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Chapter Text

It’s just another quiet night in the bullpen.

That’s all they are anymore. Quiet and still and never-ending.

Tony DiNozzo stopped counting how many days have passed since Kate Todd’s death. It could be two or it could be twenty, but he doesn’t like to think about it anymore. He doesn’t want to remember what it used to be like when she would stand in the bullpen, hands on her hips and call him….what did she always used to call him. Oh yeah, a pervert and a skirt-chaser and a misogynist. He liked to push her buttons because her nose would do that cute little wrinkle whenever she got mad.

He misses it. He misses her.

Now, the only junior agent left is the probationary agent.

Tim McGee with his usual wide-eyed and fish out of water stare. He does his work, quiet and efficient, while taking whatever harassment Tony lobs at him. He doesn’t fight back. He never fights back. If anything, Tony wants him to grow a pair and throw everything right back.

Just once I wish McGee would act like Kate.

Tony should be used to the calm and quiet, the empty desk where Kate used to work.

He doesn’t want to think about what forgetting her will be like.

He props his head up on his hand, staring out at the expanse of the bullpen. The lights are at their night levels, casting the office space in a haunting glow. If he tilts his head just right and squints at Kate’s desk, he swears she is still there. Still glaring at him with her hands on her hips and that wrinkle in her nose and calling him a skirt-chaser. That name was always his favorite.

Every day when he wakes, Tony forgets that Kate is dead. For a split second, he considers the things he can’t wait to tell her. How Abby renamed one of her pieces of lab equipment, Queen Kate. How Tim fell flat on his face into a briar patch at a crime scene on their first case after her funeral. How Gibbs is still being nice because she died and it’s driving Tony crazy.

Something digs deep in Tony’s chest. His eye itches and when he rubs it, his fingers come back moist.

“I miss you too, Katie,” he murmurs.

Kate would shoot him in the ass for calling her that, but he wouldn’t mind. If it meant that she came back even for a moment, it would be worth it. He closes his eyes, tries to picture her at her desk. His mental image of her is faded and blurry around the edges as if now, she is becoming the memory of a memory. It hasn’t been that long since she died. He shouldn’t be forgetting her already.

Skirt-chaser…

He half-smiles. “Prude.”

When he opens his eyes, the bullpen is empty. Kate’s desk abandoned and untouched, just like she left it on that fateful morning. It should be Tony’s job to pack her things, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to. Not yet and if things continue like they are, maybe not ever.

To avoid looking at her desk, he drops his eyes to his own where a desk lamp illuminates the team’s current case. Tony can’t remember what case they’re working, but it can wait until tomorrow. He already sent Tim home hours ago because the junior agent was dozing, face flat on his desk and drooling on his case file. The team has been working eighteen-hour days lately.

Sometimes, it feels as though Gibbs doesn’t want to let Tony and Tim out of his sight. As if they stray too far, they could meet the same fate—or worse—than Kate. Though, they should have nothing to worry about because that Mossad operative put down her own brother—Ari Haswari—like the rabid dog he was. And still, Gibbs pushes Tony and Tim to keep working and working and working. Even when they’re done, he will find an excuse to keep the two men inside the Navy Yard.

What am I missing?

Tapping at his chin, he considers the Mossad operative who killed her brother.

Ziva David.

There is something unsettling about her. Her timing seems too perfect, her arrival perfect to the letter. How she showed up at Gibbs’ basement as though she knew Ari Haswari would be there all along. As though she knew he would try to eliminate Gibbs in his own home.

Just how did she do it? And why?

The case should be closed and here is Tony, unable to let it go. Right now, Ari Haswari’s body should be heading back to Israel with Ziva David on hand to ensure its safe delivery. Tony even shook her hand, grinned at her pretty face, and wished her a nice flight.

And yet, there is still a certain frustration coursing through him.

It should be nothing. He tells himself that it is nothing, but it still gnaws at him. As though, there could be something more at play here.

His eyes glide to Kate’s desk.

“What if it’s all connected?” he whispers.

For a moment, he almost sees her shimmer into view. An outline, a figure, a faded memory. Kate in a suit with those kitten heels and a neat bullet hole in her forehead. He blinks and she’s gone.

“Tell me I’m crazy, Katie,” he says.

Deafening silence.

He stares at the empty space between their desks.

“’Is that crazy enough for ya?’” He quips. “’Want me to take a shit on the floor?’”

And then in his head, he hears her voice as clear as day, You’re not crazy, DiNozzo. You’re psychotic.

The thought of her voice makes him grin. “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,’ Kate. It’s your fault I had to break out my Jack. If you just answered me the first time.”

And the silence makes Tony flinch violently. Maybe the stress of work and losing a teammate and dealing with a nice Gibbs are starting to wear him down too. He scrubs his hands over his face, not surprised to find the bullpen still empty when he removes them.

Maybe he should’ve followed the advice he gave Tim. Go home. Have a drink. Get some sleep. Relax. As if Tony even knows the meaning of that word. Relax. The only thing that qualifies for him anymore is getting black out drunk while watching a movie. Maybe he won’t even remember talking to Kate in the bullpen tomorrow morning when he wakes up with a hangover.

With a half-hearted sigh, Tony takes to packing his gear.

Just as he slings on his backpack, Jethro Gibbs hustles into the bullpen. Gibbs bridles at the sight of Tony on his way out.

Gibbs glances around the bullpen. “Where’s McGee?”

“I sent him home to sleep, Boss.” Tony swallows hard. “We’re still waiting to get a hit on the BOLO from our case. There wasn’t…isn’t anything left to do.”

Gibbs throws him a sharp look. It’s something he started doing after Kate died. Trying to find things for them to do and keep them here, in his sight and under his wing.

Tony makes a face. “He’s trying, Boss…” The I am too goes unspoken.

If Gibbs catches it, he doesn’t react. He just tilts his head in a gesture to send Tony home. Without giving Gibbs a chance to change his mind, Tony heads for the elevator.

“Getting a new teammate, DiNozzo,” Gibbs calls after him.

Turning back, Tony raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Starts Monday.”

When he darts back to Gibbs’ desk, Tony can’t bear to look over at Kate’s workspace. He can’t bear the thought of going through the things that used to mean something to her.

Gibbs settles into his desk, eyes flicking upward at Tony. It isn’t an invitation to speak, but an order not to ask questions. As if that would ever stop Tony.

“Who is it?” Tony asks.

Gibbs sighs heavily. “Ziva David.”

And that name is enough to pour kerosene on that small ember of doubt burning in his gut. Now, it grows into a raging inferno. He knew there was something when he could get her out of his head. And it was more than that dangerous smile, those doe eyes and that perfectly honed figure.

“No,” Tony spits out.

His reaction is knee-jerk and not thought out. Usually, when he tells Gibbs no, there are more words and hand waving and movie quotes. Tony never says the word, no.

Gibbs half-climbs from his seat. “Whaddya mean, no?”

“She can’t be on the team, Boss.”

Gibbs rises from his chair. Stands to his full height with his chin raised and his hard gaze meeting Tony’s. Gibbs will never directly ask Tony what he thinks, but he will invite him to share his thoughts. Even though he won’t ever say the words, he’ll look at Tony just like this.

“How can she join the team, Boss?” Tony throws out his hands. “She isn’t a United States citizen, and she can’t be a federal agent. Not to mention, she’s an operative.”

Gibbs remains impassive. “Not my call.”

Tony shakes his head. “She killed her brother.”

“And?”

Tony purses his lips. Considers just how crazy his theory sounds. It’s one thing to kick it around while talking to the memory of a dead team member while delirious from a lack of sleep. It’s another to say it out loud to your boss. Still, he can’t let it go.

Gibbs tilts his head. “Spit it out, DiNozzo.”

Tony settles for: “Something doesn’t feel right.”

That causes Gibbs to read back a little. If anyone listens to their gut, it’s Jethro Gibbs. He will follow his own hunches to the ends of the earth and build cases around them. Sometimes, Tony wonders whether Gibbs would ever do the same for him.

“What if it is all a set-up?” Tony asks.

Gibbs remains silent, but there is a small crack in the impassive veneer. A tiny flicker of doubt in Gibbs’ eyes as if he might’ve considered the same idea. Tony just stands there with his hand clasped around his backpack as he lets the point resonate. The silence stretches until it gnaws at him and suddenly, he becomes desperate to fill it.

“’His brain has not only been washed as they say…it has been dry cleaned,’” Tony quips.

Gibbs still stays quiet.

“It’s from The Manchurian Candidate, Boss. Laurence Harvey and Frank Sinatra. One of Old Blue Eyes’ best movies. Guy gets turned into a spy and infiltrates the US government.”

Gibbs raises his chin. “You’re saying she’s a plant?”

And Tony hadn’t expected Gibbs to try and destroy his theory with a wrecking ball. He had hoped that Gibbs would be more subtle with his wording, maybe consider things to be a little less black and white. Though if anything, Tony should know better by now. If you challenge an order from Gibbs, you better have enough evidence to convince him. And here, Tony is trying to do just that with a gut feeling and a conspiracy theory he cooked up in the last five minutes.

For a split second, he swears he sees Kate smirking at her desk. Tony flicks his gaze back to Gibbs.

Gibbs lifts his chin. “Then prove it.”

“I need a few weeks and I can – “  

“You have twenty-four hours,” Gibbs interrupts.

Tony shakes his head. “Come on, Boss. You and I know both know there is something going on here. If you want to really give me a shot, I need time. Twenty-four hours isn’t enough. And it’s Tuesday night. She doesn’t even start until Monday.”

“Fine.” Gibbs’ face pinches. “Seventy-two hours.”

Tony throws Gibbs a mock salute. “On it, Boss.”

It might not be much time, but that is the best he’ll get from Gibbs. Any chance is better than being forced into a teammate he won’t be able to trust. He starts towards the elevator because he already feels the minutes ticking past. And he doesn’t have much—anything—to go on.

With the new mission on his mind, Tony moves back to his desk. He’ll plan his own operation from the comfort of his apartment where Gibbs won’t be able to watch him. He pauses by his desk to snatch the Ari Haswari and Caitlin Todd files from the top drawer of his desk. He is almost out of the bullpen when Gibbs calls after him.

When Tony turns back, Gibbs is standing next to his desk.

Just beside him lingers the ghost of Caitlin Todd.  

Kate wears a pantsuit and a furrowed brow. At the sight of her, Tony rears back. Nearly falls flat on his ass.

She smiles sweetly, waves at him. “Do you really think she has something to do with my death?”

“You wouldn’t be here if she didn’t,” Tony mutters, almost to himself.

Gibbs’ frown deepens. “DiNozzo?”

Tony flinches. “Yeah, Boss?”

“If you find nothing, Ziva joins the team.” Gibbs’ expression is tight. “Got it?”

Tony forces a smile. "We’ll be one big happy family.”  

Kate’s ghost just stares at him curiously. The corner of her mouth twists upward in the pantomime of a smile, but she gives away nothing.

Of course, she wouldn’t. She’s dead.

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?”

Chapter Text

From Tim’s apartment in Silver Spring, it doesn’t take long to reach Ziva David’s hotel.

Tony parallel parks the Mustang along a side street not far off the main thoroughfare on Embassy Row. The streets are quiet and tree-lined, the only light spilling from the apartment buildings surrounding them. For some reason, Tony never liked the Northwest neighborhood of DC. The people who live and work here play too many games and get away with murder. Whenever a case will them here, Tony can almost hear the words, “Diplomatic immunity," before they even leave the Navy Yard. He has never hated two words more in his life.

Tony kills the Mustang’s engine before deciding to tackle the elephant in the car. And it isn’t the ghost of his dead teammate who appeared in the backseat somewhere on the way over.

Kate—Ghost Kate—watches Tony and Tim with a detached interest. From her spot in the middle of the backseat, she watches Tony in the rear-view mirror. It takes everything he has in him to avoid turning around to look at her.

Tim’s eyes are firmly fixed on the empty sidewalk.

Tony clears his throat. “How did you know where Ziva is staying, McGee?”

“I talked to her, Tony.” Tim’s gaze flicks over. “I was trying to be friendly. I asked her where she was staying and whether she liked it. She said…what was it? She was a bubbling bivalve. No idea what that means, but I think she is enjoying her hotel.”

“Happy as a clam.”

Tim’s face turns thoughtful. “Yeah, that makes sense. I think.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony glances out of the car. He sets his jaw, gritting his teeth as he studies the empty sidewalk. They might be two blocks away from the hotel, but there isn’t anything here. Postage-stamp sized apartments with sky-high rents, buildings built during the art deco with brass doors and huge carved reliefs in the stone side.

Something’s bugging me and it isn't Kate.

Kate leans between the seats. “Why aren’t you moving, Tony? Do you think it could be trap?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Tony says.

In the passenger seat, Tim’s brow furrows. “What is?”

“I – uh…” Tony barks an awkward laugh. “I’m just wondering whether Ziva was telling the truth about where she was staying. That’s all.”

Tim turns to face Tony. “Do you really think Ziva would see if we would show up in a random place because she wanted to make sure we weren’t following her?”

Tony flinches. “When you say it like that, it sounds crazy.”

“That’s because it is crazy,” Kate pipes up. "Oh wait. You're crazy, DiNozzo."

When he glances in the rear-view mirror, their eyes meet. The corner of her lips twitch upward into a mischievous grin. As if she wants him to embarrass himself in front of Tim. In that moment, he misses her even more than he did before. Making an aggravated face, Tony climbs out of the car.

The night air is growing steadily cooler and in a few short weeks, it will be frigid. He pulls his dress coat around his body as he joins Tim on the sidewalk.

Silently, they head in the direction of Ziva's hotel. Kate doesn’t join them and thankfully, it’s just Tony and Tim. Tony looks back at the Mustang, but the car is empty. Wherever Kate went, she isn't here. As they grow closer to the hotel, streetlights slowly become more frequent until they’re on the main drag and the world is as bright as midday. There are darkened store windows and a few shuttered restaurants. When they walk past Ziva David’s hotel, the front is full of carved stone and stained glass and glitzy exterior. It reminds Tony of the films he watches in the dark with his glass of Scotch. It's like the grace of the silver screen come to life and he makes a mental note to bring a date here sometime in the future.

Tony and Tim haunt the sidewalk like lost ghosts. They duck into an entrance way to a men’s clothing store where they can't be seen from the hotel's front door. Tony ogles the expensive-looking navy suit in the window for a long moment. Navy doesn't do his body any justice, but there is something about the cut of this one that makes him want to try it on. Maybe he’ll come back tomorrow and see whether they have it in his size.

Tim narrows his eyes. “What are you doing, Tony?”

“Working,” Tony shoots back.

Tim makes a huffing noise. “You’re shopping.”

“Shopping?” Tony gasps dramatically, hands clasped over his heart. “Shopping?! I do not shop, McBargainRack. I evaluate before I purchase. And if I’m not purchasing, I’m curating a tasteful collection of clothing options. Not everyone can shop the clearance section at Walmart.”

“You’re shopping, Tony. Face it.” Tim crosses his arms, cocks his head. “You’re. A. Shopper.”

Tony looks over his shoulder. “Maybe you should evaluate the suit too.”

“I’m good,” Tim says, keeping his eyes fixed on the hotel.

“Take a look at the suit, Probie.”

From his position by the window, Tony watches Tim’s reflection. The younger man glances at Tony, the hotel, and Tony again. Then, he throws his hands and eyes skyward. When he sidles next to Tony, he glares balefully at the suit.

“It’s a nice suit, Tony,” he snaps before turning back to the hotel.

Tony grabs Tim’s arm to keep the younger man from moving. Then, he points to the reflection by the suit where the front of the hotel is visible in all its glory. The store windows are so clean that there is almost no distortion in the image. Tony can count the buttons on the bellhop’s red shirt.

Tim shifts his weight. Half-nods. Mutters, “Oh…”

Tony grins. “See, I told you. That’s a nice suit, but navy really isn’t your color. Maybe you should stick to whatever you can find at Walmart.”

Tim punches Tony in the arm, hard.

Tim’s face pinches. “It’ll make your butt look huge, Tony. Huge.”

At that moment, Tim sounds so much like Kate that Tony visibly recoils. He checks to make sure Kate’s ghost isn’t back, but it’s just them on the sidewalk. To hide his shock, Tony cups his hands around his mouth.

“’Pitcher’s got a big butt,’” Tony singsongs. “’Pitcher’s got a big butt.’”

Tim levels another smack against Tony’s arm. TIm must be hitting the gym because his smacks are surprisingly hard. Tony punches Tim’s arm and the younger man holds his arms out in surrender. They share a steady look and a nod. A truce is called…for now.

Just wait until later, Probie. I’ll get you…and your mousepad too.

Tony rubs his shoulder. “It’s from Rookie of the Year. Gary Busey and…”

At the sight of movement in the hotel’s reflection, Tony stops talking. He turns slowly to watch the scene from the hotel because someone is leaving.

Tim is still facing the store. “Isn’t this the part where you tell me who stars in the movie and what it’s all about and how it’s two stars or five thumbs up?”

“Two thumbs up or four stars.” Tony waggles his head. “But the ranking is subjective.”

Tim starts, “You know – “

Tony’s shush quiets him. Across the street, a bellhop and a man exit the hotel deep in conversation. Tim swivels to see what Tony is staring at. When he notices it’s nothing, he sighs.

“What are we even doing?” Tim’s voice borders on a whine.

“Surveillance,” Tony says. “We’re just waiting for the target to surveil.”

Tim casts his gaze at the hotel. “Ziva hasn’t come out of the building. Are we even sure she’s in there?”

“I don’t know, McGee.” Tony narrows his eyes. “You’re her new BFF, so shouldn’t you know that?”

At the accusation, Tim visibly wilts. He turns his body away from Tony, his shoulders slumping. Tony sighs inwardly because that hit was way below the belt. But there is so much more at stake here than Tim’s easily bruised feelings. Their team is at risk. Their entire way of life is at risk.

Unfortunately, Tony doesn’t know whether Ziva David is hiding out in her hotel room or going for a run or taking out other relatives with a sniper rifle. He feels that niggle in his gut like he often does when he knows a suspect is right around the corner or the team is walking into a bad situation or whether Gibbs is in a foul mood. He might not have a visual, but Tony knows Ziva is in the hotel.

If I tell McGee I can feel it, he’ll probably walk back to his apartment. He hasn’t been doing this long enough to understand gut feelings yet.

When Tony checks his watch, the hour is nearing 2100. What should have been a peaceful and relaxing night at his apartment turned into an impromptu surveillance mission. They shouldn’t be here, but with Gibbs’ deadline, Tony doesn’t have another choice. As every minute ticks by, the possibility of having someone he doesn’t trust join their team becomes closer to reality.

Beside him, Tim blows into his hands. Tony hasn’t been paying attention, but the temperature is quickly dropping. Even though the cold bites through his dress coat, Tony doesn’t feel it. He didn’t expect to be outside for so long. For some inane reason, he thought they would show up and Ziva would come out of her hotel and do…something. That tends to happen on a lot of their stakeouts: the target just does an illegal act and they scoop up the dirtbag. Though that might be more Gibbs’ luck than Tony’s.

When Tim blows into his hands again, he reaches into the pocket of his dress coat for his gloves. Tony offers them to Tim, but the younger man looks at them. Looks back at Tony as if expecting a punch line or a prank or for Tony to grin maliciously while he puts them on himself. Tony holds them out further and Tim snatches them away before he can change his mind.

Tim shoves his hands into them. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t reply because he doesn’t want Tim to grow too accustomed to the random act of kindness. They might be teammates—and Tony might have a growing soft spot for him—but it’s his job as senior agent to toughen up the junior agents. Just like he did with…Kate.

With a tilt of his head, Tony suggests they should take another lap down the block. Stay in one place for too long on surveillance and they’ll look suspicious. Tony doesn’t know how long they’ve spent drooling over the work of art this designer calls a men’s suit.

They head down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from the hotel. Tony keeps his attention on the entrance, Tim on their surroundings. As the hour grows later, the foot traffic is thinning and the businesses are shuttering. If they stay any longer, they’ll be too obvious. Tony will have to call it a night soon. He already lost five hours.

“Think we should get a pack of cigarettes?” Tony asks.

Perplexed, Tim looks over. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” Tony's lungs twitch almost in fear. “It’s an old surveillance trick. It gives us an excuse to hang out at least until the cigarette is gone.”

Tim’s face turns red. “I tried a cigarette once and threw up.”

“Of course you did.” Tony raises his eyebrows. “But you inhaled, right?”

Tim’s silence speaks for him.

“How did you throw up if you didn’t even inhale?” Tony blurts out.

Thankfully, Tim is spared from having to answer. Across the street, Tony catches sight of a woman leaving the hotel. Curly hair and a tight body and a purposeful stride. She wears a baggy pair of running pants with a huge sweatshirt. Tony jams his elbow into Tim’s side to catch the younger man’s attention. Then, he flicks his chin to where Ziva David strides down the street.

Tim’s eyes widen. “Now what?”

“We follow her.” Tony’s duh goes unspoken.

After a shared look, they are both moving down the sidewalk. Fast enough to keep up with her, but not so close that she’ll know they’re following her. She doesn’t look back.

“Where do you think she’s going?” Tim whispers.

Tony keeps his eyes on the back of Ziva’s head. “She’s a spy. She’s probably going to spy on someone.”

“Huh,” is all Tim has to offer.

Ziva's destination is a low, concrete building that looks out of place amongst the art deco and old Hollywood buildings lining the street. There is a sign with a man holding weight above his head that advertises a twenty-four-hour gym. Tim throws a raised eyebrow at Tony, who ignores it. Ziva is probably meeting at this very gym.

She heads through the entrance with no issue when she flashes what must be a membership pass to the bored-looking college aged attendant. When she disappears into the gym, Tony and Tim sidle up to the desk. The attendant looks up with red-rimmed, glassy eyes.

Stoner, but that's not my problem.

“Yeah?” the attendant asks. “They sent two dudes with my pizza?”

“Sorry, no pizza.” Tony pulls out his badge. “We need to do a tour of the facilities. I’m not sure if this place will meet our needs.”

Following Tony’s lead, Tim pulls out his own badge. The attendant takes Tim’s forearm to move the badge around, completely enthralled by how it catches the light. Tim’s expression turns uncomfortable.

Nodding, the attendant points at Tony. “You guys are from Law and Order.”

Tony smiles tightly. “NCIS, but close enough. We’re going to look around now.”

The attendant throws Tony a dismissive wave, but Tim clears his throat. The attendant drops Tim’s hand as though he were scalded. Tony and Tim start to move into the gym.

“Hey,” the attendant calls after them. “Can I watch you arrest the guy?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Heck no.”

That makes the attendant frown deeply. Then, he returns to staring through the door for whomever might be coming to the gym on a Tuesday night. Once they’re inside the gym, the air is significantly warmer. Tim passes his gloves back to Tony. Tim stops to ogle a woman on a stairmaster until Tony smacks the back of his head. Once Tim is certainly looking elsewhere, Tony allows himself a moment to enjoy the view. It’s a good—albeit short—distraction.

When they get their heads back on straight, Tony dips his head to tell Tim to take a lap around the gym. Tim heads to the right while Tony goes left. Tony finds Ziva in the back on a treadmill where she is running—faster than Tony ever could. Tony lingers behind a weight machine to keep an eye on her. He shouldn’t be admiring her view either, but she is running in a pair of tight leggings and her back is facing him and –

“I didn’t see anyone,” a voice says beside him.

Tony nearly leaps out of his skin. Tim is there, face earnest. When Tony jerks his head toward Ziva's position, Tim hazards a quick glance around the weight machine.

Tony sets his jaw. “I wonder what she’s doing.”

Tim’s eyes dart between Tony’s face to Ziva on the treadmill and back again.

“I think she’s running,” Tim deadpans.

“That’s what she wants us to think.” Tony rubs his chin. “There’s so much more than that.”

“And if there’s not?” Tim asks.

Tony doesn’t even dignify the question with an answer because there is so much more at play here. It might not be obvious yet, but there is something. Ziva’s trip to the gym isn’t what it seems. With his brow knitted in thought, Tony watches her run. Her movements are controlled and careful, her stride like that of an Olympic runner. As much as he hates to admit it, he might even find her attractive in a dangerous and deadly kind of way. They watch her for what feels like a long time.

Suddenly, she slows the treadmill and walks for a few moments to cool down. She hops off the treadmill and stoops to grab her sweatpants and sweatshirt.  Quickly, she throws her sweatpants and sweatshirt over her gym clothes. Then, she heads through the gym.

Tim dips in his stance, his body tensing. “Target is on the move.”

“I can see that, Probie." Tony huffs. "But nice work.”

Tim throws Tony a death glare.

Without even bothering with the showers or any other equipment, Ziva moves straight out of the gym. Tony and Tim follow as close as they dare because after everything, Tony doesn’t want to lose her. Whatever is about to happen, it must be going down now.

Outside, the air is freezing. Tony’s breath comes in huge white puffs. The street is nearly deserted with only a few people milling around in the cold. He turns his collar up against the slight wind before he shoves his hands into his pockets.

Further up the sidewalk, Ziva walks back in the direction of her hotel. Her pace is leisurely as though she doesn’t have a care in the world. Tony hopes she makes another stop. Hopes she has somewhere else to go because he doesn’t to admit that he lost so many hour for nothing. Hopes she does something because he needs Tim to help out on Gibbs’ order. Tony needs to know more about Ziva David other than she is beautiful and deadly and can run a six-minute-mile. Which, despite how hard he tries, Tony can’t get below eight.

Ziva pauses beside a trash can. Her head slowly turns back toward where they are.

At that moment, Tony shoves Tim a recessed doorway to a shop. Tim releases a surprised exhale, but he settles when Tony puts a finger on his own lips. They both peer out from their hiding spot to where Ziva stands up the street.

Ziva glances around, eyes darting along the line of parked cars as she slides something into the trashcan. Almost instantly, Tim perks up. Tony half-smiles, satisfied, because of course, he was right. His gut is always right. That trip to the gym was just a cover.

Tony and Tim show a meaningful glance.

“Did she just do dead drop?” Tim asks.

Tony’s smirk turns full-blown. “Yeah, that’s what it looks like.”

After one quick look around, Ziva continues up the block. Once she is further ahead, Tony darts toward the trashcan. On his way, he stoops to grab a piece of litter—a chip bag—to throw away. He pauses by the trashcan, his eyes pouring over the contents. The trash can was emptied recently because the only thing inside is a wrapper for a Twix bar. He pulls it out, turning it over and over as if there could be a hidden message contained on it.

There is nothing.

Tony checks the side of the can. The underside of the lid. Every part that he can think of, but there is nothing there. It’s just an ordinary trashcan.

Is her secret really that she ate a candy bar?

No, it can’t be that. Maybe it’s a message.

Still, Tony pulls an evidence bag from his coat and slides the wrapper into it. He’ll have Abby Scuito run some tests just in case. He isn’t ready to admit defeat just yet.

Moments later, Tim joins Tony beside the trashcan. His eyes are locked on the evidence bag in Tony’s hand. He bounces in his shoes.

“What did she leave?” Tim sounds so excited.

Frowning, Tony holds up the bagged Twix wrapper.

Tim’s expression turns confused. “What does that tell us?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admits. “But she has great taste in candy.”

With a world-weary sigh, Tim rubs his hands over his face. He keeps his hand on the back of his neck and shakes his head. He looks at Tony, who pockets the evidence bag.

Tony’s face pinches. “Where is she right now?”

Tim blanches. “What do you mean?”

“Ziva.” Tony’s eyes widen as he glances down the empty street. “Where is she? You were supposed to keep eyes on her while I was checking the dead drop.”

“Suspected dead drop,” Tim corrects.

Tony throws out his hands. “You let our suspect escape, McGee.”

Tim huffs. “She isn’t even a suspect. I don’t even know why we’re tailing her.”

“It’s need to know,” Tony snaps.

