath through his teeth. “When I talked to her, she wouldn’t look me in the eye. It was almost like she was trying to keep a secret.”

“She’s Mossad, Tony. Those people have secrets.” Tim inhales deeply. "Lost of them."

“This was different.” Tony steeples his hands. “I can’t explain it. What are the odds there are two Israeli superspy types show up at NCIS in less than a week. We hadn’t even met someone from Mossad before Kate died. And now, they’re everywhere.”

Tim crosses his arms. “She came to claim Ari’s body and smooth over relations with NCIS.”

Tony fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. Tim might be naïve, but this is taking things to a whole new level even for him.

“I checked the flight manifests,” Tony says quietly. “She was already in the country.”

When Tim just stays quiet, Tony plays the real reason he knows. He might have had a hunch and some loosely connected evidence, but he hadn’t really known.

“I told Gibbs my theory.”

Tony pauses for a moment, uncertain if he should say it. Tim leans forward.

Tony exhales. “And he didn’t deny it.”

That causes Tim’s mouth to gape. When he recovers, he offers: “Maybe she killed Art to protect Gibbs and avenge Kate.”

Tony throws his hands out. “But why would she do that, Probie? She barely knows Gibbs and she never met Kate. She killed her own family to save someone that she doesn’t even know. Why?”

Based on the look on Tim’s face, Tony fully expects the younger man to say because she’s nice. In the end, Tim presses his hand to his chin. There is a torrent of emotion playing across his face. He runs his sock-covered foot over the floor as he looks up at Tony.

“I don’t know,” Tim admits quietly. “Maybe she didn’t agree with what Ari was doing.”

Tony shakes his head. “It wouldn’t have been her business unless….”

That catches Tim’s attention. “Unless what?”

“She was following orders.” Tony crosses his arms as he holds Tim’s gaze. “Before I came here, Gibbs told me that Ziva is joining our team on Monday.”

“Can she do that?” Tim’s brows knit together. “You have to be a citizen to work at a federal agency, but she isn’t. She hasn’t even been to FLETC. Gibbs even sent me back to Glynco for a refresher before I onboarded.”

Tony makes a face, eyebrows raised and mouth downturned as if to say that’s my point. Tim’s mouth pulls into an o again. Tony lets the words resonate between them for a long moment.

Tim sighs loudly. “This sounds like the plot to one of your movies.”

Tony’s eyes glide to Tim’s bookshelves. “Or one of your books.”

“It’s crazy,” Tim says.

To Tony, it sounds almost like Tim called him crazy. That makes Tony laugh, a little crazed and a little deranged. It doesn’t matter that Tim thinks Tony is insane, just that he is going to help.

“That’s what everyone always says.” Tony’s grin broadens. “But isn’t the truth stranger than fiction?”