“And?” Tim asks, blinking.

Tony shakes his head. “You don’t need to know. You need to trust me.” When Tim licks his lips, Tony makes a face at the younger man. “Just see if you can find her.”

And so, they split up by the trashcan. Tony heads back towards Ziva’s hotel while Tim moves back toward the gym. Tony doesn’t expect to find anything because Ziva should be good enough to lose a tail if she knew they were onto her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement. He wheels around, fully expecting to find Tim. But instead, Kate watches him with a sad, little smile. She still wears the same suit as earlier and the bullet wound is still in her forehead. He can’t look at it.

“Ouch,” she singsongs.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not hurt, Kate. You’re dead.”

“You were harsh to McGee back there,” she says.

“He deserved it.” Tony continues up the block. “He screwed up.”

Kate moves past him until she blocks his path. Tony stops short because he doesn’t know what happens if he would try to walk through her. He doesn’t want to end up covered in ectoplasm like Bill Murray when Slimer attacked him in Ghostbusters.

Kate meets Tony’s eyes. “McGee is trying his best.”

Sighing, Tony looks away. “So am I.”

They stand in silence and for a moment, it feels as though they’re just having a disagreement on a case. As though she is real and alive and breathing, not a ghost haunting the space she left behind.

Tony half-smiles. “’There is no Dana, only Zuul.’”

“Ghostbusters, Tony? I expected something a little less on the nose.” That makes him grin. “Maybe instead of quoting movies, you should keep a closer eye on McGee.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony looks over his shoulder. He starts, “Probie’s a big boy, Kate. He – “

The sight down the block shuts Tony the hell up. He is already moving, tripping and stumbling over his feet, but it feels as though he is moving in slow motion. He unholsters his weapon. He should yell at them, but he doesn’t want to make the situation worse.

Ziva is dragging Tim into an alley.

Chapter Text

Pivoting like he would on a football field, Tony turns to sprint down the sidewalk. He might be moving at record speed, but it feels as though he runs through maple syrup. No matter how quickly his dress shoes slap against the worn concrete, it just isn’t fast enough. His chest heaves, the frigid air irritating his still healing lungs. He swallows the rising cough in his throat. Sweat runs in rivers down his back, but he doesn’t have time for it. He digs deep, pushes himself to run even faster.

His eyes stay locked on that empty part of sidewalk where Ziva just spirited Tim away.

She wouldn’t hurt him…would she?

He picks up the pace until he is in a dead sprint.

She better not hurt him!

It doesn’t take long to reach the alley, but it feels like a lifetime. Even a second is too long in their business. Just look what happened to Kate a few weeks ago.

She was alive and laughing, making some quip at Tony’s expense, and then, she was gunned right in front of him. The pink mist from her…from her…

It lingered on his skin like a burn for days and days after. No matter how hard he scrubbed, it never felt clean. Sometimes times when he wakes up the tacky blood still feels as though it’s stuck deep in the crevices around his nose, clinging to his lips, stuck to his eyelids.

It can’t happen again. I can’t lose another teammate.

Not again. Please not again.

Tony is running so fast that he nearly overshoots the alley entrance. He slides to a stop, unholstering his weapon as he sneaks into the alley. His heart pounds as though it could escape his chest. He pulls a steadying breath, but it doesn’t do anything. He wants to double over, hands on his knees and hack until he can breathe again. He swallows down the looming coughing fit.

He can’t fucking breathe.

His skin is on fire. Sweat pours down his back.

He takes a deep breath again. His lungs twitch, something in there snapping like popcorn when he tries to hold it. His whole torso clenches, that cough rising on his lips. One wrong move and he'll be hacking until he passes out like when he was in the hospital. He shudders, but he swallows it down.

Sucks in a tiny half-breath and then another. And another still. It isn’t nearly enough, but it’ll have to do. He’ll drown on dry land before he’ll let Tim die in this hellhole.

With his weapon raised, Tony sneaks deeper into the alley. Plastic trash cans and trash bags line the filthy, brick-lined walls as though they were forgotten. In some spots, the bags are piled as high as Tony’s waist. Almost halfway down the alley, there is a rusted, green dumpster.

On the other side, a man’s voice is speaking.

Tim.

Tony sneaks until he is nearly at the edge of dumpster. Presses his back against the cold metal. It soothes his scorching skin. He pulls a deep breath, and it takes into his lungs. They don’t do backflips in his abdomen. His heart still races, but it’s getting better. It's getting better.

Almost no light penetrates to his hiding spot. Just a little brightness leaking from the bulbs above the businesses’ back entrances. Tony clutches his weapon tighter to his chest. He strains his ears to listen to what Tim is saying, but he can’t make it out. The words are whispered and steady, purposeful.

Raising his weapon, Tony launches himself from his hiding spot. He rounds the dumpster to find Tim facing the dirty brick wall with his hands cuffed behind his back.

Tim is counting. “…fifty-five, fifty-six.”

Tony breaks stride momentarily.

“McGee!” he barks.

Tim turns around, almost shocked to find Tony here. He stands for a half-beat, staring at Tony’s ashen cheeks. Tim’s face grows a dark shade of red. Tony expects Tim to give a sit-rep, but he doesn’t. Tony’s eyes rake around this side of the alley, but it’s just Tim and a bunch of trashcans.

Tony has to ask. “Which way did she go?”

Tim jerks his head in the opposite direction where Tony came. Down towards the yawing mouth of yet another street. Tony gives him a hard once over.

“I’m fine,” Tim says. “Just get her. Please.”

Tony bolts down the rest of the alleyway until he bursts into a dark side street. He comes out, weapon raised and eyes darting around the area. The dark sidewalks are empty, the street mostly deserted. Here, it is only Tony and parked cars and the twinkling lights of the buildings across the street.

He swings his weapon to the left. Right. Left again.

His chest heaves from exertion. His heart slams against his rib cage. His lungs are finally working, but the rest of his body hasn’t caught up yet. He is exhausted.

He checks across the street, but that’s empty too.

I lost her.

Tony wants to pick a direction and chase her down. He wants to run as fast as his legs will carry him until he catches her. He wants to arrest her for what she did to Tim. Gibbs said he needed proof, but the team leader didn’t say how he’d handle things if Ziva committed a crime. And assaulting a federal agent is quite a doozy. He wants to see Gibbs' face when he tells his boss exactly what happened and why Ziva can't join the team. That should be enough. But is it ever enough for Gibbs?

Beside him, Kate materializes out of nowhere. One blink, there’s nothing and on the next, the ghost of a former teammate with a bullet hole in her head. Kate stands with her hands on her hips as she scans the opposite side of the street.

Tony doesn’t look at her.

“Go check on McGee, Tony,” she says gently.

Rooted to the spot, Tony still searches the street.

“Take care of McGee,” Kate says. “I’ll look for Ziva.”

And it’s the lack of snark that gets his attention. When she is quiet and serious, she tends to mean business and that he shouldn’t argue with her. She doesn’t really exist, that much he knows. But in the heat of the moment, he wants to believe she is still on his six. With a quick nod, she heads to the left and he stares at her back as she goes. She walks down the street like a living, breathing person.

Tony doubles back into the alley. Tim stands in the middle, eyes wide and mouth flapping like a fish on dry land. Tony fumbles for the handcuff keys in his pocket.

“Are you okay, Tim?” Tony asks.

At the use of his first name, Tim winces. He knows he screwed up, but Tony isn’t about to point that out right now. Tim checks himself over before nodding. Once Tony draws closer, he checks Tim over too. The younger man is haggard and overwhelmed, but he is alive and unharmed.

That’s better than what Kate got.

Then, Tony uncuffs Tim’s hands.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks again.

Tim rubs his wrists. “I’m fine.”  

“What happened?” Tony asks.

Tim shrugs. “She pulled a gun on me. Grabbed my cuffs as soon as we got into the alley. I…I…I couldn’t get my weapon. She questioned me. Then, she told me to face the wall and count to a thousand.”

Tony smiles tightly as he presses his hand against Tim’s shoulder. When he squeezes hard, Tim nods. Their unspoken conversation-I'm sorry for what happened because I should've been paying attention. I don't care, I'm just glad you're okay- is heard and understood. Once their manly display of affection is over, they both take two full steps backwards. Tony’s left shoe gets stuck to the ground. When he tries to move his foot, he nearly leaves his shoe behind.

“Did she say anything to you?” Tony asks.

Tim swallows hard. Anxiously looks around the alley as though Ziva might pop up out of the dumpster and shoot them both. Looks back at Tony.

“She asked why we were following her,” Tim replies. “She thinks you’re obsessed with her.”

That cracks Tony up. “And?”

“I told her the truth.” When Tony gives Tim a death stare, the younger man half-smiles. “That you’re only obsessed with movies and attractive women. And that you weren’t into her. Oh.” A split-second later, Tim makes a shocked face. “Oh…that would explain why she got mad. I thought she was going to deck me.”

Tony barely suppresses his laughter as he channels his best, “Ya think?”

Tim shrugs. “I told her it was all a training exercise. We wanted to see how well she would fit into the team dynamic.” Licking his lips, he sighs dramatically. “She said that I needed more training and she would be glad to provide it. She doesn't believe you trained train me well enough." He smiles tightly in apology. "I couldn’t live in a forest, I think she said. I don’t even know what that means.”

At that moment, Kate reappears beside Tony. The senior agent holds his hands out at Tim as if to say, Ta-da and show her the junior agent is just fine. Kate clips a nod and Tim looks at him like he’s a lunatic. And maybe, right now he is on his way.

“Ziva was long gone,” she announces.

“Good work,” Tony says to her.

Tim’s eyes furtively glance between Tony and the space where the senior agent is staring. The space where Kate should be if Tim could see her. Based on the expression on his face, Tim must not be able to see her like Tony can. He shoots Tony a confused look, lips downturned and eyes squinted. He opens his mouth to speak, but Tony beats him to the punch.

“Good work, McGee,” he says. “Telling her it was a training run was a nice cover.”

Putting his hands on his hips, Tony surveys Tim in the low light of the alley. Tim’s expression is spooked. His cheeks pale, his hair mussed. Yet, he is completely fine.

At some point, Kate moved to stand beside Tim. She leans forward, hands clasped behind her back as she studies the side of the junior agent’s face. Close enough that if he knew she was there, Tim would chase her away. Realizing that Tim can’t see her causes a pit to sink deeper into Tony’s stomach.

Maybe I really am cracking up.

On a nearby wall, the only light fizzles before going out.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tony says.

With a tilt of his head, Tony leads Tim back into the light of the sidewalk. Kate is gone again and Tony, for the first time, doesn’t miss her. Both men are tense as they walk back towards Tony’s car.

Tim raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t we going to arrest Ziva?”

“Only if we want to get in trouble for following her around.”

Those words make Tim stop in his tracks. When Tony turns back, Tim has his arms crossed to his chest and his expression borders on angry.

Sighing, Tony stops too. “What?”

“That’s it? She just pulls a weapon on me, cuffs me and nothing happens.” Tim licks his lips. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to work with her after that.”

“You won't have to,” Tony says reassuringly. "We're going to stop it, remember?"

After a quick nod as if to reassure himself, Tim moves to fall into step with Tony. Both head in the direction where Tony parked the Mustang near Ziva’s hotel. They move together in silence, eyes roving the deserted street for any sign of someone following them. The predators are now the prey. Thankfully, it's just them on the lonely street.

Once they’re back in Tony’s car, Tony manages to breathe a sigh of relief. Tony might not be like shaken up as Tim, but seeing another teammate being pulled into danger still doesn’t sit right. If something had happened to Tim, no…he won’t let himself go there.

In the passenger seat, Tim fumbles with the seatbelt. Tony turns the key in the ignition and the Mustang roars to life.

“What’s going on, Tony?” Tim asks suddenly.

Tony drums his hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t know.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

When Tony looks over, Tim raises his eyebrows. Their eyes meet and for a moment, Tony doesn’t really know the answer. He keeps his face impassive.

Then he nods. “Of course, Probie.”

That causes Tim’s face to fold up in thought. For a moment, he seems as though he might just call Tony out on the lie. Instead, he settles back in his seat and looks out the window.

“I feel like the floor of a taxicab,” Tony huffs.

Tim looks over. “What are you talking about?”

But Tony doesn’t have the energy to explain the movie quote to Tim. “Let’s head home. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Chapter Text

When Tony pulls his Mustang into the parking garage below his apartment building, he is ready to put the whole night behind him. Where he should have enough evidence for Gibbs to pull Ziva from the team before she even started, he has nothing and a shaken junior agent.

He didn’t know what he expected to find when he set out earlier. A smoking gun. A trail of breadcrumbs. A piece of evidence that would definitively show that Ziva David should not be on Team Gibbs once and for all.

Tony wishes that his reasons were enough for Gibbs. But this is Leroy Jethro Gibbs that he is talking about. The man who once his mind is made up will stop at nothing to see his objective through. And for Tony to convince him stop Ziva from joining the team, he will need more than a hunch and niggling in his gut. Not even Ziva pulling a weapon on Tim would be enough. If anything, Gibbs would probably make a face and say, “Whaddaya expect, DiNozzo? You were following her.”

Making a face, Tony chooses a parking space as far away from the entrance as he can find. The garage might be filled with expensive vehicles—Mercedeses and Audis and Porsches—but there aren’t many vintage relics. Tony doesn’t want anyone to park next to what he considers his priceless antique. Once he is happy with how he parked, he slides out of the car and locks the door behind him.

He isn’t even halfway to the entrance when the hair on the back of his neck rises.

“I’m off-duty,” he says. “Come back tomorrow, Kate.”

“Kate.” A woman’s voice with an enchantingly foreign accent says. “That is your deceased friend, yes?”

The words. The accent. It causes a pit to form in the bottom of Tony’s stomach.

In one fluid motion, he reaches for his weapon and swivels to face the threat.

Beside a cherry-red Mercedes stands Ziva David. She keeps her hands raised, palms out and her expression as neutral as she can. A faint hint of a smile—Mona Lisa-like—toys at her lips.

Tony doesn’t lower his weapon.

“How do you know where I live?” he asks.

Ziva merely looks at him. “It is I who would ask questions. But, if you wish an answer, your personal vehicle is most easy to follow. You are quick to find like injured fingers.”

“The saying is ‘stick out like a sore thumb,’” Tony corrects.

“I have heard those who say it as I have.”

Tony doesn’t lower his weapon. He takes a few strafing steps away from the closest car. If anything, he sures up his aim in case she is planning something.

Ziva studies him. That Mona Lisa smile flits into amusement.

“Why do you not believe I should be on your team?” she asks.

“’Are you Arabic?’” Tony asks.

Ziva’s eye narrow and she answers darkly, “I am Israeli. I am Mossad.”

“’Let me put it another way, are you married?’” he continues.

Ziva’s eyes disappear into slits. “I have no spouse. What is…” Then a dawning settles onto her face as she nods. “That is from a film, yes? I have read you peruse them.”

“The Manchurian Candidate,” Tony says. “It’s about – “

“I do not wish to discuss films,” she snaps.

Tony’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Fine, let’s talk about how you just assaulted a federal agent when you attacked Agent McGee in that alley. False imprisonment. Attempted kidnapping. Threatening a federal agent with a weapon. Should I keep listing the charges?”

“And perhaps it would not have occurred had Agent McGee’s training been sufficient. He should be ready at all times.” She raises her eyebrows, looks at Tony accusingly. “I assume you are responsible.”

“We aren’t here to discuss McGee’s training.”

“You are correct.” She lifts her chin. “I wish to discuss why you have followed me.”

“Training exercise,” Tony says flatly. “Gibbs expects everyone to be at the top of their game. And you passed. Mazel tov.”

“How is it you have time for these…” She considers the word before settling on “…games? I do not prefer to play Monopoly or cards. They are diversions to what is important.”

“And that is?”

“The job in front of us."

Tony’s eyelid twitches. “It’s another saying, Officer David.”

Her brow furrows as though she doesn’t believe him. When she reaches into her coat pocket, Tony clucks his tongue and shakes his head. She rolls her eyes, but she still keeps moving. Tony’s finger moves from his weapon’s guard to the trigger. As soon as he gets sight of the weapon, he’ll shoot her.

Instead of a weapon, Ziva pulls out a small, plastic water bottle. She drops it to her feet with a loud thwack and the noise makes Tony visibly flinch. Tony’s finger slides back to the trigger guard.

“This is what I pointed at Agent McGee.” She points at it, languidly. “He did not confirm that it was a weapon. He chose to comply with my requests.”

Ziva considers Tony’s stance and for a moment, he wonders whether she could eliminate them with a water bottle. As if realizing his, she half-nods.

“Anything in the right hands can become a deadly weapon,” she murmurs. “Even a water bottle such as that and I am grateful to not show you. Now, your weapon.”

“You need to leave,” Tony orders.

Ziva makes a show of standing her ground. She crosses her arms, raising her chin as she holds Tony’s gaze. All that makes Tony do is tighten his grip on the weapon.

“This is private property,” Tony says. “You’re trespassing.”

“You are still not accepting of me joining your team?” Disbelief drips from her tone.

Tony shakes his head. “Why would I? I don’t have a reason to trust you. If anything, you threatened my partner and you’re asking me to trust you. You’ve given me nothing.”

“I did not expect you to need such convincing, Agent DiNozzo.” Ziva rolls her eyes. “Your file did not lead me to believe that you would be a problem. A distraction and an annoyance, yes. But a problem, no. I was assured you would not be a problem.”

Tony’s blood runs cold. He swallows hard.

“What file?” he asks thickly.

Ziva’s only response is an enigmatic smile.

She takes a few steps back before she turns around and saunters toward the exit of the parking garage. Tony lowers his weapon, but still keeps it at the ready. Once Ziva thinks Tony can’t see her anymore, she breaks into a dead run. Her shadow disappears onto the street above.

What file is she talking about?

Chapter Text

The following day, the team—mostly just Tony and Tim—are hard at work on their newest case. They’re currently searching for yet another UA sailor, who was last seen leaving a bar with two women three days ago. Based on the sailor’s debit card history—fancy bars, expensive eateries, and a ritzy hotel—Tony figures the man is having the time of his life before shipping out. Tony knows the sailor will pop up by the end of the weekend with a hangover from hell and an empty bank account—not that Tony has any firsthand experience with that. Still, Gibbs expects them to work the case as though the man is a missing person and someone who wants to be found.

No matter how hard he tries, Tony can’t fully focus on the case. He can’t quite remember the sailor’s name. Bruce Dennison. Dennis Bruce. Something like that.

Tim keeps repeating himself. Keeps making that concerned face with his lips turned down at the corners, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. Gibbs, himself, is UA.

Tony’s attention flits between the case file and the information Tim threw onto the plasma and running through the words Ziva David said last night.

The file. The file. The file.

What file could she be talking about? He wouldn’t be surprised if Mossad put together a file on each of them. Maybe information for Ziva to know who she was dealing with, but he doesn’t know where they would have gotten the information. The only connection-as tenuous though as it maybe be-was Ari Haswari. As far as Tony knows, Ari Haswari wasn’t officially associated with Mossad. He was just a bad apple in the right place, at the right time to end Kate’s life.

Tony closes his eyes. Massages his temples. There is a pounding starting behind his eyes. The first touch of a headache. Yet another thing he doesn’t have time for since the time he has to keep Ziva off the team is slipping past like a rapidly raging river. By now, he has slightly less than forty-eight hours.

How could Ziva know anything about us?

Suddenly, someone clears their throat in front of his desk.

Tony flinches before plastering his best smile. He slowly opens his eyes, fully expecting Gibbs to be standing there with his arms crossed and his glare in place. With the way Gibbs makes them work the case, Tony is wondering whether he moonlights as a commanding officer in his spare time.

Tim stands there, hands clasped around a file. His expression borders on concern. He shifts his weight as he watches Tony. Sometimes, Tony forgets how green he is. Whenever he gets nervous, Tim falls back into his old bad habits. Tony’s least favorite is Probies should only speak when spoken too. Tony might've come up with the rule, but he still blames Kate for that one.

“Got something, McGee?” Tony asks.

Tim quickly nods. “Yeah.”

Tony waits for Tim to speak, but he doesn’t. With a quiet sigh, Tony asks, “What's Dennis the Menace up to right now?”

“I just got a hit on Dennis Bryson’s credit card. He had a charge at – “ he checks the Post-It affixed to the case file and steels himself before he says: “ – Somass Hotel.”

When Tony just stares at him, Tim’s cheeks slowly turn red. Tony waits for a punch line that doesn’t come. That can’t be the name. Tim must have written it down wrong.  

“Is it really called Some Ass?” Tony asks.

Tim shakes his head. “So-mass. Emphasis on the mass.”

“Sure, it is.” Tony barely contains his laughter. “So, I guess this is place is one of those wish fulfillment exercises for you, Probie? If you say it enough times, you’ll be able to manifest it.”

Rolling his eyes, Tim retreats to his desk.

“Well, some is better than none.” Tony grabs his gear. “When was the last time you got any, Probster?”

Tim looks over, eyes narrowed. He goes through the motions without being told. Grabbing his gear and packing his bag.

“I get plenty,” he snaps. “Thank you very much.”

Based on the look in his eyes, Tim might be telling the truth. Tony ignores it because needling Tim is just too easy sometimes and it’s a great distraction to thinking about Ziva.

On the way to the elevator, they go through their motions: Tony harassing Tim about never getting laid while the junior agent rolls his eyes. Tim drives the Charger because Tony wants to stare out the window. The concrete buildings slither past like motionless grey snakes, one blending into the next. Tony waits for inspiration to strike, but there isn’t any lightning in the dreary, grey clouds overhead.

They end up at a seedy motel at the edge of Southwest. It isn't anything like the places their sailor has been frequenting up until now. Tony decides the sailor must be running out of money. The motel is in the middle of a city block with decrepit warehouses on either side. There is a sign done in the fifties style with jagged lines and cursive script that reads Somass Hotel with a red Vacancy sign underneath it. The motel has two floors with huge, curtained windows and lime green doors. The outside looks sad as though someone plunked it down here and promptly forgot about it.

Tony already has his door halfway open, but Tim isn’t moving.

“Still thinking about how you aren’t getting any?” Tony keeps his tone light. “I mean, I could teach you, but then I’d have to believe you have hope. You’re already a lost cause, McGoober.”

Tim sets his jaw. “I’m still thinking about Ziva.”

Tony sighs. Closes the car door. Settles back in his seat.

“I talked to Gibbs about what happened last night.” Tim pushes a breath through his teeth. “He basically said we shouldn’t have been following her. Like me getting jumped was our fault.”

There’s a sudden pounding right at the base of Tony’s skull, a phantom head slap that will be coming after he doesn’t prove why Ziva shouldn’t join the team. The ache engulfs his entire brain and he rubs at the spot as though it could make it better. Right now, Gibbs will let Tony complete his job while giving the senior agent just enough rope to hang himself. And after Tony fails, there will be hell to pay.

Tony shakes his head to clear the pain.

“It isn’t your fault, McGee. Mine, maybe.” He holds Tim’s gaze, serious. “We’re going to find a reason for Ziva not to join the team. We still have some time, but we should work our case now.”

 “Should I access Mossad’s database—” that’s Tim’s way of saying hack into “ – for a lead?”

“’Remember, hacking is more than just a crime. It’s a survival trait.’”

Confusion clouds Tim’s features. “Are you agreeing with me?”

“It’s a quote from Hackers. Angelina Jolie. Matthew Lillard. A group of hackers release a computer virus and get hunted by the Secret Service.” When Tim starts to ask, Tony holds up a hand. “Drop that idea unless you want to start an international incident. Right now, we have a sailor to find.”

And that’s enough to spur Tim out of the car. As they head across the patchwork asphalt, Tony shoves his hands into his pockets. The air is chilly today, but there is something about this place that sends a shiver down his spine. He almost feels as though he is being watched. He glances around the cars because Kate might’ve showed up again. It’s just him and Tim.

Tony picks up the pace to head into the door that reads Hotel Lobby. The door screeches as he opens it. The interior is even less inviting than the exterior. There’s a huge wood counter with a peeling veneer, harsh fluorescent lighting and a dirty linoleum floor that has seen better days. Standing behind the counter, a glassy-eyed clerk watched Tony and Tim with a certain reproach. As if the agents are too fancy to be his target clientele. The name tag on his red and pineapple Hawaiian shirt reads Brody.

Tim glances around as though he is afraid to touch anything. A huge bug skitters across the floor. Gagging, Tim takes a huge step toward the door.

Tony sidles up to the counter, tries for charming.

Brody looks him up and down. “Welcome to the Somass – “ he pronounces it Some Ass “ – Hotel. How can I help you, sir?”

Reaching into his coat, Tony pulls out a picture of their UA sailor, Dennis Bryson. He places it on the counter, but Brody won’t look down. When Tony tries to slide it closer, the picture gets stuck to some unidentifiable substance. Tony just leaves it there.

“Have you seen this guy?” Tony asks.

Brody holds Tony’s gaze “Never seen him.”

Tony covertly flashes his badge. “NCIS. I need to speak with him.”

“Not my problem. What my guests do isn’t my business.”

“And what are the guests of your great establishment – “ Tony pauses long enough to glance around the hellhole of a lobby “ – going to think when they find out federal agents are hanging around?”

 “Less work for me. I’ll catch up on my crossword.” Brody grins as he glances at a newspaper behind the counter. “Oh look, maybe you can help me with four down. Two words. Six letters. A famous Michael Jackson song.”

“Thriller,” Tim suggests.

Tony shoots him an incredulous look. “Beat it.”

Brody’s eyes guide towards the door. “Maybe you should try it.”

Tony smirks. “’Make like a tree and get out of here.’”

Brody and Tim share a questioning glance. Tony sighs as though no one ever understands him. How could neither of them know Back to the Future? That’s a classic everyone has seen.

I really need to force McGee to watch movies one weekend.

Before Tony has a chance to educate them, Tim hustles across the lobby to the desk. He jabs his finger on the counter. Instantly, his face turns disgusted when he touches something he shouldn’t have. He reaches into his trench coat for a handkerchief.

Tim points his handkerchief clad finger at Brody. “We could charge you with obstruction of justice if you know something and don’t tell us. Do you want that?”

Brody’s eyes narrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

Tim starts, “It means – “

“Oh, look what I found!” Tony suddenly blurts out.

While Tim was threatening Brody, Tony slipped a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket. He drops it onto the counter. Brody looks at the money. Looks back at Tony. When Brody nods, Tony understands the man has a price, but it’s still higher than how much Tony put out. Tony drops another twenty on the counter.

Tim throws Tony a look that could kill him if he wanted.

Tony shrugs at the money. “That’s all I found. The next thing I find will be a warrant.”

Brody eyes the cash. Then, he checks to ensure no one is watching before he pockets it. Once he is sure they’re alone, he leans across the counter into Tony’s face. His breath reeks of cigarettes.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Brody says.

Tony mimes locking his lips with a key. Rolling his eyes, Tim pulls out his notepad and pen.

 Seemingly satisfied, Brody continues: “That guy came in last night around one AM with two chicks. I mean, they were so hot they were on fire. Totally smoking.” He adds a sick little grin. “Got a room for the night. Paid cash. When they went to leave this morning, he said he’d broken the television remote. Had to charge his card when he checked out.” He shrugs as though it happens all the time. “Get this, man. He picked up another girl overnight. That one was a knockout. Downright exotic. Dude left with all three of them.”

“Do you know where they were headed?” Tim asks.

Brody shakes his head. “They were talking, but I couldn’t hear them. The guy looked like he was having the time of his life. It just got me wondering how a guy like that could get three girls. I can’t get a girlfriend to save my fucking life.”

“Why does that surprise me?,” Tony deadpans.

"It just isn't fair," Brody says. "Just look at him."

When Brody points at the picture, Tony drops his eyes. He doesn’t know what he expects to see. Dennis Bryson is a long-faced, sallow cheeked young man with deep set eyes and mousey brown hair. The man might not be attractive, but when he’s blowing cash like he currently is, Tony can understand why he has attracted a few women. They’ll hang around as long as the money is flowing.

Tony moves to scoop up Bryson’s personnel photo when the realization slams into him. His blood runs cold. He inhales sharply.

I'm holding Dennis Bryson's personnel photo.

I know what Ziva was talking about.

It feels as though he was just pistol-whipped. He places his hands flat against the counter. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tony catches Tim watching him curiously.

That file she talked about was my personnel file.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

For once, Tony corners Gibbs in the elevator. Tony leaps through the door just as they’re closing and slams the Emergency Stop button. The elevator plunges into near darkness. The blue lights glow around them, their reflections on the steel doors turning twisted like monsters.

Tony crosses his arms. Bounces on the ball of his feet.

He might not have thought this through entirely because he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to blurt out how Ziva can’t join the team. Wants to lay out all his proof for Gibbs to see, but the team leader will want more. Whatever Tony has, it will never, ever be enough.

Gibbs always knows what Tony is thinking. Today, Tony wants him to say it first. Tony wants to hear him say that putting Ziva on the team is a terrible idea.

Gibbs remains impassive as stone. He sips his coffee.

The blaring background siren grows loud enough for Tony to feel it in his teeth. Just like every other time, he cracks first. When he turns to Gibbs, his face is set in agitation.

“Ziva can’t join the team,” Tony announces.

Gibbs tilts his head as if to say, Tell me why.

Tony holds out his hands. “She assaulted McGee. She showed up at my place.”

Gibbs’ shoulder slouch ever so slightly. “Heard about that. Also heard that you two were tailing her.”

"What did McGee tell you?" Tony asks.

Gibbs gives nothing away.

“You told me to figure out why she shouldn’t join the team. You told me to bring you a reason.” Tony jabs his finger into the air. “What better way to find that our than through surveillance? And I got you a reason. She assaulted McGee, Boss. He's spooked.”

“I know." Gibbs shakes his head. "Rule Twenty-Seven. Sounds like you forgot the first part.”

Those words make Tony flinch, a whole-body jerk as if he were just struck. When he and Tim tailed Ziva yesterday, he thought they were being covert. He knew she was a spy, but he thought she would never notice them sneaking around.

Tony looks at the ceiling. “I’m trying.”

Gibbs takes a step closer. Puts his hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Drop it,” he says.

Shying away, Tony reels backward. When he looks at Gibbs, the older man watches him with a careful stare. His face gives nothing away, but there is something in his words. Tony holds his breath, almost anticipating what his boss will say next.

Don’t say stand down. Please don’t tell me to do that, Boss.

Tony swallows hard.

You know I can’t…no, I won’t follow that order.

Jethro Gibbs isn’t the kind of person to just let things go. He will pretend to drop it while sitting on the intel until the right moment to put it into action. But if he is telling Tony that, there must be a reason. Something that Tony can’t—and doesn’t want to—understand.

Tony makes a face. “I still have forty-eight hours.”

Gibbs shrugs as if to say, Suit yourself.

And with that, Gibbs flips the emergency switch. The elevator shudders beneath their feet as it starts back up again. The lights come up and their reflections turn back into their distorted blobs. Gibbs stares at the disembodied Tony on the door.

“How are you okay with this?” Tony blurts out.

Gibbs slugs his coffee. “Never said I was.”

“Then what?” Tony asks.

When Gibbs stays quiet, Tony stares at his boss’ profile. Gibbs might be proud and ready to rip the world apart at times, but there is a certain resignation in his posture. His shoulder sag slightly, the grip on his coffee cup tightening. What Gibbs isn’t saying is more than Tony can handle.

“It’s the new director, isn’t it?” Tony surmises.

“Shepard said she’d investigate me for what led up to Kate’s death.” Gibbs’ lips pinch. “Said she'd reassign you and McGee too. Might not agree with Ziva, but I couldn’t do it. Not after…”

Even though he can’t finish the thought, Tony knows Gibbs means after he nearly died from the plague and they lost Kate. Their team had already been nearly ripped apart more than once and now, Gibbs would rather take someone he didn’t want on the team rather than lose what he’d built. He hasn't been on his game since Kate died. Hell, he hasn't been on it since Tony got sick.

If he thinks he's going to lose me...

Tony sighs heavily. “Boss…”

Gibbs just shakes his head. Looks at the elevator door.

They take the rest of the ride in silence.

Chapter Text

Not long after Tony and Gibbs talk in the elevator, the team leader sends them home. They’ll get an early start at 0800 because their UA sailor doesn’t appear to be in any danger. Gibbs still wants Dennis Bryson strung up by his toes for wasting their time, but the team will find him after a good night’s rest. Their digital trail grew cold and all they can hope for is a hit on the BOLO or Bryson going on another spending frenzy. Tony firmly believes Bryson will surface once he runs out of cash.

Tim is the first one to leave. He books it for the elevator as soon as Gibbs calls it a day.

Tony hangs back. He checks the BOLO a few more times, answers a few e-mails, and starts his report on Dennis Bryson. His eyes flick between his computer monitor and where Gibbs works at his desk.

I can’t look into Ziva with Gibbs staring at me.

Tony takes to calling Bryson Dennis the Menace in his report.

How could Gibbs expect me to drop it after he said he’s being blackmailed?

Over half an hour slips past.

Gibbs looks over sharply. “Home, DiNozzo.”

“You win, Boss,” Tony says. “I’m going.”

He makes a show of powering down his computer. He hangs his head in defeat as he slowly stands. Then, he grabs his gear and heads for the elevator. When he glances over his shoulder, Gibbs is shaking his head. Tony takes the elevator to the parking garage and walks straight through the cars. He heads for the far stairwell that comes up on the other side of the building, by the staff lounge. From there, Tony'll have a perfect view of the bullpen and he can wait for Gibbs to leave.

He takes the steps slowly. Pauses every landing and rocks on the balls of his feet. Resting like he is supposed when he might be overdoing it. Not that he overdoes anything. But for some reason, his lungs are burning from the effort, his hair slowly wicking with sweat. It takes more time than he planned to reach the fourth floor.

Once he is back on the agent floor, Tony leans against the wall. Holds his breath as he peers around the corner. Deep in his chest, his lungs flip-flop into a vicious spasm, almost as if they aren’t accustomed to him holding air in his lungs. Sometimes, they work just fine until they don’t anymore. He dissolves into a hacking fit that sends him bent, hands on his knees and gasping for air. He waits, eyes closed and sweat pouring down his back until it passes.

They said it would take time to get back to normal. This is way too long.

Once he feels better, Tony sags his body against the wall. Keeps his eyes closed. Breathes as deeply as he dares to avoid another coughing fit. He waits, maybe a minute, maybe two, for the feeling like he’ll collapse right there to pass. Eventually, he gets back to normal. Or whatever passes for that these days.

When he peers around the corner, the bullpen is mercifully empty. Gibbs must have headed home right after him.

Still, Tony keeps his head down when he darts to his desk. He abandons his backpack on the floor and turns on his desk light. Thoughts of trying to access his personnel file fill Tony’s mind. His brain is racking through scenarios where Ziva would have access to his personnel file. Or worse yet, why. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t even imagine the why.

“’I’ve been having this nightmare,’” Tony whispers. “’A real swinger of a nightmare, too.’”

Beside him comes a scoffing noise. Derisive and cranky.

Tony flinches. He dips his head, schools his face into his best Ah shit, Boss, you caught me again expression. When he looks up, it’s just Kate. She wears her neat, navy pantsuit from yesterday. When she was alive, she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the same outfit two days in a row.

That perfect little hole still in her head. A drop of blood weeps out of it.

Tony looks away.

“Glad to see you’re still hanging around,” he says. “But don’t you have an afterlife, Katie?”

“Don't call me, Katie." Her tone borders on mocking. "And my afterlife is better than your real one. I have plenty of things to do.”

“But you’re hanging out with me,” he says.

The corner of her mouth ticks upward. “Why is it always movies with you, Tony?”

“Because they’re entertaining. More exciting than reality.” His eyes wander around the bullpen where he is searching for a spy and talking to a ghost. “Usually.”

Her eyes rove around the darkened bullpen. “Yeah, this is pretty sad.”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Tony turns back to his computer. Kate stands beside him, leaving forward to watch his screen. He tries digging into the agency network. He knows what an intrusion attempt into the agency looks like—when he first started at NCIS, Abby Scuito locked him in her lab for a solid week until she taught him how to find one—but by now, he forgets exactly where and how to look. Somehow, he manages to stumble into the personnel database.

Kate points at the screen. “You should go there.”

“I know that’s not the spot,” Tony retorts.

“Is too,” she says.

“No, it’s not.” Tony jerks the monitor to where she can’t see it.

Someone clears their throat and Tony flinches like he’s been electrocuted. His shoulders go rigid when he glances up. He fully expects to find Gibbs there this time.

Instead, Tim watches him with a curious glance.

“Who are you talking to?” he asks.

Tony’s eyes dart between Tim and Kate and back again. He ends up meeting Tim’s eyes as he grins broadly. Kate is trying to peer at his monitor. Tony jerks it even further away.

“’You talkin’ to me?’” Tony quips.

That makes Tim roll his eyes. If he can annoy Tim enough, the younger man might stop trying to find out that Tony is talking to their dead teammate.

Tony smirks.  “’Someday a real rain will come down and wash this scum off the street.’”

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Tim’s brow knits with annoyance. “I just came back because I forgot my creds. I’m going to grab them and go home.”

Tony waves distractedly. “See you tomorrow, McGoober.”

At that moment, Kate leans over so far that she is nearly in Tony’s lap. He pulls the monitor further away because he doesn’t need her to tell him what to do. He knows exactly what he’s doing and if not, he has the entire night to figure it out.

The computer screen catches Tim’s attention because anything involving technology is like sending up a smoke signal. Even if it isn’t his problem, Tim will make it his.

“What are you working on, Tony?” Tim asks.

“Voodoo,” Tony replies.

When he tries to slide the monitor away, Tim catches the corner with his hand. He quickly skims the screen as Tony tries to pull the monitor away.

Beside them, Kate cracks up. “Gotcha, Tony.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “Why are you accessing the personnel files?”

Tony scrubs his hand through his damp hair. When he looks at Kate, she sweetly grins at him because it was her plan all along. Make Tony unwillingly rope Tim into the search.

Closing his eyes, Tony considers for a long moment whether he should tell Tim. Sure, Tony might be able to figure out how to find an intrusion attempt into the agency network, but Tim truly knows what the hell he is doing. When Tony meets Tim’s eyes, there is a deepening resolve in the younger man’s gaze. He might just be a probie, but he’ll do great things in time. That much Tony knows and if he’s going to dig Gibbs out of his hole and stop Ziva, he sure as hell needs the back-up.

Tony raises his chin. “After I dropped you off last night, Ziva visited me. She kept asking why I didn’t think she was a good fit for the team.”

“Well, she threatened me,” Tim interjected. “Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

Tony chuckles humorlessly. “I didn’t want her on the team before she threatened you. She said there wasn’t anything in my file that made her think I would resist her.”

Tim’s brow knits in thought. “And you think she meant your personnel file?”  

“Good to see you stayed awake at FLETC.”

When Tony claps sarcastically, Tim narrows his eyes at the dig. From her spot beside Tony, Kate blinks out for a moment. Then she reappears to stand next to Tim. They’re both watching him just like they used to a few weeks ago when she was still alive. The sight of the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, makes Tony’s skin crawl.

“Right now, I’m going through the personnel records to see who accessed them.” Tony leaves out the part where he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. “Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”

Tim just looks at him. “And you were going to do it? You?”

Suddenly offended, Tony whirls around his chair to face Tim. “Who do you think did all of this stuff before you joined the team?”

“Kate.” Tim’s reply is a little too quick.

Still, Kate is nodding, smug little smile stuck on her face, because it is true. After she joined, she did the lionshare of the computer work. It wasn’t that Tony didn’t, but she just kept saying she did it faster and better. And he let her believe the lie. Since she’s dead, she can’t confirm Tim’s statement.

Tony ignores how Kate waggles her eyebrows. “And before Kate?”

That leaves Tim’s mouth hanging open. His eyes slide toward Gibbs’ desk.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Seriously, McDoubtingThomas? You think Gibbs was working on a computer. When was the last time he sent an e-mail?”

Tim chuckles. “He sent me one yesterday, but it was supposed to go to Abby. It wasn’t even a complete sentence. It just said, the.”  

Tony makes a face. “The what?”

“Exactly.”

“As quiet in his digital life as he is in the real one.” Tony tilts his head contemplatively. “And here, I thought he’d be like the great bard.”

Kate leans over. “Who?”

“Why would be like Shakespeare?" Tim asks. "His sentence looked like he fell on his keyboard while he was writing it.” Suddenly, his entire body tenses. He looks around the bullpen as though Gibbs might come out of nowhere. “I thought he would be right behind me.”

Tony raises his hand as if that explains his entire point. Tim just looks at Tony as though he doesn’t believe him and rightfully so. Abby taught Tony the basics, but anything more involved and he usually had to lure an unsuspecting cyber agent to the field agent floor with the promise of lunch and working with a real live field agent and getting ten uninterrupted minutes to stare out the window. It might’ve taken Tony longer and a takeout lunch and hanging out with a cyber agent, but he still got results. It might not have been as fast or as easy as Tim gets them—and that was what made convincing Gibbs to hire Tim so easy—but still, Tony got them.  

Tim tilts his head as if to say, we’ll agree to disagree. Then, he heads back to his desk.

“What do you need?” he asks.

Oh thank G-d.

Tony breathes a sigh of relief as he closes out the mess of what he was working on. He was deep in the personnel records and trying to remember how to detect intrusion attempts. Things have changed a bit—okay, a lot—the last time he had to access anything.

He heads over to Tim’s workspace. He props himself up against Tim’s desk and the younger man glances up, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Tony drops his voice. “I think Ziva accessed my personnel record. And while you’re at it, you might as well check Gibbs and yours.”

With a quick nod, Tim attacks the keyboard with a ferocity he doesn’t possess in real life. The sound of typing fills the bullpen and while it might not be loud, at this hour, it’s deafening. Watching him work, Tony feels oddly like Gibbs for a moment. Out of nowhere, Kate appears too. She perches herself against Tim’s desk just like Tony. Arms crossed to her chest, legs at the ankle. Not really sitting, not really standing. Just there, waiting. Impatient, but trying to appear relaxed.

Kate’s eyebrows lift. “What about mine?”

“You know what,” Tony says. “Check Kate’s file too.”

Tim suddenly stops, fingers frozen over the keyboard. He glances over at Tony, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. The room goes so quiet that Tony thinks he might’ve gone deaf.

Tim blinks owlishly. “Kate’s file?”

Kate jumps to her feet. “What’s the problem, McGee? I was part of this team too!”

Tony ignores her. “It’s just a hunch, Tim. Let’s check it out.”

“Right,” Tim says.

With another quick nod, Tim dives back into his work. His fingers fly over the keyboard. Windows appear and disappear on his monitor. Tony might have done some computer work, but he never did that. Tony just sits and watches the younger man work. Kate leans over Tim’s shoulder for a better look. She shoots Tony a questioning glance, but he merely shrugs.

It only takes a few minutes before Tim stops.

“Huh,” he mutters. “Huh.”

Tony looks at the mish mash on Tim’s screen. “What does all that mean?”

When Tim looks over, he blinks as though he forgot Tony was there. He points at some letters and numbers as if Tony can read them too.

“There was a successful intrusion,” Tim says, “into the NCIS mainframe a few weeks ago after Kate died. I don’t know how Cyber could’ve missed it. I can’t see everything the hacker accessed, but I can see enough to know they were into the personnel files.”

“Whose?”

Tim clicks through a few screens.  His face turns grim. “Yours. Mine. Gibbs. Ducky. Abby.”

Tony is on his feet now. “Can you trace the source?”

“Already on it.” Frenetic typing ensues. “I got an IP address. Just give me a minute.”

Less than a minute later, Tim just looks at the computer screen as though he was slapped. The picture is a map with an address and GPS coordinates. Just at the edge of Embassy Row, not far from where they were last night. Even though Tony expected it, it’s still a punch to the gut.

“Is that what I think it is?” Tim whispers.

“Mazel Tov.” Tony claps a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You just found the Israeli Embassy.”

All the color drains from Tim’s face. “We have to go to Gibbs.”

“Print it out,” Tony orders.

When he glances at Kate, she is still there. Standing with her arms crossed to her chest, face set into a mask of determination as though she led Tony to the truth. Tony starts to ask, but she merely shakes her head. They share a grim look, and he turns back to the living.

With a quick nod, Tim does as he’s told because the printer whirrs to life. He’ll take the proof, but it won’t be enough for Gibbs who needs something worse to steam roll the new director. What they have is damning, but it isn’t enough to bury Ziva David. A nail in the coffin, but far from the last one. Tony scoops the pages off the printer, folding them in half and shoving them into his suit jacket.

“See if there was any more intrusion attempts,” Tony says.

“Just give me a minute.”

It takes several and Tony watches with rapt fascination as the windows pop and pass through the screen. In the end, Tim loads a set of dates and times to the screen. Swallowing hard, he points at it.

“That’s the best I can do.” Tim sounds as though it’s all his fault. “As far as I can tell, someone accessed the mainframe three times in the weeks before Kate…” He swallows hard to finish the thought “…died. Then, there’s the intrusion three days after she died. I can’t tell exactly what they found, but they did access her personnel file. All of ours. The IP address is the Israeli Embassy too.”

A sinking feeling starts in Tony’s gut. He stares at the numbers on the screen. The dates and the IP address and the other ones he doesn’t understand.

“Those first attempts were probably Ari,” Tony says. “The last one…”

“Was after Ari died,” Tim finishes thickly.

From where she stands beside Tim’s desk, Kate clears her throat. Tony looks at her, but he keeps his eyes low because he can’t stand staring at the hole in her head.

“I’m dead, Tony and you’re still staring at my boobs.” She laughs, low and mirthless and mean. “Do you really think Ari could’ve done everything by himself? You think he worked alone?”

The color drains from Tony’s cheeks. His head spins as though he’s on a runaway Tilt-A-Whirl. He presses his hands against his temples. He shouldn’t be seeing his dead teammate. He shouldn’t be hearing her voice as clear as though she were still alive. And yet, what she is saying makes so much sense.

I don’t want it to be true…

“He had help,” Kate murmurs.

When Tony blinks, Kate is long gone. Tony stares at the space that she once occupied, but it’s nothing but threadbare carpet. What was she talking about?

Tim closely watches him with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tony snaps.

Tim looks as though he doesn’t believe Tony. Thankfully, the younger man doesn’t press.

Tony waggles his hands at the computer. “Print that out too, McGee.”

After Tim does as he was told, the printer spits out paper after paper. Tony settles back against the desk to watch the pages glide out of the printer. He might have enough to talk to Gibbs. He isn’t sure, but now might be the time. He’ll show Gibbs what Tim found and what he thinks, but he’ll leave the part out about talking to Kate. It might not be enough to convince the team leader that he needs to go above the new director's head, but it’ll have to do.

The printer continues to expel paper and from the look of it, it might be enough to fill a book. Tim swivels in his chair, body leaned forward, and hands outstretched. His mouth opens, readying to speak.

Suddenly, a terse “Agent McGee!” blasts through the bullpen.

Tim’s whole body tenses.

Tony flinches violently. His eyes rove around the bullpen, but it’s just them. Kate left for…well, Tony doesn’t know where she goes. When Tony’s eyes rove upward, the new director of NCIS, Jenny Shepard stands on the landing. She might be only in her first few weeks at director, but she is already trying to rule the office with an iron fist. And she has a vendetta against Gibbs, which makes everything just fucking perfect.

Shepard’s hands are on her hips, murder in her eyes as she glares down at Tim. She is playing the part of a mean, rusty battle-axe ready to hew down whatever gets in her way.

“Agent McGee!” she barks.

Tim looks around as if there could be another Agent McGee in the building. That just causes the rage to deepen on her face. Tony is already on his feet, already moving to defuse the situation. Whatever she wants has to do with Tim tracing the mainframe intrusion to the Israeli Embassy.

I don’t know how it’s connected yet, but I’m going to find out.

“Not you, Agent DiNozzo,” she snaps. “Agent McGee! My office! Now!”

Chapter Text

Despite Jenny Shepard only summoning Tim, Tony doesn’t break stride. He is the first one up the stairs. Tim remains rooted in the bullpen, his wide eyes staring at the director as though she is an avenging angel. Shepard throws him a hard look, the scowl lines settling into her face like wrinkles. She might be pretty if she didn’t look like she wanted to chuck him off the roof.

“This doesn’t concern you, Agent DiNozzo,” she bites out, voice low.

“It actually does, ma’am.” Her eyes turn nearly black when he doesn’t back down. “If this is a formal reprimand, it’s a personnel matter. They’re supposed to involve the offending agent and their direct superior.”

“Then where is Agent Gibbs?” she asks.

Tony makes a show of looking around. “Not here. You’ll have to deal with me, ma’am. Or we can find Agent Gibbs together and talk about everything with him.”

Shepard bites her lip. Sizes up Tony as if he could be an easier opponent than dealing with Leroy Jethro Gibbs and maybe, he is. While Gibbs would want to go ten rounds, Tony prefers to end the matter quickly and quietly. There is still more work to do and Tony doesn’t need Gibbs uncovering the fact he asked Tim to help him hack into the embassy of a foreign government. Even if it was a complete and total accident.

“Fine, Agent DiNozzo,” Shepard says. “Have it your way.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” he says.

Her expression darkens even further, and a retort might be on her lips, but she doesn’t have a chance to let it out.

By now, Tim caught up. His wide eyes dart between Tony and Shepard and back again. His expression is spooked as though he is deciding whether he should just run for it.

Tony throws him an easy smile. It’ll be fine, he tries to convey.

Being on Team Gibbs, it happens all the time. They’re constantly in and out of the director’s office. It’s just like being sent to the principal’s office, but without the teeth because they don’t get detention. They’re already working overtime, so what’s the newest director really going to do to them. They already pull twelve-hour days. At that point, what’s another two or three hours?

Still, Tim doesn’t relax.

“You wanted to see me, Director.” Tim sounds like a little kid.

“Yes, Agent McGee, I did. Just you.” Shepard throws Tony a pointed look.

When Tony doesn’t leave, her face pinches even further.

“Fine.” She huffs. “Let’s handle the matter. Together.”

With a tilt of her head, she leads the men into her office. The secretary’s desk is empty, the occupant long gone for the night. On the way, Tim throws Tony another wide-eyed glance. Tony offers his best nonchalant shrug back. This is just a minor hiccup. They’ll be back to work in under five minutes. Ten, tops. Shepard will probably rant and rave about how they aren’t supposed to play cowboy like Gibbs, that she expects more from Tony as senior agent, that Tim better to pick up bad habits. Then, she’ll cut them loose to finish what they were working on.

As soon as the door closes, she pivots toward Tim.

“I expected more from you, Agent McGee.” She jabs her index finger at him. “What the hell were you thinking? If you were even thinking at all.”

Tim’s face goes sheet white. “About what, ma’am?”

She grimaces at the ma’am, but it doesn’t slow her down. “My contacts at the Israeli Embassy just made me aware of an attempted breach of their system. A breach that was traced back to this agency. What were you thinking?”

Tim starts to defend himself, but Tony jumps right in: “And why did you automatically think it’s McGee? It could’ve been anyone in the building.”

Shepard smirks. “What are you working on, DiNozzo?”

Tim and Tony share a look. Tony narrows his eyes, trying to tell the younger man to shut the hell up. Tim shifts his weight and studies the tops of his shoes.

“A missing petty officer,” Tony says. “And if we don’t have an answer by the time Gibbs gets back, he’s going to kick my ass. Though I’ll be more than happy to tell him it was your fault.”

Ignoring Tony, Shepard glares at Tim. Right now, Tony doesn’t think Tim will last much longer. His face is ghastly pale, his lips pressed together in a tight line. He looks everywhere except at Shepard.

Tony crosses his arms, tries to come up with something.

For fuck’s sake, McGee….

“I don’t care about how mad Gibbs—” Shepard says his name as though it tastes like battery acid “—will be. What I care about is the international incident Agent McGee is trying to incite.”

Tim starts, “I – uh…I’m not…I wasn’t...I didn’t think…”

“That much is obvious.” Shepard smirks because now, she has Tim dead to rights. “Are you trying to set off an international incident?”

Tim’s face grows paler. “No, I – “

“Can you prove that McGee was trying to access the Israeli Embassy?” Tony interrupts. “What evidence do you have, Director? You are making some loaded accusations against a federal agent.”

Shepard narrows her eyes at Tony. “It’s only a matter of time before we trace the intrusion back to Agent McGee’s desk and after that, I can’t help you. Either of you.” She stops right in front of Tim, hands on her hips and disappointment heavy on her face. “Did you try to access the Israeli embassy’s computer system, Agent McGee?”

Tim opens his mouth to reply. Tony catches the lie from a mile away.

Shepard must see it too. “Let me remind you that you are a federal agent and an employee of the United States government. If you are caught lying, there are penalties. Fines. Jail time. Do you understand?”

When Tony catches the look on Tim’s face, he understands there’s no saving the younger man from himself. Tim stands up straighter, tries to keep his expression relaxed and calm. Still, he looks as though he might just crack. Tony barely resists the urge to bury his head in his hands.

A chill slithers down Tony’s spine like icy fingers. They’re fucked.

“Yes, I do.” Tim raises his chin. “I traced an intrusion into our system back to the Israeli Embassy. Tony and I suspected it was Ari Harswari looking into our files. But I discovered there was another successful attempt after his death. I didn’t try to access the Israeli Embassy at all.” He holds his hands out, placating. “I traced an IP address. That’s it.”

Tony wishes he knew what that meant, but he doesn’t.

Shepard points her index finger at him. “You got into their system.”

“Only because I was trying to figure out where the intrusion came from.” Tim licks his lips. “Someone at the embassy infiltrated our system, Director.”

Shepard’s face blanches. When she catches Tony looking, she takes to pacing around the office. And it’s the way she won’t look at them that sets Tony’s alarm bells ringing. He tilts his head, watching as she traces a neat little figure eight in the carpet.

“Someone is spying on us,” Tony says.

Shepard nearly trips when Tony says that. He crosses his arms to his chest, waiting for her to start her rant and rave like she does at Gibbs. Yet, she is quiet. Too quiet. Something about the moment doesn’t feel right. Tony holds his breath, his lungs quivering in response.

Shepard pauses by the window. “As you may know, Agent McGee, you have probationary status. Which means your employment at the agency may be rescinded at any time, for any reason.”

Tim leans forward. “Excuse me, ma’am? What are you talking about?”

When she turns back, there’s a wicked grin on her face. “You admitted to infiltrating a foreign government’s computer network.” Tim starts to protest, but she holds up her hand. “For your actions, you are hereby terminated from NCIS. I’ll need you to surrender your weapon and badge. Security will escort you off the premises.”

For a moment, Tony can’t bring himself to speak. He blinks slowly as the realization settles into him. Here, he thought they would be back at work hunting a spy. And instead, Tim is in the middle of being fired for what Tony asked him to do. That can’t be right.

Disbelieving, Tony swivels to look at Tim, who looks like he just took a slug to the chest. The realization slowly ripples across his face, shock and sadness flowing outward, as he stares at Shepard. He hugs his arms to his chest. Swallows audibly. His face turns an even more unnatural shade of white.

Tim shakes his head. “But ma’am, you don’t understand. I was – “

“Following a direct order,” Tony interrupts.

Shepard sets her sights on Tony now. “From Gibbs?”

Tony understands what she is fishing for. She wants just enough rope to hang Gibbs out to dry with Tim, but he can’t quite understand why yet. There’s a reason and it’s there, right there, but he just can’t figure it out. It must do with Ziva David, but why would the director of a federal agency risk everything for her?

He racks his brain, but he comes up empty.

“From me.” Tony smacks his hands against his chest hard enough for a thwack. “I had every reason to believe someone had accessed our server. When I asked Agent McGee to look into it, we traced it back to the Israeli Embassy. I oversaw his activities the entire time.”

“Then you are terminated too,” Shepard replies.

Tony’s mouth hangs open at the events that just played out. As if reveling in their terminations, the corner of Shepard’s mouth ticks upward. And that’s the moment that Tony understands what is at play here. Whatever is going on with Ziva David, Shepard is involved. The how and the why and everything else, Tony needs to fill in. She’s involved.

How did she know McGee was poking around the Israeli Embassy so fast? Unless there’s an inside man.

Or an inside woman whose name is Ziva.

“You can’t do this,” Tim whispers.

“Yes, I can. I’m the director on NCIS,” Shepard fires back. “When it comes to staffing, I can do whatever I consider to be necessary to the agency.’”

“No, you can’t,” Tony says. “McGee might still be probationary, but I’m not. You can’t fire me without cause and a formal hearing with my association rep."

Shepard crosses her arms, lower lip poking out. “Then, you’re suspended until that hearing. And if you do make it back…” The threat might not be spoken, but Tony hears it loud and clear. I’ll make your life a living hell until you quit.

Beside him, Tim swallows hard.

“I need you to surrender your creds and weapons, gentlemen.” Shepards eyes land on Tim. “Mister McGee, HR will contact you to follow through with the next steps.” She glares at Tony. “Agent DiNozzo, you contact the agency once you’ve discussed the matter with your association rep.” And with that, she turns her back to them. “Security will see you off the premises.”

Behind her desk, Shepard pushes a hidden button. Within seconds, two security guards bolt through the door. Over the years, Tony has spent more time bullshitting with them while he needed a break on a particularly intense case. Jake is built like a linebacker with a patchy, blonde beard and Elijah’s stature might border on frail, but he has the heart of a lion.

At the sight of Tony, Jake throws him a thumbs up. “Yo Agent DiNozzo! I watched that movie you recommended last week. It was a great one.”

Tony forces a bright laugh. “I still can’t believe you never saw Ghostbusters.”

“Me neither.” Jake grins. “And I love Bill Murray.”

Out of the two, Elijah is the one who is all business. He surveys the threat—Tim who looks about to puke and Tony who is talking movies with Jake—before he looks at Shepard.

“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” Elijah asks.

“Don’t call me ma’am,” she snaps.

Elijah shrugs. “Okay. What seems to be the problem, sir?”

That causes Shepard’s left eyelid to develop a full twitch. She waves her hands at Tim and Tony. “Please collect their badges and weapons before escorting them out of the building. Make sure they leave.”

Shepard waves dismissively at the men and Tony stalks out of the office. His hands are balled in fists at his sides, and he is ready to hunt Gibbs down to make him deal with it. When he glances over at Tim, the former junior agent’s face looks as though he’s been slapped.

Tony starts to say everything will be fine, but Tim just makes a face and looks away.

Tony swallows hard.

How am I supposed to tell Gibbs that I got both of us fired after he told me to drop it?

Tony leads the way straight to the bullpen. Without any fanfare, Tony hands over his badge and weapon. It isn’t the first time he has been fired and it won’t be the last. Though with Shepard at the helm of the agency, it might be permanent this time.

Tim doesn’t turn over his badge and weapon right away. He holds them for a long moment, his expression turning a tinge of green before he holds them out. Elijah snatches them out of his hands before Tim could change his mind.

Elijah jerks his head towards the elevator. “Let’s go.”

Tony and Tim grab their coats and shrug them. Tony allows himself one quick glance around the bullpen, just in case he doesn’t make it back this time. Just beside his desk, he catches Kate’s ghost watching him with a dull expression. As if she can’t believe what’s happening either.

“’My time with you is at an end, Ebenezer Scrooge,’” Tony says. “’Will you profit from what I’ve shown you of the good in most men’s hearts?’”

Kate rolls her eyes. “More movies, Tony?”

“It’s from A Christmas Carol.” Tony barely stops himself from saying Katie. “Alastair Sim and Jack Warner. Everyone knows what happens in that movie.”

“I don’t,” Jake volunteers, earning him a dirty look from Elijah.

“Sounds like you know what to do,” Tony says.

“More homework.” His grin dims when he realizes Tony might not return. “Oh.”

Tony just looks at him. “Yeah…”

With a sad smile, Jake tilts his head towards the elevator where Elijah and Tim are waiting. Tim’s entire body is rigid, backpack over his shoulder and trench coat on. He stares intensely at his shoes.

Tony is halfway there when Kate whistles behind him.

“You forgot something, DiNozzo,” she calls.

That’s the moment he feels the first half of the pages nestled in his suit jacket. He never grabbed the rest before Shepard called him and Tim to her office. He bounds back to the bullpen where Kate points at Tim’s printer. Tony snatches the papers, shoving them into his pockets.

“What are you doing, Tony?” Jake asks.

Tony grabs Tim’s stapler. “I forgot this.”

Jake eyes it. “That? You forgot McGee’s stapler?”

“It’s my emotional support stapler.” Tony cradles it to his chest. “How else do you think I deal with Gibbs?” He locks onto Jake’s eyes. “’You have my stapler.’”

“Office Space.” Jake’s smile borders on nostalgic. “Look Tony, I don’t know what’s going on. But I sure hope you figure it out. Just hide the stapler so I don’t have to explain to Elijah why you’re stealing government property. I owe you a favor. If you want it to be a stapler, sure.”

When Tony looks over, Kate is gone again. Into the ether or the mist or whatever great beyond she winks in and out of. It isn’t something Tony like to think about and now, sure as hell isn’t the time to consider it. She always seems to show up at the worst times…

As they head back to the elevator, Jake looks at Tony out of the corner of his eye.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

“It will be,” Tony replies.

Once they join Tim and Elijah at the elevator, the security guard eyes Tony suspiciously.

“Got everything?” Elijah asks.

Tony holds up his backpack. “I sure do!”

And then, they take the elevator down to the garage. It doesn’t take long to locate Tony’s vintage Mustang in the sea of soulless, mid-priced sedans. The security guards accompany Tony to his car because everyone knows that vintage piece of sleek American engineering belongs to him.

“Come on, McGee,” Tony says. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Tim won’t look at him. “I’ll take the bus.”

Tony unlocks the car. “The last bus already came. Let’s go. Your chariot awaits.”

Tim sighs as though his very soul is leaving his body. Without another word, he slides into the passenger seat and Tony slides into the driver’s seat. As he puts the Mustang in reverse, Tony waves cheerily at the security guards. Jake grins, waving back, until Elijah shoots him a dirty look.

Tony guides his Mustang out of the parking garage. The rumbling of the car’s engine serves as his and Tim’s only conversation. Tim stares out the window and Tony can’t see his face. The world outside of the car despite still being in the city. In the dark, you can’t see how much Southwest resembles a dystopian wasteland. At least there aren’t any zombies. Yet.

Tony hangs a left towards Capitol Hill.

Tim turns in his seat. “Where are you going? My apartment is in the other direction.”

Tony throws him a look that says, duh. “That’s because I’m not taking you home. We’re going to get to the bottom of this mess.”

“Are you crazy, Tony? You just got suspended. I…I…” Tim leans back against the headrest, tongue stuck between his teeth in a broken laugh. “I just got fired. I’m not a federal agent anymore.” Then he buries his head in his hands.

Tony’s eyes glance back to the road. “Right now.”

Tim peers through his fingers. “What?”

“You’re still technically employed by the government. You won’t be officially unemployed until tomorrow when Shepard sends the paperwork to HR. Which means we’ve got a few hours to fix it.”

Tim stares at him, poleaxed. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Tony’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “I’m working on it.”

“And that’s how we got here!” Tim gestures at car’s interior. “We’re doing the same thing over and over again. And we keep getting into more and more trouble.”

Tony scratches his chin. “That just means we’re on to something.”

“What?!” Tim blinks at him. “No, it’s not! That’s the literal definition of insanity!”

Tony just shrugs because that’s the way he has always done things. Keep digging and digging and digging until you get what you’re looking for or someone shoots you. There is no third option. And now is one of those times where he needs to keep digging.

Tim hugs his arms to his chest as he glares out the window. Tony stops at a red light in the middle of a block of rundown warehouses. They haven’t seen another car since they left the Navy Yard and yet, Tony still needs to stop for a red light. He contemplates running it, but he stays put.

“Do you want your job back, McGee?” Tony asks suddenly.

Tim flinches. “Y-yeah.”

“Then you need to trust me.”

Tim turns. “I do, but – “

“No but’s, McGee.” Tony throws the younger man a determined stare. “I’m seeing this through. With or without you. If you aren’t on board, ‘you can make like a tree and out of here’.”

When he looks out of the car, Tim swallows hard. Their current location is a before picture of a crime scene. Right now, Tim is probably thinking what it looks like in the after.

“Maybe not here,” Tony says. “But you don’t have to come.”

“We should call Gibbs,” Tim offers. “Rule Twenty-eight.”

Tony sets his jaw. Shakes his head. “Rule forty-five.”

“This is a pretty big mess,” Tim says morosely.

Tony just remains quiet. He doesn’t want to admit that Gibbs would be the one to shoot him if he didn’t clean it up. When the light turns green, he slams his foot on the gas. He leans back in the driver’s seat, both hands slung over the steering wheel. This entire mess is his problem and he’s going to clean it up as quickly as he can. He’ll get them out of it, even if it kills him.

He has one play left. That Hail Mary pass from where he stands on the fifty-yard line and the other team’s defense is swarming around him. He can’t see his team, only the people coming to tackle him. He just hopes there will be someone to catch the ball when he throws it down the field.

The real question is just how good is my arm?

Chapter Text

Tony and Tim end up in a nearly parking lot just at the edge of Capitol Hill. From the driver’s seat, Tony stares blankly at the built-up area, awash with bright lights and glitz of what tourists consider the real Washington. He hates how much he doesn’t consider it to be real because of all his time spent in Southwest and Chinatown where the dirtbags and UA sailors usually flock. To him, the nicer areas are just there to keep tourists and politicians happy. None of it is real like the dirty streets and desolation in the meaner parts of the city.

Tony sits in the driver’s seat, hands clasping his phone. He keeps flipping it open, starting to dial and then changing his mind. Sullen and morose, Tim glares at the minivan parked beside them.

They already had the same fight more times than Tony cares to count. Tim keeps begging him to call Gibbs because the younger man just knows that Gibbs will fix everything. And Tony, he won’t stop saying no. Tim doesn’t understand that Gibbs might not be able to fix it, that he might just make everything so much worse if he goes toe-to-toe with Shepard.

Tony made the mess and now, it’s his job to clean it up. Not to mention, he’d rather not Gibbs find out Tony got Tim fired. If anything, Gibbs will kick Tony’s ass for ripping the team to shreds.

“You should call Gibbs.” Tim’s voice is barely a whisper.

Tony doesn’t move. Just keeps staring at the glittering apartment building across the street.

Tim turns in his seat, accusing finger jabbed at Tony. “You need to call Gibbs, Tony. It’s like you said…we have until tomorrow to fix everything. We’re wasting time. Gibbs can fix it. He’ll…he’ll…”

“He’ll what, McGee?” Tony’s eyes narrow. “Talk to Shepard and piss her more than we did? Maybe he’ll get himself fired because I have a feeling, she’d love that. She’s had it out for him worse than she has it out for us.” When Tim starts to protest, Tony points out: “She was smirking when she fired you.”

Tony presses his hands against his chin, shoves his cell phone against his lips. He tilts his head, considering. He watches as a couple meander, arm in arm, down the sidewalk. They move so slowly that it almost looks as though they’re floating.

“’So, the rabbit laid bait for the fox,’” Tony murmurs.

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks.

“Seven Days in May. Burt Lancaster. Kirk Douglas.” Tony taps his cell phone against his chin. “It’s about a president that goes through with a nuclear disarmament, but the country turns against him.”

Tim’s eyebrow slowly rises. “What does that have to do with our situation?”

Tony glances over as if seeing Tim for the first time. “I don’t know. Yet.”

Sighing, Tim just shakes his head because he never understands. And Tim never will until he has seen the movies—all of them—and let them sink deep down into his subconscious. Until they become a part of him. When Tim looks at Tony expectantly, the senior agent leans back in his seat.

“I’m going to call SecNav.” Tony sounds more ready than he feels.

When Tim swivels around, his eyes are huge. “You’d rather call SecNav than Gibbs?!”

Tony returns to staring out the windshield. Right now, he would rather call anyone other than Gibbs because Gibbs would probably shoot him and make Tim clean up the crime scene. Tim hasn’t been on the team long enough to understand. Tony fucked up and he can’t go to Gibbs until he fixes it.

Tim huffs. “Call Gibbs.”

Tony shakes his head. “I’m calling SecNav and that’s it. If you aren’t in, there’s the door.” When he gestures at the car door, Tim flinches. Then Tony says, softer this time: “I’ll do what I can to get your job back, Tim. But I understand if you don’t want to stay.”

Crossing his arms tightly to his chest, Tim’s eyes flick between the world outside and Tony with his cell phone. The entire process of agonizing through his decision plays across his face. In the end, he doesn’t move, but he keeps his body facing the car door. Taking his inaction as an acceptance, Tony clips a nod.

Tim isn’t all in. That much is obvious by his tense body and his inability to look directly at Tony. But he’s still here and maybe, that’s all Tony deserves right now.

Tony scrolls through his contacts until he finds the number for the Secretary of the Navy’s office. It’s been in his phone since he started at NCIS, a formality when they’re hired, but he never used it. He considers for a long moment whether he should call.

When he catches Tim staring, Tony slips out of the car. He takes a deep breath, his lungs flip-flopping with the icy air. The air is cold and numbing as it blows through his coat. He turns his collar up against the cold. The air is damp with the promise of rain. Tony tilts his head up to the sky, but he only sees the light pollution reflecting from the clouds. He forgets what the stars look like sometimes.

“Is this what I think it is?” Kate’s voice fills his ears.

Just beside him, Kate is watching him like she used her. Her smile borders on mocking, that tiny hole in her head is a giant, gaping wound. This time, she wears a flowing white dress. She appears to be missing the wings and the halo. Tony wants to laugh at the irony of it. Caitlin Todd was no angel.

“Is the great Tony DiNozzo doubting himself?” she asks sarcastically.

“’There is no Tony, only Zuul,’” he retorts.

“What are you doing, Tony?” She points to his cell phone. “I thought you were going to call SecNav.”

“I was. I am…” Tony shifts his weight. Looks back to the sky. “I’m just wondering if McGee might be right. Maybe I should’ve called Gibbs as soon as Shepard fired us. Maybe I should call him now.”

“Since when do you listen to McGee?” Tony shrugs and her laughter grates on his fraying nerves. “But seriously, what is going on? You never have second thoughts. You just wing it and hope for the best. Since when do you worry that you might make a mistake?”

Tony lets the silence linger for a long time. “Since you died…”

“It’s been a few weeks,” Kate says. “Long enough for you to get yourself back together. You might as well keep going. What’s the worst that could happen? You could get fired…oh wait…” She cracks up again.

“Thanks for the reminder.”

Growing quiet, she narrows her eyes. “Just follow your gut. I think Gibbs has a rule for that.”

“There’s a rule for everything.” He half-smiles at her. “Thanks.”

Her brow furrows. “For what?”

“For helping me get my head out of my ass.”

Leaning against the car, Tony calls the number for the Secretary of the Navy. It isn’t a direct line, but the secretary’s main office number. He only hopes someone will be there to pick up at this time of night. It might be pushing 2230, but he doesn’t know what time the office stops taking calls.

A crisp woman’s voice answers on the first ring, “Secretary Lewis’ office.”

Tony puts on his best voice, “Hello, ma’am. My name is NCIS Special Agent…”

Introducing himself makes Tony pause because he met Secretary Alvin Lewis once before at a gala to celebrate some event for NCIS. He also met the secretary’s very grown-up and criminally attractive daughter, Alexis. Tony spent the whole night flirting with Alexis and at the end of the night, Lewis cornered Tony to ask his name. Tony thought it was to help him rise in the ranks at NCIS because, after all, he was a very special agent. Instead, it was to murmur, “my eyes are on you, Agent DiNozzo.” With that out of the way, Tony went forward with his plans to go home with Alexis and have the night of his life. He didn’t think he’d have to worry about it again. Until now.

Kate throws him a curious look.

On the other end of the line, the voice says, “Are you still there, sir?”

Tony shakes his head. “Sorry, ma’am. Bad phone connection. I have urgent information that I need to share with Secretary Lewis.”

“The secretary is busy, but I can pass on the information to his security detail.” She sighs like she’s heard from other loonies before. “If the information is deemed credible, someone from Secretary Lewis’ team will reach out. What did you say your name was?”

“It’s a matter of national security,” Tony says. “I need to – “

“They’ll reach out tomorrow,” she says. “If you could just leave your name and phone number.”

“Tomorrow will be too late, ma’am,” Tony says. “I need to speak with Secretary Lewis tonight!”

Kate slides into his line of vision. Her face is pulled into a frown as if she expected something more than this from him. On the other side of the car, Tim climbs out. His head appears over the roof, and he watches Tony too, surprised at Tony’s outburst.

The voice on the phone sighs. “I’ll see what I can do. What was your name?”

Tony swallows hard at what he is about to do because it isn’t a good idea. It’s completely and utterly insane, but if the name Tony DiNozzo lands on SecNav’s desk, he’ll probably send Internal Affairs.

“My name is…” Tony licks his lips and then he says, “…Special Agent McGee.” Then he prattles off Tim’s badge number and his own cell phone number.

Tim sprints around the other side of the car. He nearly tackles Tony as he tries to wrest the cell phone away. Tony keeps his hand on Tim’s head to keep the younger man at bay. He barely hears what the woman on the phone is saying.

“I’ll see what I can do, Agent…” She pauses as she tries to remember his name. “…McGee, was it?”

Tim weaves to the right while Tony bobs left. Kate stands off to the side, laughing at the two of them fighting. Tim keeps charging at him while Tony deftly sidesteps the attacks. Kate waves hands over her head and whooping, as she watches the spectacle.

“Get ‘im, McGee,” she chants. “Take him down at the knees! Go for the knees!”

“Yes.” Tony is breathless. “Thank you. I need to talk to someone about what’s going on. Please. It’s a matter of national security.” Then he throws in. “Lives are at stake.”

As soon as he flips the phone closed, Tony stops fighting Tim. The younger man snatches the now useless cell phone from Tony’s hands.

Tim stands there with the phone, dumbfounded. Tony keeps his stance open, knees bent and arms stretched, in case Tim tries to rush at him again.

Kate is still laughing. Tony ignores her.

“What the heck was that?” Tim gasps.

“I was making a phone call,” Tony replies.

“It sounded a lot like you were impersonating a federal agent.” Of course, now is the time for the probie to grow a pair. “You were impersonating me. That’s a crime…”

“You got fired,” Tony says. “You technically aren’t a federal agent right now. So, there isn’t any crime being committed because I’m not impersonating one.”

That snaps Tim back to reality. His face caves in on itself and the light slowly leaves his eyes. He hands Tony back his cell phone. Then, he makes a face before crossing his arms to his chest. He turns away.

From her spot by the car, Kate gapes at them. “That was below the belt, Tony.”

After a quick flinch, Tony takes a step toward Tim. “I got suspended too. Neither of us are federal agents right now. Well, we are, but we aren’t.” He scratches his chin. “I guess it’s complicated, huh?”

“Schrodinger’s cat.” When Tony furrows his brow, Tim holds up his hand. “It’s a thought experiment. You put a cat in a box, but since you can’t see it, you don’t know if it’s alive or dead.”

Kate steps closer. “Why would you put a cat in a box?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony looks at her and says, “It’s complicated.” Then to Tim, he asks, “Why would you put a cat in a box?”

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“All I know is that we’re federal agents, but also not.” Tony looks at Tim, all shifty-eyed. “And also, we’re apparently cats."

That makes Tim roll his eyes.

“Meow,” Tony and Kate say at the same time.

Tony looks sadly at Kate, who just shrugs. Thankfully, Tim is too busy being irritated to notice. He starts toward the edge of the parking lot before he thinks better of it.

Tony is already scrolling through his phone contacts again. He should call Gibbs and yet…he isn’t ready to admit defeat. Gibbs told Tony to handle it and here Tony is…handling it. He might be suspended and Tim fired, but the only way out is through.

“Are you calling Gibbs, Tony?” Kate singsongs.

Tony shakes his head. “I’ve got one more idea to save out asses.”

That makes Tim turn back, ever hopeful. As Tony hits the number to call, Tim doubles back to stand closer to the car. Tony believes the call might go to voicemail when a woman answers.

“Oh, now you remember my number?” The voice on the other end is blistering.

“Oh hey, Alexis.” Tony barks an awkward laugh. “Aren’t you going to say hello first?”

There’s an angry huff. “Hello and goodbye.”

“Alexis, wait.” Tony plays his best concerned tone. “How are you doing? I know it’s been a while.”

“Fine, not that you would know. It’s been six months, Tony DiNozzo. And now you decide to call me? What do you want? To get in my pants again?”

And Tony wants to tell her that he didn’t call because it was awkward enough for SecNav to have a security detail follow her around. And he doesn’t want to admit he was more than a little drunk that night they met. And in his tuxedo at the gala, he felt like James Bond and she looked just like Rosamund Pike in Die Another Day. He might’ve called—who is he kidding because he probably never would have—but SecNav threatening to breath down his neck took a probably not, to a hell never.

He chuckles. “That’s the thing. I might need to talk to your dad.”

“Goodbye, Tony,” she says.

“Hang on, Alexis!” Tony says. “Let me explain. Please.”

Surprisingly, Tony doesn’t hear the dial tone. He holds his breath and beside him, he swears Kate inhales deeply too. From his spot by the car trunk, Tim takes to casing the exits.

There’s an adorable little sigh over the phone before Alexis announces: “You have thirty seconds.”

“I need to talk your dad about a matter of national security.” Tony closes his eyes. “I wouldn’t call unless it was important. Extremely, extremely important.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I found a spy,” he says.

“Right and what’s this spy – “ Tony can hear the air quotes “ – doing?”

“Spying on NCIS.”

“You know, Tony, if you wanted to reconnect, you could’ve just been honest.” She laughs, trilling and bright. “But I’ll play along. I’ll call my dad, but you need to do something for me. What did we talk about that night we went out? If you can remember that, maybe I’ll think about calling him.”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Tony lets his eyes wander around the expansive parking lot. It’s just the Mustang beneath a burned-out parking lot light. Tim lurks beside the back bumper, clearly torn between whether he should walk back to Silver Spring or watch the three-ring circus Tony’s life is rapidly becoming. If Tim could see the way Kate watches them, he would’ve started walking a long time ago.

Kate leans into Tony’s personal space. “Since when do you talk to women, Tony? I thought they were just conquests. The more, the merrier.” She makes a disgusted face. “Not what I want to be thinking about.”

Tony runs his foot against the rough asphalt. “Did you sister ever find a boyfriend?”

On the other end of the line, Alexis sounds like she purses her lips. She makes a cute, little humming noise as if she expected Tony to screw up too.

“You really did listen that night,” Alexis says. “I’m actually impressed. I thought you were just interested in getting me into bed.”

Tony doesn’t tell her that he was trying to get her into bed and that the process goes faster when listening is involved. If he acts interested in them, he’ll always get exactly what he’s after.

He tightens his grip on the phone.

“Oh no, I was interested in getting to know you,” Tony says.

Kate sticks her finger in her mouth and makes a gagging noise. Tim rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. Tony ignores both. He might be laying it on thick, but he’ll do what he needs to.

“Oh Tony…” Alexis swoons. “I’m so glad to hear that. And no, my sister never did find a boyfriend. She keeps picking real losers too. I mean, they might be federal agents, but they’re, like, the worst of the absolute worst. Total losers.”

Tony half-smiles as he latches onto an idea.

“I might know someone,” he says.

Alexis perks up. “I’m listening…”

“I work with him. He’s a real nice guy.” From the scraping of the shoes on asphalt behind Tony, it sounds like Tim is drawing closer. “You sister would love him.”

“Is he a federal agent too?”

Tony nods emphatically. “Oh yeah. He graduated top of his class from FLETC. He went to MIT. I’m sure he’d love to go on a date with your sister.”

As soon as Tim comes into view, Tony cracks a bright grin at him. Tim just stares at him as though he lost his damned mind. He holds his hands out, shaking his head. Tony ignores him.

Alexis remains quiet on the phone.

“Maybe we could all meet up?” Tony offers. “My treat. Though, I need to take care of something first.”

“Oh right, the spy?” She giggles like she doesn’t believe him. “I’ll call my dad and my sister.”

Tony grins broadly. “Thanks.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

“I got us a meeting with SecNav,” Tony announces.

Tim raises his eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because sounded like you were setting me up with someone.”

“I might’ve gone out with SecNav’s daughter once and – “

“Why does that not surprise me?” Tim groans.

The memory of his night with Alexis brings a broad and drunken grin to Tony’s face. “While we were…” he clears his throat, shoots Tim a savage look “…doing things that I cannot repeat for your delicate ears, she might’ve mentioned that her sister is a badge bunny with terrible taste in men."

Tim tilts his head, lips pursed. “And exactly how does pimping me out help?”

“Because I need something to grease Alexis’ wheels.” He cringes at how dirty that sounds and hates how it’s already giving him ideas for later. “I find her sister a date – “ he eyes Tim meaningful “ – and she calls SecNav for us. We plead our case about Ziva and her spying. Take his daughters out for a drink so Alexis doesn’t tell her dad to make sure I’m fired. Then, we get out jobs back.”

Tim’s face goes red. His lips flap like fish. From her spot by the car, Kate doubles over with laughter. She cracks up so hard that she vanishes as quickly as she appeared.

In the end, Tim swallows hard. “That’s…that’s completely insane, Tony.”

Tony claps a hand on Tim's shoulder. “Whatever it takes. Right, McGigolo.”

Chapter Text

The silence inside the Mustang is nearly deafening while Tony waits for Alexis Lewis to call him back. Sitting in the passenger seat, Tim stares a hole into the side of Tony’s head. To keep himself entertained and completely ignore Tim, Tony drums on the steering wheel and runs through movie quotes in his head. This time it’s Die Another Day because he can’t wait to see Alexis Lewis again.

She looked exactly like Rosamund Pike in her ice queen number…

It takes Alexis so long to call him that Tony thinks she might not. That she might be jilting him just like he ghosted her after their heart-pounding, mind-blowing tryst. When his cell phone rings, Tony tries his best not to look relieved. The phone nearly slides out of his sweaty palm.

Tony answers with a nonplussed: “Hey.”

“My dad is expecting you.” Alexis prattles off an address. “I might not have mentioned it was you. So, you’re on your own. And Helga is open to meeting your friend. Want to say Friday?”

“Friday…” Tony repeats. When Tony catches Tim glaring at him, he clears his throat. “I’ll let you know about the date. I’ve got to talk to my friend and I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“You better hold up you’re end of the bargain, Tony DiNozzo.” There’s no missing the animosity in her voice. “Or I’ll hunt you down.”

“Oh?” He nearly purrs into the phone. “That might be an interesting game to try.”

“Hold that thought. Go find your spy and then…” Whatever she would say is left to his imagination because she hangs up.

Flipping his phone closed, Tony straightens his tie. He might be in the middle of being fired and hunting a spy, but he is still a man. The thought of Alexis and their promised night still digs straight under his skin. He scrubs his hand across his face to clear the lascivious thoughts from his head.

Later. I’ll make plans—oh so many plans—for her later.

Tim leans over. “Gibbs?”

“You think I talk to Gibbs like that?” Tim doesn’t say anything. Tony makes a face. “It was Alexis.”

“Oh.” Tim looks out the window. “And?”

Instead of replying, Tony turns the key and the Mustang’s engine roars to life. The crooning of a Frank Sinatra song pours out of the sound system. Tony turns it up louder because he isn’t ready to explain to Tim exactly what they’re doing. Right now, Tony is running on a wing and a prayer and the gut feeling that everything will work just fine if he keeps digging. Like if he keeps digging, there might actually be a bottom to this fucking hole.

Tony knows exactly where he is headed. SecNav’s home. A turn of the twentieth century brownstone in a snooty neighborhood not far from Capitol Hill.

When they get there, Tony double-parks against a brand-new Mercedes. He stares at the brick façade of the brownstone as its three stories stretch toward the darkened sky. Lights in every window blaze in the night sky and it’s enough to notice the pockmarks in the antique brick. The red front door is propped open to allow greying men and women in tuxedos and women in black tie dresses to climb the steps.

Of course, Alexis didn’t tell me her dad was throwing a party to schmooze everyone who’s anyone in DC.

Tony glances at his black Zegna suit, crisp white shirt and red skinny tie. Feels oddly underdressed for the first time in his life. When he looks at Tim’s clearance rack sportscoat and chinos, Tony doesn’t feel quite as bad. He might be underdressed, but Tim is a full-fledged fashion victim.

Tim swallows hard. “Are we meeting SecNav here?”

Tony half-shrugs. “That’s what Alexis said. Though she didn’t mention the party – “ he says the word like par-tay “ – and you might want to say in the car. You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb in your Walmart clothes.”

Tim makes a face.

Smirking at Tim, Tony climbs out of the car. Tim follows him out the driver’s side because Tony parked so close to the Mercedes that he can’t open the passenger door. Outside, the air is freezing. His breath escapes in clear white puffs that evaporate into nothingness. A woman with grey hair and expertly styled make-up walks past them. She throws Tony a lascivious wink and he returns it because he can’t help himself. Smiling broadly, she blows him a kiss and continues on her way.

Tim just looks at Tony. “Seriously?”

Tony joins Tim on the sidewalk. “What can I say? No woman can resist the DiNozzo charm.”

“Yeah, that’s what they call it.”

Tony lets it go. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the car, Probie?”

“No way.” Tim shakes his head.

“’Be our guest. Be our guest.’” Tony whisper-sings so only Tim can hear.

Tim makes a face. “What are you talking about?”

“Beauty and the Beast.” Tony makes a show of looking between the two of them. “Though that might be a little too on the nose right now, McHairy.”

Without giving Tim a chance to reply, Tony starts toward the brownstone. SecNav’s house. Tony wonders how many of Washington’s power players are here right now. Probably senators and congress members and the odd secretary. Tony was here more than a few times as the face of NCIS. Former Director Tom Morrow would drag Tony along to schmooze the same lawmakers that are here right now. Morrow took Gibbs exactly once after which he confided in Tony that Gibbs spent the whole night not talking and acting like he was building a case against everyone.

As soon as they reach the bottom of the stairs, a strong voice calls out.

“So, we meet again, Agent DiNozzo.” The man’s voice sounds, harsh and firm, like a Bond villain.

Tony flinches. Pulls his face into his best friendly smile. Turns around as if they’re the very best of friends and the man doesn’t hate him with a capital H.

“Secretary Lewis,” Tony says. “Sir.”

Just beside the stone staircase, Alvin Lewis—current Secretary of the Navy—stands with his arms crossed to his chest. The man might be short, but he is solid and broad. His eyes are a striking blue, his greying hair cut close to his scalp. His posture is ramrod straight, a testament to his days as a Navy SEAL until he was injured on a mission. He looks out of place in his perfectly tailored tuxedo. Tony desperately wants to ask the name of the designer, but he thinks better of it. This meeting is barely a courtesy, brought about by his daughter begging—knowing Alexis, she probably whined—for a favor.

Lewis suspiciously eyes Tim. “And you are?”

Before Tim can reply, Tony says: “That’s Special Agent McGee, sir.”

“Oh?” Lewis reaches into his jacket pocket. “The one who called my office to report a – “ he squints at a small piece of paper “ – matter of national security. Lives are at stake, I believe you said, son?”

Tim puts his hands out. “While that technically is true, sir. I didn’t make the phone call.”

When Lewis’ eyes jump to Tony, the senior agent does his best not to look at him. The last time he saw Lewis, the man may or may not have been agitated since Tony was flirting with his daughter. Somehow, Tony managed to fly under the radar for the last six months. But there’s a reason Tony stopped being the face of NCIS at these fancy parties and it was due to his public flirting with Alexis Lewis.

And he still doesn’t even know what we did after we got back to her place.

Lewis sighs heavily. “Alright Agent DiNozzo, you dragged me out of my party. Let’s hear about this matter of national security that is big enough to involve my daughter.”

His eyes turn into laser beams trying to bore a hole through Tony.

Tim clears his throat, looks back towards the street.

“Do you remember the NCIS agent who was killed a few weeks ago?” Tony asks.

“Caitlin Todd. I heard she was a good agent.” Lewis’ face turns thoughtful. “She was killed by that rogue operative. Former Mossad, wasn’t it? What was his name again? Adam something…”

“Ari Haswari,” Tim supplies helpfully.

They both swivel to look at him. Tim returns to blending into the background.

Tony swallows hard. “We have reason to believe he wasn’t working alone.” When a peak grows between Lewis’ eyebrows, Tony removes the pages from his coat. “Agent McGee investigated the NCIS database, and he discovered that our network was accessed multiple times to view personnel files. He was able to trace the intrusion attempts to the Israeli embassy."

Tony hands over the papers and Lewis squints at them for a long moment. In the end, he pulls a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. After sliding them on, he tilts the papers until he finds enough light to glance through them. While he reads, Tim throws Tony a hopeful look. Tony raises his chin.

Lewis holds out the papers. “Tell me what I’m looking at.”

Tony waggles his hand at Tim because the computer stuff isn’t his forte. While Tony might know what it says, but he sure as hell doesn’t know what it means or how to explain it. Moving forward to stand beside Lewis, Tim points to the numbers and words on the page.

“As you can see here,” Tim says, “these are intrusion attempts into the agency’s network. The points here are the successful ones, and these are the files that were accessed. They correspond to the personnel files for Agent DiNozzo, Agents Todd and Gibbs and myself.” He nods quickly. “It’s pretty obvious.”

Lewis throws Tony a look as if to say, he can’t be serious? All Tony has to offer is a shrug because he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at either, but he trusts Tim to know his job.

“But the date shows that these attacks occurred several weeks ago,” Lewis says.  

“There was another attack a few days after Kate was…after Agent Todd was…after Agent Todd…” Tim can’t seem to bring himself to say the words, she was shot.

As if on cue, Kate materializes beside Tony. That’s when Tony realizes Tim said her name three times like Beetlejuice. She puts her hands on her hips, dips her head to look at him with that annoyed expression she used to. Like she knows something he doesn’t and wants to hold it over his head.

“What?” Tony asks.

Tim glances over, stricken.

Lewis still peruses those documents with a detached disinterest as if he could make sense from Tim’s long-winded explanation. Tim tries to explain it more, but Lewis holds up his hand. He doesn’t look as convinced as Tony was hoping he would be.

“Why do you think Ari looked through those files, Tony?” Kate sounds playful and it makes Tony’s blood run cold. “Do you really think he wanted to get to know us better?”

Tony’s mouth opens. Closes. It hits him like a smack to the back of his head.

“Ari was looking for a target,” Tony announces.

Lewis’ head snaps up. The color slowly drains from Tim’s face. Tony’s eyes snaps between Kate’s dead, dead eyes to Tim’s wide ones. They hold each other’s stare as if they’re the only people on the street.

“Ari wasn’t working alone,” Tony continues. “I think that explains the second intrusion to the NCIS database. Whoever Ari was working with was trying to get to know us better.”

There’s a faint tick upwards to Kate’s lips as though she is trying to let him know he is on to something.

“And you believe this is Ari because?” Lewis asks.

Tony glance at him. “I can’t imagine there are many people at the Israeli Embassy interested in NCIS, sir. Other than the one who shot our friend.”

Lewis looks back to the papers in his hand. “But why are you bringing this to me? Shouldn’t you discuss the matter with Director Shepard?”

“That’s the thing.” Tony takes a step forward. “I know how crazy this might sound, sir.”

Lewis makes a face. “You don’t know the half of it, son.”

And Tim takes that as his cue to head away from Lewis just in case the man doesn’t buy Tony’s theory. Tony steps closer until he and Lewis are side-by-side. Tim is close enough to hear, but far enough away to not be directly involved in the conversation. Kate glides beside Tony on his way to Lewis. He avoids looking at her by keeping his eyes fixed on Lewis’ face.

Lewis just looks at Tony over his glasses. “Spit it out, son. I heard you know how to craft a fine tale and I’m about ready to hear one of my own.”

“Director Shepard is trying to assign another Mossad operative to my team,” Tony says. “I wanted you to see what we had before telling you that.”

Lewis’ eyebrows rise slowly. The slight amusement that had been resting on his face evaporates as quickly as a summer storm. Concern edges onto his features.

“Is this operative registered as a foreign agent?” Lewis asks.

Tony shrugs. “Not to my knowledge. I was informed of her addition two days ago. When Agent McGee and I tried to gather intel regarding possible issues, we were terminated.”

That causes Lewis to remove his glasses and stand a little taller.

“By whom?” he asks.

Tim throws Tony a worried look.

Tony raises his chin. “Director Shepard.”

“And you brought this – “ Lewis holds the papers out to Tony “ – to her attention?”

“We attempted to, sir.” Tony’s frown deepens. “After Agent McGee traced the intrusion attempt to the Israeli Embassy, Shepard terminated him and suspended me. We didn’t have a chance to tell her exactly what we found, but…” He pauses for a moment to look at Kate, who is watching him curiously. “But she didn’t seem surprised by the connection to the Israeli Embassy.”

That causes Lewis to raise his eyebrows and settle back in his stance. He stares into Tony’s eyes as if trying to gauge a measure of the man by looking at him alone. Then he glances at Tim, who looks like he is about to puke all over the sidewalk.

When he speaks, Lewis drops his voice: “That’s quite an accusation, Agent DiNozzo. To believe the director of a federal agency could potentially be colluding with a foreign government.”

“Then why were we fired for uncovering that spying?” Tony sighs heavily while Lewis tilts his head, clearly interested. “’The greatest trick they devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.’”

For a long moment, Lewis mulls over the movie quote. Then, he glances at Tim.

“Do you share the same thought, son?” Lewis asks.

Even though his complexion is nearly green, Tim nods. “Tony and I went on a surveillance op last night and I was detained by the woman who is supposed to join our team.”

“This Mossad operative?” Lewis asks.

Tony nods. “Ziva David is her name.”

Lewis must recognize the name because his lips press together in a tight line. He settles back into his stance as he reviews the papers Tony gave him again. Tony swallows hard because he doesn’t know what Lewis will say. For some reason, he is starting to believe Lewis might throw them back to the wolves. That this might be the very end of the line for him and Tim.

Maybe I should’ve called Gibbs…

Tim must think the same thing because his eyes are on the street. He watches a few cars lazily pass through the darkened street.

The only one to show any life is Kate. She stamps her foot, throws her hands out as she leans toward Lewis. She tries to bat at the pages, but they flitter like riding a gentle breeze.

“What is there to think about?” she yells. “It’s all connected! How can you not see that? It’s right there in front of your face! He killed me! They killed me!” The realization settles over her face as something akin to rage twists her features. “They killed me…”

Tony starts, “Kate…”

She blinks out before he can get the words out. Not that he knew what he was going to say.

Lewis glances up. “I’m going to look into this.”

And that might be about the best they get. Lewis starts to turn away, but Tim steps forward.

“What about our jobs, sir?” Tim asks.

Lewis surveys the pair before he tilts his head. “Report to the Navy Yard tomorrow. I will inform security to let you into the building. If your theory doesn’t pan out, Director Shepard’s decision will stand. And Agent DiNozzo, you’ll likely be terminated after your association meeting.”

Tony opens his mouth to speak.

“Tomorrow,” Lewis says.

Accepting they’ve been dismissed, Tony leads the way back to the Mustang. Lewis is already on his phone, but Tony doesn’t know who he could be calling. Tony doesn’t know what they should do now because everything might just be out of his hands. He is putting all his faith in someone other than Gibbs for the first time in his career.

He is almost to the car when Lewis calls after him, “Agent DiNozzo.”

Tony turns back. “Yes sir?”

Lewis levels him a look at that could kill him. “Stay the hell away from my daughter.”

Chapter Text

After their talk with Lewis, Tony takes Tim straight back to his apartment. The mood in the car is quiet and sullen, strange even. Tim’s eyes are fixed out the passenger window, staring dully at the scenery slithering past the car. Tony keeps the radio off, his hands at ten and two. The grumbling of the Mustang’s engine serves as their gentle conversation. When Tony pulls in front of Tim’s apartment, it’s just after midnight.

Tim doesn’t get out right away. He tilts his head to look at his building. Outside, rain starts against the car. Fat raindrops plink, plink, plink against it. The city lights around them slowly become blurry and crystalline. Outside, it's what the world looks like after Tony has had too much to drink. Beautiful, fuzzy.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Tim sounds like he hasn’t spoken in days.

Tony shrugs with one shoulder. “’When a defining moment comes along, you can do one of the two things. Define the moment or let the moment define you.’”

Tim looks over at Tony, who quirks an eyebrow.

“Tin Cup,” he explains. “Kevin Costner. The beautiful Rene Russo. A golfer is working at a driving range to get into the US Open.”

“I didn’t ask about a movie,” Tim says. “I asked what you think.”

Now, it’s Tony’s turn to glance out the windshield. He never stops long enough to consider what he thinks. Tony tends to barrel through like a freight train. Action and chaos and movement and noise. Barely finishing one thing before jumping to the next. Like his romantic life, he flits between whatever holds his attention for the moment. He completes his tasks, he doesn’t think about how it’ll work out. He trusts the universe. He trusts himself.

“Of course it’ll work, Probie. Why wouldn’t it?” Tony flashes his most reassuring smile, but Tim remains unconvinced. “Just you wait, Gibbs’ll be ordering us around by this time tomorrow. Then you’ll wish you enjoyed your break from work."

Those words cause Tim’s face to pinch. Of course, Tony didn’t tell him the truth. Didn’t admit that he has no idea what is going to happen, and he isn’t certain that they’ll see the inside of the NCIS building again. Sometimes, a lie is the kindest gift you can give because hope is all you have.

I just wish he believed me.

“What do we do tomorrow?” Tim asks.

“Business as usual,” Tony says. “Just show up and see if they let us through security.”

“Right.” Tim raises his chin. “And why aren’t we calling Gibbs?”

Tony’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Because I’m cleaning up the mess. Rule Forty-five.”

Tim nods slowly because he still doesn’t buy it.

“And don’t worry.” Tony grins broadly. “If NCIS doesn’t rehire us, I’m sure the Feebees will! They always need bodies and maybe we’d even work for Fornell.”

That causes Tim to visibly wilt. He waits for a long moment as if to give Tony a chance to say more, give him another chance to lie. When Tony doesn’t, Tim slowly climbs out of the car. Tony watches him dart through the drizzle. Tim trudges through the spitting rain.

“It’s going to work,” Tony says to the empty car. “Just have a little faith.”

And maybe Tony is saying those words as much for Tim’s benefit as his own. Maybe if he says them enough times, he might start to believe them too.

As soon as Tim enters his building, Tony points the Mustang towards Embassy Row. The deserted streets and the purring car engine and the light fall rain keep him company as he takes the long way. Around him, the city lights glitter like jewels of a lost treasure. He ends up parked across the street from Ziva David’s hotel. An impromptu stakeout. For all he knows, she might not even be there, but he still wants to try. He owes Tim--and himself--that much. And he isn't the kind of person to just let things go. He can stop digging when Gibbs muzzles him or he's dead. Not before.

Ziva might recognize his car, but Tony doesn’t care anymore. Now, there is a burning need to catch her doing something illegal. It doesn't even matter what, as long as it's something. He doesn’t know where she is, but he knows where she’ll end up if she’s already out for the night. Technically, he can’t do anything, but he needs to do something. This is the only thing he has left. He might, on paper, still be a federal agent, but on suspension and without a badge and weapon, he is barely one step above a ‘concerned citizen.’

Tony shimmies around in the bench seat to find a comfortable position. His ass starts to fall asleep.

Out of nowhere, Kate materializes in the passenger seat. She tilts her head, considering him cooped up in the confines of his car. Her smile borders on pitying.

“No snacks,” she says. “You’re slipping, Tony.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth lilts upward. “McGee ate them all.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?”

When Tony looks over, Kate’s face is bathed in the sulfuric glow of the streetlight. She looks just like always did, ready and strong, back in her power pant suit. Ready and strong, except for that neat little hole in her head.

She frowns. “Do I have something on my face?”

Just the bullet hole that killed you.

Tony shakes his head. “Not at all. Just reminiscing about our first stakeout.”

When she tries to punch him, her hand glides through her shoulder. She doesn’t seem to notice, but he sure as hell does. Her fingers feel like ice slithering through his bones. He can’t stop the shiver that glides down his spine. He wishes this moment didn’t feel so natural.

“Yeah, I remember that too.” Kate throws him a dirty look. “You told me that we’d be meeting at the parking lot, but you didn’t show up. It was Gibbs and you told him I would be bringing coffee. I spent ten hours in the car while he stared at me because I didn’t have his coffee.”

That makes Tony laugh. “Actually, I was thinking about the time you and I were watching that Marine. When you decided to grab snacks, you ran into him in the convenience store next door. He flirted with you and confessed to the crime while you were talking. That was wild.”

“What can I say, Tony? I’m irresistible.”

Those words cause Tony’s heart to clench. It isn’t the memory, but the word—I’m, I am—when she is anything but present tense. You were, he wants to say, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he releases a brittle laugh. Kate lobs another dirty look at him. In the end, she looks back to the lonely hotel entrance. The entire street is deserted and it’s just the two of them. Well, him and whatever is left of her. It should be creepy and downright terrifying, but it isn’t. If anything, it feels normal. Like things used to.Tony alone in his car talking to his freshly dead teammate’s ghost. No, he doesn’t want to think about it that way. She is here to work on another case.

When I’m dead, I’m hanging up the shoulder holster. I think I’ll haunt Redskins’ cheerleaders’ locker room.

“I thought you told McGee that you were going home,” Kate says.

“Home. Out for a stakeout on a spy.” Tony releases a pffft. “Same difference.”

Kate laughs. “Not even close.”

They fall into a friendly silence as they go through the motions they used to as partners. Eyes fixed ahead, attention split between the subject and each other. Tony always liked going on stakeouts with Kate the best. She always knew just how much to say and when to go quiet. With Gibbs, he never said a word unless it was on the job and Tim, he never shuts up about whatever techno-thing he’s working on at the moment.

Though Tony didn’t appreciate that when she was still alive. He spent so long trying to annoy the hell out of Kate because he could—Gibbs would shoot him and Tim is too easy. Opening snacks as loudly as he could. Chewing with his mouth open. Constantly adjusting and readjusting his seat. Instead, he just soaks up her presence because he is slowly forgetting what she felt like.

“I’m surprised you’re here with me,” Tony suddenly announces.

Her eyebrows slowly rise.

“I thought you would have better things to do,” he continues.

Kate’s smile is bemused. “I thought this would be fun too. Though you weren’t my first choice.”

That leaves Tony turning in his seat. “Oh?”

Her silence speaks volumes because she doesn’t volunteer if she bothered with Gibbs or Tim. She raises her chin as if to say, Wouldn’t you like to know?  In that moment, he understands she never went to anyone else without whatever the hell he’s doing. She might’ve dropped by to say hello, but she never went to them with her request. It was Tony, always Tony.

His heart feels like someone stomped it into the ground.

Leaning back, Tony sighs. Because he still doesn’t know what they’re—he’s—doing. Tailing a Mossad operative on the hopes he might catch her doing something vaguely illegal. All while talking to a ghost. If he admits it to anyone, they’ll ship him straight to the looney bin.

He changes the subject. “While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me all about it.”

Kate glances over. “About what?”

“The afterlife. Being…” he can’t bright himself to say a ghost “…able to go to all the places where you can’t be seen. Like how boring McGee really is when he’s home. Or what Gibbs does in his basement when he isn’t working on the boat.”

 “You know I can’t tell you.” Kate smiles. “But I will tell you that McGee is more boring than you thought, and Gibbs doesn’t always work on his boat.”

“Tell me he sings karaoke, but only the sappiest love songs. Or something awful like Sonny and Cher.”

“You’ll never look at him the same way again if you find out about his new hobby.”

That catches Tony’s interest. He raises his eyebrows, turns to face her with a Do Tell expression spread across his face. He might not be ready to use the information—thought he can get some dirt on Tim—but he is fascinated about what Leroy Jethro Gibbs does in his spare time.

Kate just shakes her head and instead, says: “Oh, and there aren’t any snacks.”

“What?” Toy asks.

“In the afterlife.” She smiles apologetically. “There aren’t any snacks here.”

Tony frowns. Contemplates what makes up a huge chunk of his existence.

 “Well, shit,” he mutters.

Kate makes a strange noise, ethereal and clear almost like a bell. It doesn’t sound like any noise she ever made when she was alive. Tony wonders whether it might be a giggle.

Tony is about to ask what Tim does in his spare time when movement catches his attention from the hotel entrance. Despite the baggie sweats and huge sweatshirt, it only takes a moment to recognize Ziva David leaving the hotel. She moves down the street without a care in the world.

Kate’s eyes narrow. “That’s her.”

Tony dips his head. “I know. What else is there?”

Instead of reply, Kate blips out of the car door. She reappears standing on the street. Tony has seen her do it once or twice already, but the movement is still jarring. She looks so much like a living person—if you ignore the pale, corpse-like skin and the bullet hole in her head—that she shouldn't be able to pass straight through objects.

Tony slithers out of the car, silent and steady. He eases the door closed as quietly as he can. He doesn’t have the luxury of being invisible and silent as a ghost or phantom or whatever the hell Kate is now. One more fuck-up like earlier and his current mess could end in permanent termination. Worse, he could even end up with jail time. Spy have a habit of being coated in teflon. Nothing sticks and what's worse, they make it stick to the people just doing their jobs.

The air is cold and crisp, wrapping itself around him like a suffocating, too tight blanket. The rain is light, but steady. It splats against the back of his neck and in his hair. He turns his collar up, but it doesn’t help.

Ziva is halfway up the block, striding confidently to the west. She doesn’t look back, but Tony darts into the nearest alcove. He moves as fast as he dares, sliding from alcove to alcove. Thankfully, the street is deserted, and Ziva is an easy target in her white sweatshirt. Still, with the unlimited visibility comes the potential for her to make him without any explanation to his presence.

Tony ducks into the recessed entrance to a vacuum store. Peers around the window to see where Ziva is still moving up the block. One full block already and increasing as she heads away from the embassies. He doesn’t know where she is going, but he intends to find out.

Kate materializes in front of him. “What are you doing, DiNozzo?

“Making sure I don’t get seen,” he says. “We can’t all be invisible like you are.”

“You’re going to lose her.” There’s a certain desperation in Kate’s voice.

He peers around the corner to see Ziva still moving up the block. Then an idea strikes him light lightning. It would make his job so much easier to have help. And there is a ghost here who could do just that.

He points down the block. “Hey Kate, why don’t you follow her and tell me where she went?”

Kate shifts her weight. “I can’t do that, Tony.”

His eyes flick to hers for a moment. “Why not?”

Kate takes a step onto the sidewalk, but she doesn’t say anything. Then, she starts up the street. Tony swallows hard because he doesn’t even know what she means.

It spurs him into action. As he scrambles to catch up to Ziva, his right hip bumps into the wall on his way past. The familiar weight is gone, and the window collides with his pelvic bone.

I don’t have my weapon. Shit.

Still, he pushes forward. Kate stays a few feet ahead, urging him ever onward. Tony slides from business to business, ducking behind trashcans when there isn’t an alcove to hide.

They move like this for three blocks before there’s a business that’s finally open. Down the block, there is a huge garish pink and green neon sign advertising a twenty-four-hour diner. It looks like a metal box with huge glass windows. Just like the one from The Blob.

Ziva doesn’t break stride as she heads inside. A moment later, she appears in a booth by the window. Tony moves closer for a better view, but he slides into an alleyway for the best viewpoint. He half-crouches behind a dumpster for a better view. The rain is still falling and by now, his dresscoat is soaked. The whole alley smells like damp and piss and vomit and trash.

Kate appears beside him, but right out in the open. He almost tells her that she’ll be seen because he almost forgot that he is the only one who can see her.

I almost forget she’s dead.

She leers at him. “Just like home, huh?”

“Maybe your place, Katie. It takes a special person to enjoy this level of squalor.” When he glances down, he notices he stepped in a puddle of vomit. That makes him glance up and narrow his eyes.

From her spot inside the diner, Ziva scans the deserted sidewalk. As if she knows she is being followed, but she can’t quite find the source. When her eyes glide toward the alley, Tony instinctively ducks behind the cold metal. It presses against his shoulder. His blood turns to ice.

Just think you’re paranoid, Ziva. You’re a spy and it’s normal to think you’re being tailed.

Kate puts her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you go in there?”

“Have you lost your mind since you died, Kate?” Tony’s eyes flick towards hers. “If I go in there, Ziva will know that I’m tailing her, and she’ll call off whatever meeting she has.”

“I know. It’s just…” Kate bites her lip, eyes gliding to the diner. “I’m running out of time.”

Tony flinches. Looks over at her. “What does that mean?”

“I can’t tell you, Tony.” Kate’s smile is sad. “Even if I wanted to.”

That makes the hair on the back of Tony’s neck rise, his blood turn even colder. He leans further out from behind the dumpster to keep eyes on Ziva. That’s when a familiar figure heads down the street toward the diner. A tall, thin woman with a shock of red hair. The woman who tried to fire him a few hours ago.

“What the hell is Director Shepard doing here?” he mutters

He suspected that she and Ziva were working together, but he didn’t expect it so blatant. Based on the light sigh that Kate makes, he understands that she knows more than she is letting on.

He looks at her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Kate looks over, wide-eyed. “I can’t say, Tony. There are rules.”

“Of course there are,” he mutters darkly.

Tony wraps his hand around the metal dumpster, his mind churning at what he should do next. He already left his evidence with SecNav, but there is always more he could do. Especially with Ziva and Shepard’s meeting being right out in the open.

He pulls out his cell phone and makes a call.

Tobias Fornell answers on the first ring. “DiNutzo! About damned time you called me.”

Tony rubs the back of his wet neck. “What are you talking about?”

“I just got your love note from SecNav.” There’s the sound of papers flicking over the line. “You shoulda just come to me first. It’s worse than Gibbs told me.”

“When did Gibbs talk to you?” Tony asks, gripping the phone tighter.

“A few days ago. Gibbs mentioned a foreign agent. That's it. Just a foreign agent, not a targeted attack against NCIS that went up the director.” Fornell huffs loudly. “Holy deep-fried hotdog on a stick, what kind of dog and pony show are you chucklefucks running over there?”

Tony can’t help laughing. “Those are called corn dogs. I thought you’d like to know that foreign agent is currently meeting with the NCIS director as we speak.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because I’ve got eyes on them.”

“Gibbs said you weren’t involved. How do you – “ Fornell clears his throat and he sounds like he is making a face and shaking his head. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Trouble always finds a way to bite you on the ass and drag me in too. Tell me where and I’ll be in fifteen. This meeting might not be enough to bring them in right now, but it’ll build the case. I’ve already got Morrow on Homeland looking into the foreign agent. He's playing it closer to the vest than Gibbs does. ”

As Tony prattles off the address, Kate watches him curiously. He offers her an enthusiastic thumbs up, but she merely tilts her head as if readying to ask a question. He wishes she could tell him what is going on. He wishes he knew what was going on.

“Oh, and Fornell,” Tony says. “Bring some snacks. This might be a long night.”

Fornell laughs. “What are you in the mood for, DiNutzo? I’ve suddenly got a hankering for corn dogs.”

Chapter Text

After Tony’s phone call with Tobias Fornell, the beleaguered FBI agent shows up with a camera, a microphone, and a huge bag of corn dogs. Kate-disgusted and rolling her eyes -blips out as soon as Tony scarfs his first corn dog.

Their impromptu stakeout didn’t last long. The microphone doesn’t work because they’re too far away and Fornell only manages to snap a few pictures of Ziva and Shepard’s meeting. Then, suddenly it’s over. Tony knew it wasn’t nearly enough, but Fornell acted like it was a huge break in his likely nonexistent case. Right before he scuttles back to the Hoover Building to find more evidence to as he says, “Stick it to Gibbs.” Based on the way he says it, Tony can’t tell if he’s trying to help Gibbs or kick the man while he’s grieving Kate’s death.

Instead of heading home like he promised Fornell, Tony tails Ziva back to her hotel. For a long time, he sits in the frigid and dark of his Mustang. Kate returns, eyes fixed on the windshield. Her face is impassive, expression hard and features tight. Every so often, a drip of blood wicksfrom the bullet wound in her forehead. Everything she can’t say settles around them, a thick and suffocating blanket.

He turns to face her. “Kate, I – “

“Tony…” Kate interrupts, voice shaking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.”

“Rule Six.” He half-smiles. “But I understand.”

"Oh? And - " her face turns drawn " - there's no sex here."

"What the..." Tony doesn't finish the thought.

She vanishes without even saying goodbye.

After that, Tony settles back into the cold and lonely darkness of the Mustang. As if the thought of death wasn't bad enough already, the promise of no snacks and no sex in the afterlife puts a damper on his already dour mood. He spends the rest of the night, waiting for Kate to return.

He feels her absence more than he ever felt her presence.

He huddles deeper into his dress coat, buries his hands in his gloves. His gaze stays fixed the front door of Ziva’s hotel, but the Israeli doesn’t leave all night. Maybe she'll head out the back, but that's a chance he'll have to take since he's on a stakeout of one. Whenever Tony’s stomach growls, he grabs another corn dog from the bag that Fornell brought. After a while, his stomach stops growling and he can’t tell if he’s full or his digestive system can’t bear another corn dog.

Slowly, the city comes to life around him. The sky above the buildings turns from a bruised blue to a dull, dishwater grey. Cars and buses and taxis meander past with an increasing frequency. Well-dressed people in fancy suits and runners in work-out clothes rush past, tourists spill out of the hotel across the street. And yet, not one of them is Ziva David.

Before Tony knows it, the time is pushing 0800. If he isn’t at the Navy Yard soon, Gibbs will make sure Tony is buried in paperwork until after the holidays. Christmas and New Year’s, not the ones that are right around the corner. Not that he isn’t usually up to his eyeballs in paperwork, but there’s a difference between his usual work and the busy work Gibbs will find when he’s pissed.

Surprising, traffic is light and it doesn't take long to make it across Washington. As he pulls into the parking garage of the Navy Yard, Tony can’t stop thinking about how he didn’t see Ziva after her meeting at the diner. He wonders what she could be up to and how long it will take Homeland to connect her to something. Maybe that’s easier to consider than the fact that he might not have a job when he arrives at the Navy Yard this morning. And Tim might not have one either.

When Tony heads through the security checkpoint, the guards aren’t surprised he doesn’t have his creds. Word travels fast through the security guards because they’re the biggest gossips in the office after Jane in the armory. They don’t ask questions while they check his vehicle and his other IDs. Then, the guard hands him a temporary ID to allow him in the building. It’s the first flash of hope he has felt in days because he won’t allow himself to consider the alternative.

The one where I’m fired just like McGoober….

He parks his car in his usual spot. The one on the farthest spot of the building where no one else does because he doesn’t want anyone else too close to his baby. Kate liked to make fun of him for how much he loved his car, but as much as he hates to admit it, she was right. It's the healthiest relationship he's ever had.

To give himself to collect his thoughts, he takes the stairs. Before long, his lungs scream with the effort and perspiration rises to his back. He pauses every floor, turns his sweaty face toward the ceiling. The air rasps against his throat on its way to his lungs. He tries so hard to ignore it. Pretend it isn’t happening. Bury it deep enough that he no longer feels.

If he keeps pushing, he’ll get better. If he keeps going, everything will be just fine. He is exhausted and soaked with sweat and gasping when he reaches the fourth floor.

I thought I’d be back to normal by now.

Still, he won’t break his stride on his way to the bullpen. He might not be the first one there, but it doesn’t really matter. After what they’ve done, Gibbs should let it slide. He’s been nice after Kate died and as much as Tony hates it, he’ll use it to his advantage this one time. Just this one time.

Despite still catching his breath, Tony walks straight into the bullpen as quick as he can. He half-expects security to be there, ready to lead him downstairs and chuck him out the front door.

But it's just Tim. Sitting at his desk and staring at his computer, befuddled.

“You look more confused than usual, Probie,” Tony says.

Tim’s head snaps up. Almost instantly, he jumps to his feet to join Tony at his desk. On the top of his desk, Tony discovers his weapon and creds. He flips open his creds to make sure they’re real, that they’re really his. While he would usually shove them into his desk drawer, Tony clips his weapon to his belt and pockets his creds. He shouldn’t be relieved that their plan worked, but he can’t help it.

Thanks Kate…

“My password.” Tim blinks, incredulous. “It still works.”  

Tony looks at him. “And?”

“Security let me through without any questions.” Tim jostles a temporary ID that’s affixed to his sportscoat. “They even gave me this.”

When Tony glances at Tim’s left hip, he notices the younger man wears his weapon too. Almost as if he’s worried that they’ll take it away if he puts it down.

Tony half-smiles. “I told you we’d still have our jobs. This happens all the time.”

Tim’s expression turns stricken. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. Absently, he picks up a case file on his desk. In the chaos of the last few days, he completely forgot about their UA sailor, Dennis Bryson. Maybe when the dust settles, he’ll be able to do his job and find Dennis the Menace.

When Tim clears his throat, Tony looks up.

“Well,” Tony says, “you told me not to tell you. It happens occasionally, but we always get our stuff back.”

“Once is more than enough,” Tim says meekly.

That makes Tony laugh because Gibbs sometimes pisses people off enough to earn all of them a suspension. When he was first hired, Tony was shocked. Then he slowly started to consider the suspensions as unplanned vacations. This time, he can’t even consider how close he came to being truly fired. He even thought this one might’ve been permanent. He never went far enough to call his association rep—he didn’t have the time—but he thought about it. Before this, he never even considered the need to.

Tony shrugs. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to,” Tim bleats.

All Tony has to offer is an unsympathetic shrug. Tim will have to, or he’ll find another team because that’s how Gibbs works. It might not be healthy or normal, but it’s just the way things are.

“Have you seen Gibbs yet?” Tony asks.

Tim shakes his head. “I saw Secretary Lewis show up with a bunch of FBI agents.” His eyes slide toward the director’s office. “They’ve been up there for a while. Fornell was with them.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tony asks.

Tim purses his lips. “I – uh…I don’t know.”

Tony is already on the move to see what is happening to the director. As if not wanting to be left alone, Tim is right on Tony’s heels. They bound up the steps before arriving outside the director’s office. Tim is close enough for Tony to feel the younger man’s hot breath on the back of his neck. When Tony throws Tim a pointed look, he backs up for a second. Then as soon as Tony turns around, he is right there again.

When they slip through the door, the secretary’s desk is empty. If they did things right at the FBI, there would be a Feebee posted by the door to prevent Tony and Tim from gaining access. But they don’t, so there isn’t. Fornell might think NCIS is a dog and pony show, but if you ask Tony, the FBI is a five-alarm dumpster fire.

By all accounts, Tony shouldn’t be trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. It’s like Gibbs always says, curiosity will kill him one day and he’ll teach Tim all his bad habits. And maybe he is right because Tony sneaks closer and closer to the door to the director’s office and Tim is there. Right. Up. His. Ass.

“We shouldn’t be here.” Tim’s hot breath hits Tony’s neck.

Tony jerks his head at the door—an open invitation for Tim to leave.

Tim doesn’t. He stays right there, glued to Tony as if they’ll go down for this together.

The words carry from the director's office. Again, the Feebees can't even be trusted to shut the door.

“…colluding with a foreign government.” Fornell is the one talking. “Director Shepard, you have to understand – “

“Agent Fornell.” Secretary Lewis sharply interrupts. “Call it what is! Spying! You’re spying on NCIS, Jenny! You’re spying on your country! And for what?”

There’s a pregnant pause where the entire world is holding its breath. The only noise is Tim’s quiet breathing that sounds so loud everyone in the entire building can probably hear it. Tony throws Tim a look that says, stop breathing and shut up, but Tim is too busy staring at the door to the director’s office.

“For what, Jenny?” Lewis sounds so hurt.

“I did nothing of the sort!” Shepard’s tone is indignant, aggravated. “Ziva David would be a fine addition to NCIS and that is my personal opinion. I received nothing in return for her joining. Now, I have a lot of work to do. If you would be so kind, gentlemen…”

“I don’t think you understand, Director Shepard,” Fornell says. “You’re under arrest for espionage. Right here. Right now. We can do it discreetly or – “ there’s a smile in his voice “ –what some might call the hard way. Though, I like to refer to it as the fun way.”

And if they’re about to arrest Director Shepard, Tony doesn’t want him and Tim to be caught eavesdropping by the door. He pivots to bolt back to the bullpen, but Tim is right there. To get the younger man moving, he shoves Tim roughly at the door. Then, they both nearly sprint to their desks. Once they're in the safety of the bullpen, Tony tumbles back into his desk chair. He and Tim share a grim stare as if just realizing what is happening.

Tim’s face is ghastly pale. “What should we do?”

Tony drops his eyes to the casefile on his desk. “Get back to work.”

“The director…” Tim’s voice trails off.

“I know.” Tony nods. “But we still need to find Dennis the Menace, remember?”

With an unconvinced look, Tim turns back to his computer. A moment later, Tim says, “There still hasn’t been a hit on Bryson’s card since that bar last night.”

Tony waggles his hand at Tim in an unspoken order. Do the voodoo, it says.

While Tim might not entirely know what it means, he dives back into his computer work.

Tony flips through his schizophrenic notes—musings about checking into Dennis the Menace’s girlfriends and wondering how his credit limit is so damned high and the notes about his proclivity for fancy hotels. Tony makes a list of similar hotels near that bar in Alexandria. He makes a few phone calls, but he is coming up empty.

Every so often, his attention flicks back to the director’s office. He tries not to think about what is going on up there, tries not to think about the mess he fell ass backwards into it.

Rule Forty-five, but I’ve made a fucking oil spill at this point.

On the phone, Tony is trying to talk to an overly chatty hotel attendant. Right now, the man on the phone is describing every guest they’ve had in the last month. Tony covers his face with his hand, barely managing to suppress the anger rising in his throat.

“…was an older gentleman,” the man is saying. “Maybe mid-sixties or so, but he was spry. And – “

“No,” Tony interrupts harshly. “The man I asked about is in his mid-twenties with dark hair and rat face. Pointy teeth and beady eyes. He sorta looks like the mouse from Mousehunt.”

“I haven’t seen that movie,” the man says. “What’s it about?”

Tony pulls the phone away from his ear. Clutches it in his white-knuckled hand. He smacks it against his forehead once to stop the barrage that’s about to spew out. Anymore of this and he’ll smash it against his head until he is unconscious. Tim looks over, jaw and brow furrowed. Tony smiles thinly.

Back on the phone. “’I don’t think we’re dealing with an ordinary mouse.’.”

There’s a stunned silence before the man says, “I don’t know what that means.”

“Me neither,” Tony says. “A man. I’m looking for a man.”

“Aren’t we all?” the voice over the line says. “Say, what are you doing later?”

Licking his lips, Tony barely swallows his agitated yell. “All I need to know is if a man checked in last night. Mid-twenties, rat-faced. Probably showed up with a harem.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Tony smashes his hand over his face again. “I wasn’t on the schedule for last night, but I’ll check with Jessica and call you back. What’s your number?”

When Tony stays quiet, the man on the phone prattles off his information. Suddenly, the door to the director’s office swings open. Tony’s eyes flick upward as three men in poorly-tailored, off-the-rack suits—Tony would recognize the FBI by the cut anywhere—lead Director Jenny Shepard toward the stairs. Pulling up the rear the group is grim-faced Tobias Fornell.

“I’ll call Jessica later,” Tony says as he slams down the phone.

Tim mutters something that sounds like, “Typical.”

Tony raps his knuckles on his desk to catch the younger man’s attention. When Tim looks over, Tony jerks his chin toward the stairs where the FBI agents and Shepard are. Tim mutters, “Oh my G-d…” before he turns back to his computer.

Tony doesn’t look away.

Flanked by the FBI agents, Shepard proudly strides toward the elevator. Her hands are in front of her, hidden beneath her dress coat. Tony figures she’s handcuffed and trying to hide it. On her way to the elevator, she throws him a look that could take him out at the knees.

Fornell tosses Tony a two fingered salute as if to say Nice work, DiNutzo.

And just like that, they’re gone quick enough for Tony to wonder whether they were there in the first place. Tony pushes a breath through his teeth, a low and quiet whistle. When he started this, he thought it end with Gibbs telling Ziva she couldn’t join the team. He didn’t think it would lead back to the director of his own agency and lead to criminal charges.

“Did the director just…” Tim can’t finish the thought.

“Get arrested?” Tony laughs, buoyant and incredulous. “Oh yeah.”

Before Tony can say anything else, Alvin Lewis appears at the top of the stairs. He fixes Tony with a look and curls his index finger in a Come here motion. Tony glances from Lewis to Tim and back again. Then, he points to his chest as if to say Who me?

Lewis moves back into the director’s office.

“What’s that all about?” Tim asks.

Tony clears his throat. “I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”

Tony jumps out of his seat. Smooths his hair. Tightens his tie. Double-checks to make sure his weapon is still on his hip because he already learned how easily it could be taken away. Then, he heads up the stairs back to the director’s office. His lungs twitch with how quickly he takes the stairs, but he swallows down the cough that rises deep in his chest.

Lewis waits for him by the secretary’s desk. He still wears last night’s tux, his hair is mussed and there are bags beneath his eyes. He likely didn’t sleep at all.  

“I trust you found your gear,” Lewis says.

“Thank you, sir.” Tony stands a little straighter. “And thank you for believing us.”

“Believing you?” Lewis releases a throaty chuckle. “What you and Agent McGee uncovered was more than I think you realize. It wasn’t an agency director playing fast and loose with the rules, but likely committing espionage with the head of a foreign intelligence agency.”

Tony can still hear Lewis plaintively asking, For what? For what?

“Mossad?” Tony asks.

Lewis merely tilts his head.

“Ziva was going to be a plant,” Tony surmises.

Lewis turns his back to Tony. “Agent Fornell and Homeland Director Morrow believes the plan was that she would be feeding information directly to Mossad. Whatever Shepard didn’t give them. Unbeknownst to me, the FBI had been keeping tabs on her for some time now. Your information just accelerated their timeline for an arrest.”

Tony puts his hands in his pockets. Shifts his weight.

“You’ll receive a commendation for your efforts,” Lewis says as if that’s what Tony is waiting for.

“I didn’t work alone, sir,” Tony says.

“I’m fully aware.” When Lewis’ phone dings, he checks it. “Agent McGee will receive one too and I’ll be lifting his probationary status early.”

Tony nods. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” Lewis’ smile is wry, and it doesn’t look right on his serious face. “It seems I’m in your debt here. Shepard was my recommendation to be the director. Though her actions leave quite a bit of egg on my face. Congressman Stanley will never let me live this down. He didn’t like her from the start.”

“I’ll let you know if I ever need a favor,” Tony says.

When Lewis pulls out his cell phone, Tony takes it to mean that he’s dismissed. Tony only makes it a few steps before he turns back, face deep in thought.

“What happens to Ziva David, sir?” Tony asks.

Not looking up from his phone, Lewis shakes his head. “She was listed on a commercial flight to Tel Aviv first thing this morning. It seems she’s back to being Mossad’s problem.”

Tony’s blood turns to ice. “What time was the flight?”

“Right about 0700.”

“And what if she wasn’t on the plane?”

Right now, Tony can’t tell him that he was staked out her hotel all night. Not after he told Fornell that he was heading home because he was told to stand down. Tony can’t tell him that he never saw Ziva leave the hotel. There was no way she could’ve left the country. He’ll have to call Fornell as soon as their meeting is over.

Lewis looks up sharply. “I don’t believe that’s your concern anymore. Do your job, Agent DiNozzo. And let Director Morrow take care of his.”

“Right,” Tony says, clipping a nod.

It’ll always be my concern.

And with that, Tony heads back to the bullpen. Tim still works at his computer, shoulders slouched and face now sullen. The change in Tim’s demeanor and the tension in the air feels like a shift in the weather, a storm brewing off the coast. The coffee cup on Gibbs’ desk forecasts rough seas, heavy rain, and clouds.

Tony points at Tim. “Hey Probie, you’ll always be a probie. Got it?”

Tim looks up, clearly confused. “Um, okay. Sure, I guess.”

“Got anything yet?” Tony asks, sidling beside him.

Tim’s lips press together. “I’m still looking into it.”

“Keep at it.”

After Tim clips a distracted nod, Tony sets off in search for Gibbs. It takes several laps around the agent floor and with each pass, Tim peeks up like a confused prairie dog. Tony just shakes his head because he doesn’t need Tim right now.

Tony only hopes he’ll know what words to say when he finds Gibbs. He hopes that explanation for why he went rogue will tumble from his lips. He only hopes Gibbs won’t fire him for the effort.

He finds Gibbs in one of the interrogation rooms. He is yelling into his phone. Swallowing hard, Tony freezes by the doorway in hopes that Gibbs doesn’t see him. Based on how tight Gibbs’ posture is, his muscles coiled for a fight.

“…my collar, Tobias!” Gibbs pauses his ranting. “And tell my ex-wife to stop calling me.” Another pause. “I don’t care if she likes me better.”

Then, he hangs up.

Tony takes a slight step backward. Tries his best to meld into the background until he can get far enough away to make a run for it. The tactic works for gazelles running from lions, but –

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs barks.

He doesn’t turn about, but he still knows Tony is there. The senior agent plasters on his best grin, closes the distance between him and the team leader.

“I told you something didn’t feel right, Boss,” Tony says as lightly as he can.

When Gibbs turns around, he falters in his stance. Instead of the warrior Tony expects, there is a tired and worried man staring back at him. It’s the most human that Gibbs has looked since Kate died and Tony’s heart clenches in his chest because…Gibbs is about to be nice. And that’s a worse punishment than the head slap and undeserved overtime he expected.

“You okay?” Gibbs asks.

Tony licks his lips. Nods.

“And McGee?”

Tony nods again. “Fine. Ziva isn’t gone, Boss. You have to know that.”

Gibbs just blinks. “I know.”

He claps a strong hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing tightly as if he is trying to hold on even tighter. Everything in his fingertips tells Tony that they’ll deal with Ziva another time, that it’s a fight for another day. There’s hesitation, an almost uncertainty, in Gibbs’ touch. A doubt where Gibbs asks almost asks why Tony didn’t ask to have his six.

I screwed up…

“You didn’t call me,” Gibbs says without any hint of accusation.

Maybe it’s the lack of blame that leaves Tony reeling. He stumbles back a half-step as if he was struck. Tony has spent the better part of his life disappointing people, but that expression never appeared on Gibbs’ face. Anger and annoyance and aggravation and frustration, worry even once, everything that Tony is so good at making Gibbs feel. But never, ever disappointment.

When he turns away, Gibbs merely shakes his head. Tony opens his mouth to talk, but Gibbs holds up his hand. Whatever Tony was about to say, this isn’t the time. It isn’t the place.

Gibbs' words are barely a whisper: "Rule Six."

Chapter Text

“Say it again, Probie,” Tony croons.

He sits at his desk, hands clasped like a schoolboy and an angelic expression on his face. He looks at Tim expectantly. They have done the same dance over the last three days. No matter how many times Tony hears it, the words never, ever grow old.

Tim narrows his eyes.

Tony leans forward. “Just say it so we can get back to work.”

Tim grumbles something under his breath before announcing: “I’m not saying it. Not again.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony challenges.

Tim raises his eyebrow. “Make me.”

Hopping out of his seat, Tony crosses the distance between them. He pauses in front of Tim’s desk, looming over the younger man to bait him. Tony cups his hand around his ear, slowly leaning over the desk until he is nearly in Tim’s face. Tim slides his chair back.

“What did you say?” Tony asks. “I didn’t hear you.”

Tim presses his lips together.

They glare at each other, clearly at an impasse. Tim’s eyes flick between Tony and Gibbs’ empty desk. And he sighs as though his very soul is leaving his body. Tony grins like the Grinch right before he stole Christmas, the corners of his mouth curling up to his eyes.

“What are we looking at next…” Tim grits his teeth “…boss?”

Puffing out his chest, Tony stands at attention. Hearing Tim admit that Tony is the boss—the big kahuna, el jefe, the resident chieftain, the big cheese—isn’t getting old. Not even a little.

Tony throws out his arms. “’It’s good to be the king!’”

Tim crosses his arms. “It’s only temporary.”

“So is your promotion,” Tony points out. “Though you sure had no problem being my interim SFA. And you sure didn’t turn down that temporary raise HR offered us.”

Tim’s entire face flushes an unnatural shade of red. “That’s different, Tony.”

Tony puts his hands on his hips. Draws himself to his full height.

“Is it?” he asks. “Probie.”

“I’m not rubbing it in your face.”

Tony waves his head as if to say Point noted.

Tim shakes his head sadly. “I need the money to upgrade my hard drive. My old one just isn’t cutting it anymore.”

Tony opens his mouth, index finger raised. A barrage of computer-related jokes crowd at the very tip of Tony’s tongue. He is about to blurt one out before he stops himself. Things are different now that he is—even if it’s only temporarily—the boss. He sets the tone for the entire bullpen. Unfortunately, he’ll file them for later and use them when Gibbs is back in charge.

“That was too easy, McGee,” Tony says. “I’m all for low-hanging fruit, but that was a potato.”

Tim just glares at him.

They should be working on their case—they still haven’t found their UA sailor, Dennis Bryson—but Tony is too busy basking in the glory of being—temporary—team leader.

When Secretary Lewis needed to find an interim director to cover Shepard’s sudden departure, he was quick to assign the most senior agent in the building. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. And so far, it’s working out about as well as Tony expected. Which is not great…

The side effect was that Tony and Tim were temporarily promoted to fill in the vacancies on their own team. Tony gets to play boss for a little while and then, return to the position where he is comfortable. He might not be ready yet, but it’s nice to see what it feels like he’s the boss for just a little while.

When the cat is away, the mice will party…

Tony goes back to their case. “Has Mr. Moneybags run out of cash yet?”

“Not yet.” Frowning, Tim shakes his head. “And get this. Dennis Bryson got another deposit last night for several thousand dollars. I tried to trace it, but it appears to come out of a shell company in the Middle East. It looks like it could be a dead end.”

“’It’s pushing up daisies. It would be an ex-parrot if it weren’t nailed to this perch’.” Tony chuckles. “If we don’t work faster, we’re still going to be looking for this guy until we retire.”

As if realizing he still has thirty years to go, Tim sighs heavily. “Yeah, but I have programs set to alert me when he uses his bank account and credit cards. For a someone who hasn’t done anything but drink and get dates—” he makes a face at that “—why haven’t we caught him?”

“That is the question of the hour, my dear McWatson,” Tony intones in a bad British accent. “Why is Dennis the Menace as slippery as an eel?” He makes a weird gyrating move with his body.

At that moment, Tony gets an eerie feeling as though someone is watching him. It’s as though two eyes are boring through the back of his head like a drill. Then, there’s the phantom ache at the back of his head. It always means the same thing.

He’s right behind me, isn’t he?

Wincing, Tony glances up to the landing by the director’s office.

Gibbs stands in his Sears’ clearance rank finest. A dull, mud brown suit with an off-white shirt and an awful rust-red tie. It’s probably the same outfit that Gibbs used for an interview when he started at NCIS back in the nineties. It usually only makes an appearance on court days, but it’s been his uniform since he became the interim director. The shirt might change, but the suit and tie don’t. Tony wonders how long it’ll take everyone else to notice that Gibbs only owns one suit.

Gibbs glares at Tony just like he does in the bullpen. Just now with the suit and change in position, Tony takes to think it’s a fancy glare. Unconsciously, he starts humming Puttin’ on the Ritz.

Tim’s eyes flick to Gibbs. “Hey Tony, do you think SecNav might make it permanent?”

Tony just shakes his head. “He made that Congressman from Alaska cry yesterday. If anything, they’ll push through Lewis’ first pick just to get rid of him.”

As if knowing Tony and Tim are discussing him, Gibbs’ glare intensifies. He stares at Tony as though the temporary assignment is all his fault. It wasn’t like Tony suggested to Lewis that he should choose the most senior agent in the building. Lewis thought that up all on his own.

Tony throws Gibbs a cheery wave. “How’s the new job treating you, Director?”

Gibbs’ eyes narrow until they’re nothing more than slits. He’ll make Tony’s life a living hell later, but that doesn’t mean Tony won’t enjoy what he has for now.

Then, the elevator dings and two men exit the car. They both wear expensive and well-tailored suits—the tall one wears a nice Armani number, and the other might be Hugo Boss—in a respectable shade of navy. Lawmakers and if Tony must guess by the ties, likely a Senator and his aide.

Tony crowds behind Tim’s desk to look busy. If he appears to be working, he can’t get roped into giving those two a tour of the Navy Yard. Like when Gibbs foisted a Congressman off on Tony yesterday.

When Gibbs notices the lawmakers heading toward him, his expression doesn’t change. He manages to grumble an unfriendly hello. Then, he points them toward the director’s office and when their backs are to him, he hangs back long enough to skewer Tony with a murderous glare. Tony debates about setting a timer for how long it’ll take before the lawmakers leave.

Tony swallows hard. Loosens his tie. “You know, I might be out sick tomorrow.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Of course, you would.”

Tony throws Tim a dirty look, but before he can respond, the younger man’s desk phone rings. Tim and Tony silently square off for a few seconds before he answers the phone.

“Agent McGee,” he says blandly.

While Tim speaks with the caller, Tony’s mind wanders to every possibility of what Gibbs will do to him when he regains control of the team. It mostly centers around dumpsters and canvassing and witness interviews with wacky neighbors and old people and conspiracy nuts.

Just how much can I make McGee do before Gibbs gets suspicious?

Suddenly, Tim slams down the phone and pulls Tony straight out of his thoughts. In his head, Tony is stuck in a house with a cat hoarder who is trying to feed him diet cookies and over sugared tea. He shakes his head to clear his mind and get back to the case at hand.

Tim waves his notebook. “You’re never going to believe this.”

“You found Dennis the Menace,” Tony says.

Tim deflates, but only a little. “I sure did because Metro just called. Got a hit on our BOLO.” A hint of a grin peeks to his face. “Dennis Bryson is currently sleeping it off in a hotel parking garage near the Navy Yard. Metro said we should look for a late model grey Honda. I wonder where he got that because he drives an Acura.”

Tony half-shrugs. “Maybe one of his many, many lady friends. The guy’s got a harem by now.”

“Must be nice,” Tim grouses.

“Not as much as you think.” Tony laughs. “Then you have to remember everyone’s name.”

Tim’s face pinches in thought as he grabs his gear. With a shit-eating grin, Tony heads back to his desk to grab his own gear. He leads the way to the parking garage where they grab a pool car. Tony takes the back streets to the hotel while Tim gives careful directions.

“Turn left,” Tim says. “Right here.”

Tony turns right and that earns him an earful from the junior agent. In the end, they manage to find their way to a parking garage of a fancy hotel that isn’t far from Embassy Row. While the rest of the neighborhood is slowly being turned into sleek and modern glass-faced buildings, the hotel is a gorgeous art deco leviathan in a sea of progress.

Tony pulls the Charger into the underground garage. The sunlight cuts out and the world around them plunges into near darkness as Tony threads the car through the tight subterranean passages.

Tim frowns at his phone. “I just lost cell signal.”

“Huh,” Tony says.

It shouldn’t matter whether they have cell signal because they’re going to find Dennis Bryson and haul him straight back to the Navy Yard. No cell phone needed. Tony drives the car to the lowest level—three floors underground—and pulls into a parking space. Frowning, he surveys the area around them. It’s compact and tight with an elevator and stairs on the far side and the way they came down as the only access points. There are cars of every make and model here, but no red Honda.

Tony glances around, frowning. Something doesn’t feel right.

He glances at Tim.

“This is where Metro said Bryson would be.” Tim glances at his notepad and back out at the garage. “Bottom floor of the parking garage to this hotel. The officer said he was sleeping it off in a grey Honda.”

“Maybe we should look around,” Tony suggests. “There might be more cars around the corner over there.”

With a quick nod, Tim is the first one out of the car. Tony slides out of the driver’s seat. As he steps into the parking garage, the humid and dense air nearly suffocates him. Everything around him crackles with a certain electricity. His gut is burning.

Tony and Tim move apart as they search the cars for a grey Honda in case there’s packed in by SUVs. Tony moves right while Tim heads to the left. The more distance between them, the more Tony’s gut churns. The hair on the back of his neck slowly rise as he feels as though he is being watched.

“I don’t think Bryson is here,” Tony announces.

Tim shakes his head. “But she said he was here.”

Tony looks over. “She?”

Tim crosses his arms. “I know it’s hard to believe but women are allowed to be police officers, Tony. And you know what, they’re allowed to be federal agents too.”

In that moment, Tim sounds so much like Kate Todd that Tony flinches. Pressing his lips together, Tony continues to survey the area around them. Cars of every make and model and color are spaced around the area. But there isn’t any type of Honda. They move deeper into the parking garage where more cars are parked. The entire space is huge, the lighting a sickly, sulfuric yellow.

Something about the space doesn’t feel right. Tony’s gut bubbles, his stomach churning in the same way it does after a bad burrito.

He wants to leave. He wants to run. He doesn’t know why.

“Hey McGee,” Tony calls. “Did you get the officer’s name and badge number, McGee?”

Tim stops short. “I – uh, no, I didn’t.”

And that’s when the churning in Tony’s gut turns into a full-fledged knot. The energy of the room grows more electric, crackling and humming. Tony scans the remaining cars, but there isn’t a grey Honda. He keeps his attention on Tim as the younger man moves further away on his own side of the garage.

The churning in Tony’s gut feels like when he watched Poltergeist for the first time.

To himself, he murmurs: “They’re here…”

At that moment, Kate Todd materializes right in front of him. As soon as he blinks, she stands right where he is about to step. He hasn’t seen her in a few days. He was starting to miss her, but right now, she scares the living hell out of him. She looks exactly like she did, eyes and mouth tight with worry. That little hole in her head seeping a trail of blood down her face. She shouldn’t scare him.

Tony slides to a stop, eyes wide.

“Take McGee and go,” Kate says.

“Kate,” Tony whispers.

Tony takes a faltering step backward. Tim swivels to look at Tony. His brows are knit together, his cheeks pale as though he might be feeling whatever Tony is.

“Are you alright, Tony?” he calls.

Tony steps around Kate. “Yeah, McBusybody. I’m fine. Did you find that car yet?”

“Not yet,” Tim calls back.

Kate steps closer until she is nearly touching him. When he looks down, his eyes search hers, but he finds nothing except for contagious anxiety. She reaches her long, white fingers toward him.

“Go, Tony.” Kate’s voice is low, a warning. “Leave right now. What do I need to do to get it through that thick skull of yours?”

Before Tony can even move, she takes a full step through his body. A gut wrenching cold fills him straight to his core. Shivers crackles down his spine like electricity. But what sucks his breath away is that raw, primal fear that sets his heart racing. He swallows hard to keep his composure.

He tries to keep his head on straight even though every nerve ending in his body is screaming at him to bolt like he is on fire. His expression is stuck in neutral, his movement even and steady to keep Tim from thinking he is overreacting. To keep Tim himself from panicking.

Tony clicks his tongue. “You know what, I think we missed him.”

Tim takes another step toward the far row of cars. His hand hovers near his weapon as though he might have seen something.

Kate waves her arms at Tony. “You need to leave, Tony! Now! If you don’t, I will haunt your ass for the rest of your life! I’ll make you wish you’d never met me!”

“McGee,” Tony snaps. “Get in the car! Now!”

Tony starts back toward the Charger. That’s when Tony catches the sound of another set of footsteps. Not his or Tim’s or Kate’s. An entirely different third person.

Tim gasps. “Tony!”

Tony is already pivoting when Kate screams, “Weapon!”

As he turns toward Tim, Tony pulls his weapon. At the sight of the threat, he makes a face at his own complacency. He should have known. He should have seen it coming. It’s like a cliched scene from every B-rated action movie ever written. The villain pretends to leave, the hero gets complacent, and the villain returns to even the score.

Ziva David slinks into full view. Her weapon is raised, and her predator eyes are set on Tim, who stands with his hands at shoulder level. Kate is already on the move toward the threat. Tony wishes she could do something.

 How the hell did I miss it? It’s the most basic villain move ever.

He sures up his aim, but it isn’t a shot he is ready to make. Ziva’s entire body is exposed, a walking and breathing target. Tony could end it right now, but Ziva would drop Tim on her way down.

I knew she wasn’t on that flight to Israel.

Chapter Text

“Drop the weapon! Federal agents!” Tony bellows.

If anything, that nasty smirk playing at Ziva’s lips just broadens. She keeps the gun pointed directly at Tim’s heart. Her attention is split between Tony and Tim. To his credit, Tim doesn’t panic. His eyes flit between her weapon and Tony’s angry face. He waits for an opening, an order, something.

Tony slinks a step closer. Then, another.

He is close enough to see how Ziva tucks her hair behind her ear. The way her chest rises and falls with every inhale. She isn’t nervous because she already has a plan.

Tony lines up a shot at her right temple. Right where that hair is tucked behind her ear.

His gut burns like wildfire, his lungs flip-flopping over themselves. He inhales deeply to calm them, but his breath gets kicked back in a little wheeze. He tries again, the wheeze is deeper this time. He manages to stifle the cough. He wills his body to listen, just this once.

Ziva’s smirk turns into a full-blown smile.

Kate snakes her way between them. Slow and steady steps that only Tony can see. She passes through Tony’s line of fire, then Ziva’s. She moves in a tight circle around Ziva. Studying her. Examining her. Kate plays with Ziva’s ponytail, but the Israeli doesn’t notice. There’s a strange expression on Tony’s face that he can’t quite place, but he has seen it on Gibbs before.

Kate has a score to settle…

Ziva’s finger slides to the trigger. Tim swallows hard.

“Drop it!” Tony yells. “Then get on the ground!”

Ziva looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “I was assured you would not be a problem, Tony DiNozzo.”

He stays quiet.

“But I have found you to be a troublesome bitch,” Ziva says.

Tony blinks. “And here I thought we’d be the best of friends. A regular Thelma and Louise.”

That causes Kate to stop beside Ziva. She half-smiles when she considers the scene.

“She’s got a point, Tony,” Kate says. “You are a bitch. Most of the time.”

When Tony ignores her, Ziva continues: “You are like a think…a thing, I must scratch and scratch and scratch. And yet, it never does a thing. You are always still there and so very, very bitchy.”

Tim clears his throat. “I think you mean itch, Officer David.”

Lifting her shoulder, Ziva considers it. “I believe it is a troublesome bitch.”

Tony’s lips lilt upward. “You might want to get that checked out. They make medicine for it now.”

That makes Tim chuckle awkwardly. Obviously not getting the joke, Ziva rechecks her aim. Based on where she points the weapon, she is going for a slug to Tim’s chest. It might not be as reliable as a headshot, but it’s a bigger target and in the hands of a Mossad operative, it’s likely a killshot.

Then she’ll turn the gun on me.

Now, Kate slides between Tim and Ziva. Kate leans until the weapon passes through her own chest as she studies Ziva’s face. Tony is trying his best not to get distracted.

“Your weapon, Agent McGee,” Ziva orders. “Kick it away.”

Frowning, Tim unholsters his weapon with two fingers. Places it on the ground and kicks it hard in Tony’s direction. It goes wide and disappears under a car. Making a face at himself, Tim raises his hands again.

Ziva tilts her head at Tony. “Now, it is your turn.”

“I don’t think so,” Tony says flatly.

If she is surprised, she doesn’t show it. Instead, her lips slowly pull into a predatory smile, cold and dead like a shark. As if she is excited about the challenge that comes from murdering two federal agents in a filthy parking garage. Tony thought she would take him out first and then, Tim. Though it seems she would rather Tony watch his subordinate die before killing him. That she would rather torture Tony before killing him. It’s that cruel, cruel way of thinking that gives him and Tim half a chance.

Ziva looks at Tim. “It is a shame, Agent McGee. I believed you would be quite useful to my mission.”

Tim blinks owlishly and he glances at Tony, who barely shrugs. By now, they know Ziva planned to infiltrate NCIS as a spy. Tony never learned the full extent of it.

His muscles are aching now, the adrenaline coursing through his body. His heart is pounding, the blood in his ears making that awful whoosh whoosh noise. And his lungs, his fucking worthless lungs…they jiggle with every breath. Another cough rises to his throat, but he swallows it down. He won’t be able to hold out for much longer.

Tony sures up his aim. Right temple where her curly hair is tucked behind her ear.

His finger hovers on the trigger.

Would she really have joined the team in another life?

Tim swallows thickly. “What mission?”

Ziva barely tilts her head. “To join NCIS and gain your trust. Mossad had questions about how much the United States divulged to them. Director Shepard was only so useful. I was to be the liaison. Recover information Shepard could not give and pass it back home.”

“And Ari?” Tony blurts out.

“He did was he was supposed to, even if he did not realize it.” She makes a face. “Though I believe he made the incorrect choice.”

The words send a chill cascading down Tony’s back. The hair on the back of his neck rises because he is suddenly understanding there is so much more here. She takes her eyes off Tim to throw Tony a meaningful look. And that’s when he notices the way Kate is watching at him too.

Oh my G-d…she can't mean...

Tony's eyebrows peak. “The wrong choice.”

“Oh?” Genuine surprise floods Ziva’s face. “You believed Ari worked alone then?”

Kate crosses her arms. “That’s what I wasn’t allowed to tell you, Tony. I’m sorry…”

Tony wants to bury his head in his hands. There were a few times in the bullpen after Kate died where Tony floated the idea that Ari wasn’t alone in his sniper’s nest. He might’ve been one of Mossad’s elite units, but there was no way he coordinated an attack of that magnitude alone. He couldn’t have shot at Tim until the junior agent rolled under a car. Shot at Gibbs. Put a bullet in Kate’s head. No one was that good. Tony tried to point it out to Gibbs, but the team leader had tunnel vision on those long nights. He wanted-needed-Ari’s body on a slab in autopsy. He didn’t stop to consider what anyone else said.

How did I not think Ziva was Ari’s partner? It was right in front of my face.

Tony glances at Ziva, who still points her weapon at Tim.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Amusement dances across Ziva’s pretty face as she watches Tony. The horror of the realization slowly spreads across his face. His mouth falls open. The look on her face tells him that she is having fun with this, laying out her plans and confessing. She is toying with them before she ends their lives. Like a feral cat with cornered mice, she is enjoying this.

Tony narrows his eyes. “You were there.”

Keeping her weapon pointed at Tim, Ziva turns slightly to face Tony. She is baiting him into her shooting at her. Offering him an easier target. If he pulls the trigger now, he might take her down, but she’ll still kill Tim. Still kill the last junior member of his team. Still kill the person he is supposed to train and protect because it’s his job.

“Who do you believe shot at Agent McGee?” she asks darkly.

“Ari,” Tony says.

Ziva scoffs. “My brother could not make that shot. Not if he wished the target to remain alive.”

Tim’s face goes ashen.

Tony rechecks his arm, lowers his target to her heart. If he can get her to point the weapon at him, he’ll pull the trigger. He might die today, but Tim won’t. Not on his watch.

Not again. Not again.

Ziva waits for Tony to say, It was you!

He doesn’t. He just listens to the deafening silence of the parking garage. He won’t give her the satisfaction of admiring what she’s done.

“I did not miss as you believed Ari had,” Ziva says carefully. “If I had wished Agent McGee dead, he would be so now. I wanted him alive. I needed him so. Agent McGee would have benefitted my mission the most. He was the one I intended to use.”

When Tim gasps audibly, Tony shoots him a look. Even though he can’t see Kate, she holds a finger to her lips and says, “Can it, McGee. Tony’s trying to get himself killed.”

Realization slowly settles onto Tony. “And the wrong choice?”

Ziva’s eyebrows knit together. “You were meant to die, Tony DiNozzo. Ari and I reviewed the files together and we, together, chose the target. You.” She shakes her head, angry. “McGee and Gibbs, I believed could work how I needed. Ari believed you would fall for my charms. I thought I would bond better with the woman.”

Suddenly, Kate stamps her foot. She throws her hands out as she circles around Ziva.

“The woman?!” Her shrieks are almost inhuman. “The woman?! My name is Kate Todd! I have friends! I have a job! I have a life!" She grows quiet before the realization slides over her face, sadness and anger. "Had...I had a life. It was my life! You stole my whole fucking life!”

Not seeing Kate’s meltdown, Ziva shrugs with one shoulder. Condescending and disdainful as if Kate’s entire life meant nothing.

“Ari changed the target without my approval,” Ziva admits. “And so, you have become the troublesome bitch I cannot reach.”

“You mean itch you can’t scratch,” Tim interjects.

“Shut up, McGee!” Tony and Kate snap.

When Ziva glances back at him, Tim’s face turns sheet white. His entire body goes rigid as if he expects her to pull the trigger for correcting her. As far as Tony can tell, she isn’t done toying with them.

Trying to distract her, Tony asks: “Why’d you kill your brother?”

She turns her attention back to him. “To gain Gibbs’ trust, yes. It was meant to be. It was a part of the mission he did not know about. Ari was a…as you Americans say, a barrel of dynamite.”

“You mean, a loose cannon.”

Her brow furrows, ever so slightly. “Perhaps. He did not follow orders as well as I do. Therefore, he was terminated in a way that aided the mission. His death was a necessary sacrifice.”

Tony’s mouth gapes. “He died for nothing.”

“I do not believe you are in a position to say that.”

“Earth to Ziva," Tony says.

She just looks at him.

“’Good morning Vietnam!’” Tony crows, laughing. “’Hey, this is not a test. This is rock and roll! Time to rock from the delta to the DMZ. Is that me or does that sound like an Elvis Presley movie? Viva Da Nang. Oh, viva, Da Nang.’ Oh, Ziva, Da Nang. Nang Me.”

Her brow pinches. “I do not understand. A movie, yes?”

Tony half-nods. “A movie and one of the best. But in case you didn’t notice, you failed. Your mission is over. Finito. Kaput. No more.” He raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “Newsflash! You didn’t win Gibbs’ trust. Director Shepard is under arrest. And now, you are too.”

“That is where you are wrong, Tony.” Her grip tightens around the weapon. “Once I have finished with you and Agent McGee, I will return to Mossad. There are plans for my reassignment.”

“And you get to live knowing you killed your brother for nothing.” Tony quirks a shit-eating grin right before he yells: “Mazel tov!”

Ziva swings the gun toward Tony.

Tony squeezes off three shots. A triple-tap.

Ziva crumples to the dirty ground of the parking garage. She lands on her back with a loud solid thud. Her eyes stare, unseeing, at the ceiling. Slowly, blood begins to pool beneath her.

Tim is already on the move while Tony creeps closer with his weapon raised. There are three neat holes in her chest, two near her heart and one a little lower. Based on the grouping and the blood, she's already dead.

Dropping to his knees, Tim checks her pulse. With a quick shake of his head, he makes a face. Then, Tim begins CPR. Tim is counting aloud with each compression.

Tony stares down at Ziva’s lifeless body. At the mess he made of it.

“The woman’s name was Caitlin Todd,” he murmurs. “She was our partner. She was our friend.”

Tim still does CPR on Ziva. Still counts the number of compressions out loud. It just makes the blood pool faster around Ziva’s body. It flows around Tim’s knees and licks at the soles of Tony’s shoes. No matter how many crime scenes he clears, Tony never ceases to be amazed at how much blood there can be.

He watches it, oddly divorced from the moment. It hasn’t really hit him yet that he just killed someone.

His grip tightens around his weapon.

At that moment, there is a gentle touch against his shoulder. The cold bites through his coats like icicles. When he turns to look, he catches a vision of how Kate used to be. Healthy and strong with a pink tinge to her cheeks. She rests her hand against his shoulder in a strange semblance of a one-armed hug. That hole in her head is long gone.

She grins at him. “You finally did something right, DiNozzo.”

He doesn’t fight the rising emotion. “I do everything right.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Laughing, she watches Tim work hopelessly on Ziva’s body. “Take care of yourself. And take care of him too.”

Tony nods like a broken wind-up toy. “I will.”

At that moment, Tim glances up. His face shines with perspiration and he looks exhausted. Yet, he doesn’t stop doing chest compressions. When he looks at Kate, he leaps back from Ziva’s body as though he’s been electrocuted. He lands flat on his ass, bloody hands shaking and eyes huge.

“Kate?!” He gasps.

Kate makes scary fingers at him. “Boo.”

“There is no Zuul, only Kate,” Tony supplies helpfully.

Tim’s mouth flaps like a fish. His lips moving, but he can’t form the words.

“What’s wrong with you, McGee?” Kate smirks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Tim still can’t find the words. A strangled noise comes from the back of his throat.

Before Tim can form a coherent thought, a grey mist slowly materializes beside him. At first, it looks like a light, amorphous fog but slowly, slowly, slowly, it takes the shape of a human. This time, it’s a pale and ghastly version of Ziva David. In her chest are three huge, gaping gunshot wounds. Ziva silently looks at her broken body, the male agents and then to Kate.

At the sight of Kate, puzzlement settles on her features.

“I do not understand,” she murmurs.

Kate’s smile is wicked. “I do.”

And suddenly, the temperature of the room plummets several degrees. The air crackles with an electric energy. Overhead, the parking garage lights dim dangerously, then grow brighter. Flicker like candlelight. One of the bulbs bursts, sending glass shards raining down.

Every nerve ending in Tony’s body stands at attention. His bowels turn to water. His muscles are poised and ready to run, his heart threatening to escape his chest. The fear is real and primal, a screaming that he needs to run as far and as fast as he can.

Tim must feel it too because he remains rooted to his spot. Sitting right beside where Kate has taken to circling a very confused, ghost-version of Ziva.

Tripping over his shoes, Tony bolts forward. He hooks his hand beneath Tim’s arm to haul him to his feet. Together, they stumble a few yards away from Kate and Ziva. Tony wants to run, but it feels as though they’re in a cage, boxed in by an energy he can’t understand. Whatever is about to happen, he doesn't want to be anywhere near it.

They can't leave...

Kate raises her chin at Tim and Tony. “I’ll see you boys around. Don’t kill each other without me there to referee. I’ve got something that I need to take care of.”

As soon as Kate points at Ziva, her entire face changes into something out of a horror movie. Her features extend into a grotesque caricature of herself, mouth gaping and eyes huge. She takes a stalking step towards Ziva, who tries to bolt. Kate reaches Ziva and -

Tony turns away. Slams his eyes shut. Keeps both hands wrapped around Tim’s upper arm.

Beneath his hands, Tim’s body grows more and more rigid. His breathing turns ragged. He backpedals until his body is pressing deep against Tony. Tim's entire body is trembling, Tony holds on tighter. Tony doesn't open his eyes. Tim’s fear causes Tony’s own heart to race.

Tony tries not to listen to Kate’s otherworldly shrieks and Ziva’s terrified screams. The screams.

Jesus Christ, the screams…

They cut through Tony’s very soul. The lights flicker off and on. Even though his eyes are closed, they grow bright enough to burn his retinas. By now, Tim holds his breath and Tony doesn’t notice he does too.

And then, it goes quiet so suddenly that Tony believes he went deaf.

Hesitantly, Tony opens his eyes to find only Tim and Ziva’s ruined body. Any evidence of Kate and whatever happened to Ziva's ghost is long gone. The air in the room is heavy and thick, reeking of ammonia. The caustic smell burns his lungs and it sets off a hacking fit. He presses his sleeve against his nose and mouth.

Tim points a shaking hand toward where Kate and Ziva were.

“Did…did…did you see that?” he gasps.

Tony looks at him. Really looks at him. Tim’s skin is ashen and he’s paler than Ziva’s body. His eyes are so wide they nearly take over his face. His bloodied hands are trembling.

Tony takes a step closer.

Tim shies away.

“No, I didn’t,” Tony admits quietly.

Tim’s breathing grows so rapid that it borders on hyperventilations. His eyes remain fixed on the spot where Kate and Ziva were. Tony slides into his line of vision. It takes a moment for Tim to focus on Tony’s face. Tony grabs Tim by the shoulders. Shakes him gently.

“You didn’t see it…” Tim murmurs. "How could you...why didn't you..."

Tony shakes his head.

“Kate…” Tim swallows hard. Closes his eyes. Pulls in a shuddering breath. “Kate took Ziva away, but not before she…not before she…” Tim looks at Tony, helpless and terrified like a lost little kid. “Jesus, Tony…Kate just…she…she…” His voice breaks. "...to Ziva."

And whatever it is Tim wants to say, he can’t get the words out. Tony puts his hands on Tim’s shoulders, his face mere inches away Tim’s. Tries to keep him in the moment, not locked into whatever nightmarish event he witnessed. When Tony looks down, he catches the scorched ground—a huge black sunburst pattern—beneath their feet.

Tony doesn’t know what he is supposed to think or feel. He is numb, disconnected and untethered as he usually is after he kills someone. Nothing feels real.

Tim buries his face in his hands.

“It’s okay, McGee,” Tony whispers. “Everything is fine. We’re here. We’re alive. It’s okay.”

Tim starts to speak again, but he stops short. Whatever Tim wants to get out, Tony hopes he never does. Because he really, really doesn’t want to know what Kate just did to Ziva. Tony might’ve heard it, but Tim, he watched the whole damned thing happen. And Tony is grateful that he didn’t.

Because the sounds will haunt him until the end of his days.

Chapter Text

It takes a long time—it could be seconds, it could be hours—for Tony to react. His shaking hand slides into his pocket for his cell phone. At some point, Tim rabbited away from Tony. Now, he leans against the far wall, doubled over and dry heaving behind a car.

Ziva’s ruined body lays splayed across the grimy, disgusting concrete like a discarded piece of trash. The flood still oozes—slower, now—from the gunshot wounds. Her eyes stare, unseeing, at the ceiling.

Beneath his feet, there is a black starburst pattern burned into the concrete. A black carbon explosion from whatever Kate did to Ziva’s ghost. Tony looks at the lights overhead. One of the fluorescent bulbs popped to leave broken bits of glass littered around his feet. Against the black of the burn mark, it resembles a night sky, a tiny galaxy all its own.

Bile bites the back of his throat. Tony takes a step further away from Ziva’s body and the blood. So much fucking blood. The glass cracks under his dress shoes. From behind the car where Tim is, the sound of something wet splashes the ground. Tim is probably puking out his guts.

Rule Forty-five. Clean up your fucking mess.

Tony’s hand stops shaking. He pulls out his phone to call Gibbs.

Gibbs answers on the first ring. “Yeah?”

Tony can’t find his voice. Right now, he shouldn’t be so rattled. He has killed before. Not many, but enough that it shouldn’t bother him. No matter how much he tries not to let it get under his skin, it still burrows down deep. Like an aching infection that won’t stop spreading.

He didn’t realize he still holds his breath. His lungs twitch, flip-flop against his ribs. He coughs heavily, body wracking. When he greedily gulps air, the putrid smell of ammonia and vomit and metallic blood fills his nostrils. It burns all the way down to his scarred, scarred lungs. Maybe he should start accepting that he’ll never the same again.

“DiNozzo?” Gibbs sounds so worried.

Tony licks his lips before whispering: “I shot Ziva. She’s dead. McGee and I – “

“No more, Tony.” There’s a pause. “Where are you?”

As soon as Tony relays the address, the line goes dead. Gibbs doesn’t need to say that his already on his way because Tony knows the older man will be here before he can blink. Gibbs will want to survey the scene and talk to Tony and Tim before he calls in the shooting. Before the FBI and Internal Affairs and any other alphabet soup that Tony can think of will be crawling around the place.

Tony sags against the nearest wall. Keeps his eyes fixed on that destroyed bulb overhead. He keeps his weapon loosely in his grip. It’s evidence now, but he can’t bear to put it down. He’d ask Tim to bag it for him, but the younger man is revisiting everything he’s ever eaten in his entire life. Tony often forgets just how green Tim is. This might be the first time someone looked him in the eyes and threatened to kill him. Tony should be used to that too.

Tim grows quiet.

Tony makes the mistake of looking at Ziva. Flinches violently and looks away.

“How are you doing over there, McGee?” Tony calls.

Tim coughs wetly. “Not great.” Then a moment later: “Are you okay, Tony?”

Tony considers his current situation. He just killed someone. He’s about to have his ass ripped apart by Gibbs before it’s shredded by Internal Affairs. And if there’s anything left, Homeland and Mossad and the FBI will be gunning for him too.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I called Gibbs.”

Tim mutters something that sounds like, “It’s about damned time.”

It could take minutes. It could take hours. Time doesn’t hold any meaning for Tony anymore. Right now, he feels as though he is caught in a state of suspended animation. Maybe he understands what Tim meant when he talked about that cat in a box a few days ago. Alive or dead, it doesn’t really matter until things are back in motion. Maybe he caught Ziva’s bullet and now he’s the one bleeding out, waiting for Kate to carry him away.

I bet she was lying when she said there weren’t any snacks or sex on the other side.

There’s always snacks and sex. That’s what life is all about.

Suddenly, a government-issue Charger rumbles down the entrance to the parking garage. It stops in the tunnel, headlights illuminating the entire space. Tony stares at the car. Tim’s head pops up from his hiding place, his back-up weapon at the ready until he notices who it is.

Jethro Gibbs climbs out of the Charger’s driver’s seat. He might still be in his Sears’ finest, but his tie is missing and the first button of his shirt is undone. His eyes flick between Tony and Ziva’s broken body. He takes a few tentative steps around the scene, but he doesn’t touch anything. He holds out an evidence bag and takes Tony’s weapon. Tony slides it into the cold plastic.

And I just got it back.

Gibbs’ expression remains impassive. He looks at Tony as though he might just crack.

Tony’s mouth is dry, his head pounding. His chest is constricting, a deep, deep squeezing where he just can’t breathe. Now that Gibbs is here, he wants to let down his guard. He wants to be able to get off this sick, strange carousel of the last few days. Tony hugs his arms to his chest.

From his spot behind the car, Tim stands to his full height. His face is sheet white and shining with sweat, his expression is awful. At the sight of Ziva, he disappears behind the car. More wet sounds.

Gibbs’ face melts into concern. He puts a steadying hand on Tony’s shoulder and while it’s supposed to be comforting, somehow, it makes the senior agent feel worse.

“What happened, Tony?” he asks gently.

After swallowing the lump in his throat, Tony quietly explains everything. He explains how Ziva lured them here by posing as a Metro officer on the phone. How she’s likely been hiding out with their UA sailor for days. How she planned to end Tony and Tim’s lives in this dirty, dirty parking garage, but Tony beat her to the punch. How she was tied to Kate’s death, working with Ari, and lurking with him in the sniper’s nest that fateful day. Tony leaves out the part where Kate was a ghost and leading him around. He doesn’t want to sound completely crazy.

When Tony finishes, Gibbs runs a hand across his mouth. He surveys the scene, lips pressed together and eyes hard. He stares at Ziva as if seeing her for the first time.

“McGee?” Gibbs calls.

From behind the car, Tim’s hoarse voice replies: “It was just like Tony said. Everything…she..she was going to kill us, Boss.”

Gibbs exhales loudly. “I need to call it in.”

Tony kicks at a piece of broken glass, an errant fallen star. “I know.”

Shaking his head, Gibbs pulls out his cell phone. Tim slinks out from behind the car to prop himself on the bumper of an old black car. While Gibbs calls Internal Affairs, Tony moves across the parking lot to join Tim. The younger man claps a bloodied hand on Tony’s shoulder, a silent show of solidarity. Tony wants to shrug him off, but he doesn’t. He lets Tim’s hand linger there like a burn. Together, they sit, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring into the mid-distance.

While they wait, Gibbs moves around the parking garage as if he could work the scene on his own. He frowns at the burn mark on the concrete as he kicks his foot against the darkened edges. He crouches beside Ziva’s body, considering the weapon beside her. He walks in a tight circle, head cocked to one side and then the other as he considers what happened.

Tony knows all the motions to clearing a crime scene. Wishes he could go through them right now, but when he pulled that trigger, he went from investigator to suspect. He wishes he had something to do, something to take his mind off what he did.

His hands are shaking. Tim squeezes his shoulder again.

Fornell shows up first. He wears a humorless smile, his expression drawn. He doesn’t bring corn dogs. “Well, shit,” is the only thing he says before he and Gibbs convene a secret meeting in the corner. Tim offers Tony a rallying look, but he is pale and exhausted and absolutely unconvincing.

Tony stares into space.

Before long, the entire parking garage is crawling with agents. FBI. Homeland Security. There might be a CIA agent or two, but they don't say anything. And Tony’s absolute favorite, Internal Affairs. The Internal Affairs agent is tall and wiry, a man built like a greyhound who obviously doesn’t enjoy snacks like Tony. He’s right around Tony’s age with a sweep of blonde hair, mossy brown eyes, and laugh lines that prove he doesn’t spend his entire life scowling.

He flashes his badge. “Chris Cripsin.”

His name sounds made-up, but Tony doesn’t say it out loud.

As soon as he arrives, Crispin separates Tony and Tim. He floats back and forth between the two men, peppering them with questions. Tony paces around his corner of the garage like a caged animal. Tim sits against a car bumper with his head in his hands. The questioning drags on—they’re going around in circles—until black spots dance in Tony’s vision. Gibbs plays point man and keeps the investigation flowing. But when he looks—really looks—at Tony and Tim, he turns to Crispin.

“I’m taking them home,” he announces.

Crispin considers it. “I don’t – “

“You’re asking the same questions,” Gibbs says pointedly. “We’re done here.”

“I’ll need to interview them later,” Crispin bites out.

Gibbs waves his hand dismissively and then, he leads Tony and Tim to the Charger. After walking on legs that don’t feel quite like his own, Tony collapses into the passenger seat of the car. He feels as though he is watching the movie of his life play out and for the first time, he doesn’t know the ending. In the backseat, Tim struggles to stay awake before passing out, mouth open and face smashed against the window. The entire ride is painfully quiet.

Tony doesn’t ask where they’re going because he already knows it’s Gibbs’ house. They always go back to Gibbs’ house or the Navy Yard after a disaster. Gibbs’ house is oddly comforting, despite how empty it is inside. It’s one of the few places Tony has ever felt safe. Whenever he visit Gibbs, it feels like coming home. At least as close to coming home should feel to a nomad like Tony.

Once they’re back at the house, Gibbs is the first one inside. They leave Tim sleeping in the car while they get the interior settled. As soon as they're inside, Gibbs flips the lights on. The whole place looks strange and uninviting in the sulfuric glow of the hall light. The air is thick and warm as if the entire house is holding its breath.

Gibbs removes a large evidence bag from his hall closet before gesturing at Tony’s clothes. Tony surveys his wreck of a suit with the plastic crumpling in his hands.

Moments later, Gibbs reappears with two outfits, a pair of sweatpants with his old NIS shirt and a pair of battered flannel, old-man pajamas. Tony chooses the sweatpants and NIS shirt. He is a little bigger than Gibbs, taller and broader. The clothes are a bit too tight, but they’re serviceable.

It takes them both to rouse Tim from the backseat. They drag the bleary-eyed junior agent into Gibbs’ house and Tim looks around as though he’s lost. It takes one of them to convince Tim to change his clothes and the other to help him scrub the blood from his hands. Gibbs swoops Tim’s suit into an evidence bag like Tony’s.

When they settle Tim onto the couch, he crashes within seconds. Tony remembers the first time someone pointed a weapon at him. He was a beat cop in Peoria, a few days into the new job, when a gang banger got the drop on him. His partner dropped the man before he killed Tony. But the adrenaline rush left him crackling with electric energy, like he was a livewire. He didn’t sleep for days.

How can McGee sleep through all this?

After Gibbs throws a yellowed quilt over Tim, he tilts his head towards the basement. Tony follows him down the rickety stairs into a space that, over the years, has become a second home. It might be nearing morning, but in Gibbs’ basement, it’s always the same time. Bourbon o’clock on a darken lido deck.

Gibbs grabs a mason jar. Dumps out the screws before filling it with a few fingers’ worth of bourbon. When he hands it to Tony, the senior agent down it in one gulp. Gibbs refills Tony’s jar while filling his own. Then, Gibbs shucks off his jacket. For once, he’s the best dressed out of them.

Gibbs sips his drink. “So, Director was your idea?”

Tony flinches. He hugs his arms to his chest, trying to find comfort in the nearly threadbare cotton of Gibbs’ NIS shirt. He wishes he were wearing one of his favorite shirts, that blindingly white Armani one that always gets starched within an inch of his life. With the top button tight against his throat. He swallows hard, but there’s nothing against his Adam’s apple. No tightness, no collar, no nothing. He feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

“’It is good to be the king,’” he boasts with false revelry.

That leaves Gibbs smirking as he works on his bourbon. The alcohol hits Tony harder than it should. One minute, he’s stone cold sober and the next, he is sliding off the stool into a comforting, cloudlike embrace. His head might as well be stuffed full of cotton wool. Instead of sleeping, Tony downs his second drink before putting the empty jar on the ground. Then, he grabs a pair of safety glasses and gets to work. It might still be early, but the gentle glide of sandpaper against rough wood and the heady bourbon are helping take the edge off his post-kill adrenaline spike.

Gibbs slides beside Tony. “You want to talk?”

Tony doesn’t look at him. “Not really.”

“It’ll blow over,” Gibbs offers.

Tony’s frown deepens. “I didn’t expect to shoot someone today, Boss. I didn’t want to.” He licks his lips, shaking his head. “It might be easy for you, but it just…” He looks at Gibbs, eyes glinting in the low light. “It doesn’t come easy for me. And I don’t want it to.”

The silence settles around them. Tony presses his hand flat against the boat. Gibbs puts his hand on his shoulder, but Tony shies away. He takes a full step back, nearly tripping over his mason jar.

Gibbs starts, “Tony…”

Tony makes a face. Gibbs goes quiet, head cocked and eyes earnest.

“The only reason McGee and I are alive is because Ziva screwed up.” Tony’s voice is flat because if he thinks about it, he’ll just. “She was going to kill McGee first and make me watch. I managed to take her down first. If she’s come after me first…” He can’t bring himself to think that he and Tim would be down in autopsy if she’d done it right. He wonders whether he’d be using the same slab as Kate.

There’s no sex or snacks in the afterlife…

That causes Gibbs to blanch, but still, he stays quiet.

“She was connected to Kate’s death.” Tony sighs, low and broken. “Did you know Ziva was holed up in that sniper nest with Ari? She was the one who shot at McGee, not Ari. Her.”

Gibbs’ face hardens until it looks like it was carved from stone. He stands up straighter, chin raised and head held high. Every inch the Marine he was.

“They killed Kate to create an opening on the team,” Tony says. “Then, she killed Ari to gain your trust. And still, you wanted to put her on the team.”

“I had no idea,” Gibbs says.

“It was right there in front of our faces! It was so obvious!”

Tony pounds his fist against the boat hull. The smack echoes hollowing around the basement. Gibbs might flinch, but there’s barely a crack in his veneer.

“I came to you,” Tony says quietly. “I told you something didn’t feel right, and you told me to prove it.”

Gibbs licks his lips. Has the grace to look away.

“Why did you believe a stranger over me?” Tony whispers.

Gibbs’ eyes widen as if he were slapped. His stance falters.

“Shepard was going to reassign you.” Gibbs shifts his weight. “Senior field agent in Naples. And McGee to cybercrimes here.”

The silence nearly crushes them.

Gibbs shakes his head. “I couldn’t lose either of you.”

Tony already knew about Shepard blackmailing Gibbs, but to hear his boss say it out loud makes it real. It makes a secret threat, all the more real. And after watching Shepard fire Tim, he knows she would’ve truly pulled the trigger on her threat. He wants to believe Gibbs was trying to protect them in the only way he knows how. On his own and with the other person left in the dark.

Tony exhales loudly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Gibbs’ silence speaks for him. He is a man of few words—of no words, actually. Tony doesn’t mind until he needs to hear something, anything from a man that he would lay down and die to protect.

He shouldn’t be angry, but he is. None of it had to happen.

Tony turns back to sanding a hole in the boat hull. When Gibbs’ heavy hand lands on Tony’s shoulder, the senior agent violently shrugs it away. Gibbs stands here, eyes searching Tony’s profile. Tony won’t even look at him. Keeps his own gaze fixed on the rough grain of the wood. It wasn’t bad when he first started, but somehow, he made the grain so much rougher. He doesn’t understand how everything he touches goes straight to shit.

The sandpaper flutters to the floor.

“She was going to kill me.” Tony is talking to the boat hull. “Before they got to the sniper’s nest, Ziva and Ari went through our personnel files. They agreed it was going to be me. Ziva decided McGee would be the one she’d turn into an asset. She thought Kate could be manipulated. And me, I was supposed to die in the plot to earn your trust. Ari changed his mind on the roof.” He lets the point hang between them. “They originally agreed on me.”

When Gibbs leans into Tony’s field of vision, he looks as if seeing the senior agent for the first time. A torrent of raw emotion sweeps across his face. Tony turns to face him, and the team leader is almost unrecognizable. He looks like a man swept out to sea.

Gibbs swallows hard. “Tony…”

“I’m fine,” Tony interrupts. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” Gibbs places a steadying hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I was wrong. I….”

Gibbs trailing off at those words opens the chasm between them. Whatever happens next will define the rest of their working relationship, the way Tony looks at Gibbs, the rest of Tony’s time at NCIS. Even though Tony knows what Gibbs is about to say, he still doesn’t know if he can handle it.

“Rule Six,” Tony warns. “And I know.”

Gibbs shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

And that’s the first time Tony ever heard those words leave the mouth of the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It will be the first and likely, the last. Tony wants to savor them, but after everything, they feel so hollow and empty. He takes it for exactly what it is, an olive branch to show Gibbs is trying.

Tony just clips a nod. Gibbs stares at Tony long enough to make his skin crawl. It almost seems as though Gibbs is trying to memorize every aspect of Tony’s face because he doesn’t want to forget. Suddenly exhausted, Tony sags back against the boat hull. The cool wood feels good against his scorching skin.

“I can’t believe Kate didn’t say anything,” Tony says.

Gibbs’ eyes widen. “Kate?”

Flushing, Tony barks an awkward laugh. “She might’ve visited me. From the other side.” He adds a scary sounding wooooo for good measure. “That’s part of the reason I didn’t tell you what was going on with Ziva earlier. I wasn’t sure how to explain Kate was still helping me.”

When Gibbs lets the silence stretch, Tony smiles tightly. Of course, Gibbs is going to think he’s crazy. The quiet wraps itself around him like a tight, tight blanket. Suffocating and unbearably warm.

In the end, Gibbs whispers: “I saw her too.”

Tony’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Couldn’t understand her.” Gibbs half-shrugs. “Thought she was okay with Ziva.”

“She was trying to warn you.”

Gibbs closes his eyes. Sighs hard. His expression turns bleak.

Tony changes the subject. “She said you have a new hobby.”

Gibbs’ eyebrows jump, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Gotcha, boss. Kate wasn’t lying.

Tony’s mouth quirks upward. “She said I’d never look at you you the same way again.”

With a tilt of his head, Gibbs gestures for Tony to follow. Tony keeps his distance as Gibbs leads the way toward the work bench. As they’re moving, Tony slowly begins to regret ever asking because he doesn’t have any clue what the new hobby could even be.

What if it’s something kinky?

Tony’s heart skitters up into his throat.

For the love of G-d, don’t let it be kinky. I’ll have to transfer to a new team.

On the work bench at the far side of the basement, there are a pile of tiny paintbrushes and ten paint tubes strewn around haphazardly. Plastered on the wall behind the bench is a piece of paper with a black ink drawing of Team Gibbs at their best. Tony recognizes Kate’s drawing instantly. The illustration manages to capture Gibbs’ determination, Tony’s wolfish features, Tim’s wide-eyed earnestness and in the middle, Kate grinning as though she was queen of all of them. He chokes up at the sight of it.

They both stare at the picture with a certain reverence. A moment of silence at Kate’s graveside.

When they’re done, Gibbs reaches into a nearby tool chest to remove a small stack of pages. He places them in a pile on the workbench. It’s a pile of watercolor paintings on thick, cardstock paper. Tony sifts through them, art piece after art piece. Every single scene is a boat edge with an endless sea drifting into the horizon. There are stormy skies, cloudless days, sunsets and gentle mornings. They appear to be done with an expert’s touch.

Tony glances at Gibbs. “Did you paint these, Boss?”

Gibbs merely shrugs. For some reason, Gibbs will never admit that he created beauty in a place where there was none. Simple paint and paper and somehow a stern emotionless man created these.

Intense longing fills Tony’s chest. His eyes itch.

I must be allergic to something down here.

Tony holds up the papers. “They’re…they’re beautiful. Can I have one?”

Gibbs just shrugs again.

Tony takes the shrug to be an affirmation. Tony continues to sift through them as he searches for his favorite. When he can’t pick one, he grabs the entire stack. Gibbs doesn’t stop him.

Tony hears everything that Gibbs won’t say. That he started painting after Kate died when building the boat wouldn’t fill the void anymore. That they don’t matter because he just needs to get it—whatever it is—out from underneath his skin.

As Tony considers his art haul, Gibbs clucks his tongue. Tony turns back to find Gibbs squeezing a hunk of green paint directly onto the work bench. Tony decides he’ll buy his boss a palette, a fancy one like the guy with Afro from the public broadcasting station uses. Whatever is happening, Gibbs must feel the urge to paint. To create something where there was nothing. He fixes Tony with a lethal look, the paintbrush no longer an art instrument, but a weapon.

“You tell McGee…” Gibbs’ follow-up threat of and I’ll shoot you myself goes unspoken.

Tony’s back stiffens. “Of course, Boss.”

Turning back to the boat, Tony manages to hide his grin. Gibbs hasn’t threatened him since Kate died. Maybe Gibbs won’t be nice anymore. Maybe everything is getting back to the way it used to be. It might be slow and messy, but maybe they’ll just move on the right away. Together, as a team.

Tony’s eyes drop back to the paintings again. The one on top is done in all blues, a darkened edge of a boat that stretches into a moonlight sky.

Here, there are stars.

Chapter Text

A few days later, everything goes mostly back to normal except for Tony and Tim being on desk duty. The Internal Affairs investigation drags on and on and on. After Tony’s third interview, Internal Affairs agent Chris Crispin—that is his real name because Tony asks—assures him that the case is merely a formality now. They’ll get their weapons and field duty restored as soon as it’s closed. Tony wants to believe him. At this point, he is just glad that security doesn’t throw him out when he shows up for work.

Tim flits around the bullpen, anxious and sullen. He doesn’t store his creds in his desk anymore.

Their search for Dennis Bryson ends at the hotel where Ziva tried to kill them. Not long after Ziva was shot, Bryson stumbled out of his hotel room and down to the desk. The concierge called the cops because the man was slurring his words and stark naked and unable to stay on his own two feet. It takes a few days for NCIS to uncover that Bryson is a patient at a local hospital. Gibbs and Crispin interview Bryson together and as it turns out, the UA sailor drank something that a beautiful dark-haired woman with almond shaped eyes gave him.

When asked her name, Bryson makes a face and says: “I think it was something like Lisa, man. Or maybe it started with an S or a Z, but it definitely sounded like Lisa.” He blinks at the federal agents as though he doesn’t believe they’re real. “Maybe it was Ziva? No, that can't be it. That sounds like I made up.”

Crispin nods as if to tell Gibbs that it only helps the case against Tony and Tim.

They’re cleared the following day. Tim stops keeping his weapon in his desk.

Tony won’t put his weapon away either.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Tony hangs Gibbs’ paintings around his apartment. First, they’re just taped haphazardly to the wall until he decides to have them professional framed. He takes down one of his old movie posters and lines the wall, floor to ceiling, with the framed watercolor boat paintings. It sparks a childlike wonder deep inside him and he finds himself pausing in front of the wall, awestruck, whenever he passes.

His favorite. The one with the starlit sky and the open ocean he takes to work and attaches to his bulletin board with a pushpin.

Gibbs ignores the painting, but Tony keeps catching Tim admiring. One afternoon, it’s just them in the bullpen and Tim points at it.

“Where’d you get that, Tony?” he asks. "It's really nice"

Tony offers a sly smile. “Gibbs painted it.”

Tim’s face pinches. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

Tim can never say Tony wasn’t honest with him.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Tony’s lungs still flip and flop in his chest. Whenever he takes the stairs, they scream from the effort. Gibbs takes—forces, kicking and screaming, under threat of death—him to the doctor and sits in the waiting room. They aren’t leaving, Gibbs says, until Tony gets examined. That leads to Tony pulling out all the stops on a receptionist, who is old enough to be his grandmother, for the doctor to check him over. He flirts and smiles. Does his absolute best to win her over. There may even be a fake tear or two. In the end, he slips Gibbs’ phone number across the desk, and she shoves him in the schedule.

The doctor is dour and tired and overworked. He listens to Tony’s chest. Makes faces and quiet huffing noises. He takes so many notes.

He blinks at Tony with watery eyes. “You had the plague?”

Tony nods.

“The bubonic plague?” the doctor asks.

Tony shrugs with one-shoulder. “Is there another one?”

“Huh,” the doctor murmurs.

Then, he leaves Tony alone, half-dressed and awkward on the examination table. The air is hot and dry, uncomfortable even without his shirt. Tony can’t help thinking about that time he was stuck in the isolation tent with those weird blue lights and the machines and –  

And Kate. He hates how that’s one of his best memories of her. Telling the doctor at Bethesda where to shove it when he told her to leave the isolation tent.

The door opening pulls Tony straight from his thoughts. The doctor slides back into the room, but he seems surer this time. He probably snuck out to make a call to someone who knows what to do when someone who recently had the bubonic plague shows up off the street.

“You should take some time off of work,” the doctor says. “Give your body time to heal.”

“That isn’t going to happen.” Tony laughs morosely. “Not with my job. Not with my boss.”

The doctor makes a face as if hears it all the time. Then, he prescribes Tony a mountain of pills and two inhalers. He shoves the pile of prescriptions into Tony’s outstretched hands.

“You need to make time, or your body will force you,” the doctor warns. “But those might help.”

Tony shoves the prescriptions into his pocket. As soon as he enters the waiting room, Gibbs is on his feet. Holding out his arms, Tony cracks a wry smile.

“See, Boss?” he crows. “I’m fine. Never better. The doc said I’m in the best shape of my life.”

Gibbs looks like he doesn’t believe Tony. “You shoulda let Ducky look.”

“He works on dead people, Boss.” That raises the hackles of the patients around them. “And look, I’m alive and healthier than a horse. Even after having the plague!” The nearest patients flee their seats and move clear across the room.

Tony doesn’t fill the prescriptions. They end up tossed into the pile of discharge papers from his hospital stay in Bethesda. They join the pile of instructions he was supposed to follow.

Tony slows down, only just a little. Whenever he feels that twitch in his lungs, he stops for the moment just long enough to catches his breath. From what Kate tells him, there’s no sex or snacks in the afterlife.

And he isn’t ready to find out whether she’s lying.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

One day, it’s just Tony and Gibbs in the bullpen. There’s been something between them that Tony is just dying to know because no one ever tells him anything.

“Hey Boss, what do you think is going happen to Shepard?” Tony blurts out.

Gibbs’ eyes narrow. Then, he rises from his seat, and he strides out of the bullpen.

It doesn’t take a federal agent to know that Gibbs’ reaction means Fornell’s case is rock solid. That former Director Jenny Shepard will be going away for a very, very long time. That Gibbs lost one of the very few people he allowed into his inner circle.

Tony has to remind himself that Gibbs just lost a friend.

Tony misses Kate.  

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

On an ordinary Thursday, Gibbs tells the wrong Senator just what he thought about the lawmaker’s ideas to cut the agency’s budget. Within the hour, SecNav ressigns Gibbs right back to the bullpen. Tony takes his own resulting demotion in stride, falls right back into his normal role as senior field agent. If anything, Tim seems relieved to be back in his old position. He quietly abandons the pile of paperwork he was completing onto Tony’s desk.

After the disaster that was Ziva David, Gibbs suspends any new additions to his team. And the three of them continue to do the work of four people. Abby places a battery-operated candle on Kate’s desk, a silent vigil for their lost friend. Occasionally, Tim buys her favorite breakfast—egg and cheese on a bagel with coffee—from her favorite place and leaves it on her desk. Tony eats it when Tim isn’t looking.

They’re working on a cold case—a young female Marine beaten to death with a baseball bat—when Tony catches an inconsistency in the forensics. The investigating agents never checked whether the suspected murder weapon matched the size of the wounds. And they didn’t measure the weapon either.

Sighing inwardly, Tony barely manages to quell the aggravation rising through him. Mistakes might happen, but this is a monumental fuck-up even for a case that he and Gibbs didn’t work. He double-checks the other forensics and discovers a few other glaring mistakes.

“How did they miss that?” he mutters to the file.

Gibbs clears his throat.

Flinching, Tony glances up to find Gibbs staring him down. Tony smiles sheepishly, gestures at the casefile. Across the bullpen, Tim is trying his best to blend into the background.

Tony points at the file. “The last team missed some stuff, Boss. They didn’t full run the forensics. They never dug into her financials. They only ran the full print, but not the partial. And they didn’t interview her boyfriend.”

“She didn’t have one, Tony,” Tim supplies helpfully.

“Well then, they didn’t interview the girlfriend.”

“Did she have one?” Tim asks.

Tony gestures at the file as if to say, That’s my point. The anger is apparent on Gibbs’ face, settling into the corners of his mouth and his eyes are narrowing into slits. If glaring errors are trying for Tony, Gibbs considers them a justifiable reason for homicide.

I’m glad he’s getting mad again. I was tired of nice Gibbs.

Tony’s grin turns wicked. “Cases go cold pretty quick if you’re not investigating them.”

“Reopen it,” Gibbs says.

“On it, Boss,” Tony says.

And Tony takes it to mean that they’ll start from scratch. Pull the box of evidence and pour over it as if they were working on a new case. Bring the evidence to Abby to reanalyze everything. Reinterview the witnesses. Do whatever computer stuff Tim does that Tony doesn't entirely understand. Corners were already cut once, and they sure as hell won’t be this time. They’ll have the murdering dirtbag by the end of the weekend. Tony can feel it in his bones.

“I’ll pull the evidence,” Tony announces.

When he is halfway out of the bullpen, he notices Tim still works quietly at his computer. Despite how quickly things returned to almost normal, Tim hasn’t handled everything as well as Tony hoped. Tim arrives at work with ever-growing bags under his eyes and paler and paler cheeks. Sure, Tony sometimes hears those awful sounds from the parking garage in the quiet, but he tries to always make some noise to drown them out. A movie, music, talking. Just noise. Anything to drown out the sounds.

Tony waves his hand over his shoulder. “Let’s go, McWingman. I can use the help.”

Tim doesn’t look over. “I’m working on something.”

“Work at helping me find the evidence box that our boss so unkindly requested.” When Gibbs growls at him, Tony throws a mock salute. “If they were as good at storing the box as they were investigating the case, I’m going to need help. And a lot of it.”

Tim glances at Gibbs. “Boss?”

Gibbs waves at them, dismissive. “Find it.”

And with that, Tim dutifully climbs out of his seat. The entire way to the elevator, Tony grins that shit-eating grin at him. It might just be for show, but Tony wears it well. He continues staring at Tim until they’re in the elevator.

“Whatever Bossman wants, Bossman gets,” Tony announces with a flourish.  

Tim puffs out his cheeks. “Tell me about it.”

Tony holds out his hands. “Well, Gibbs tells me to do something. Then, I make you help me because you’re my junior field agent and it’s your – “

“I didn’t mean literally,” Tim says.

Tony shrugs. “You told me to.”

That makes Tim dramatically roll his eyes and Tony’s grin takes over his face. They ride the elevator down to the floor with the evidence garage. They sign in at the appropriate place and when they enter the area where the boxes are stored, Tony’s mouth gapes. The boxes of cold cases stretch for what seem to be miles in every direction. He always forgets just how many cases are stored in the graveyard until he comes here to find one. Their search could take all night.

Tim sighs at the sight. “What are we looking for?”

“The Patterson case.” Tony prattles off the case number and suspected location from his Post-It. “What are the odds it’ll be where it’s supposed to?”

“Good.” Tim’s answer comes as a question.

Tony doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it probably won’t be where it’s supposed to. Sloppy casework and forensics usually mean sloppy evidence handling too. When Tony leads Tim to where the Patterson case should be, there is a neat little hole. Tony sighs into his hand. Of course, the lead agent thought the evidence garage organization system was more of a suggestion than a system.

Tony’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Figures.”

Tim groans because he is learning that some agents just shove evidence boxes into the first open space that they find. Which means the box could be anywhere in this labyrinth. And of course, that’ll be their job for the next few hours to hunt down the box wherever it ended up.

“Now what?” Tim asks.

Tony shrugs with one shoulder. “You go that way.” He gestures to the left and then, the right. “I’ll go this way. Check the boxes, but remember it might not be labeled correctly either.”

Tim’s eyes grow huge. “You’re kidding…”

“Do I sound like I am?” Tony asks darkly.

Tim mutters a swear under his breath. With a shared nod of determination, they move slowly away from each other as they scan the boxes to find one marked as the Patterson case. Tony removes the lids to check the paperwork inside. Once he catches what Tony is doing, Tim repeats the action.

The silence lingers for several minutes before Tony can’t stand it anymore.

“Hey McGee,” Tony calls. “What are you doing on Saturday?”

Tim starts, “Uh…”

He stays quiet long enough for Tony to realize Tim is trying to come up with a decent answer to get out of it. The kid can’t even lie convincingly.

Tony chuckles. “Good, because you’re coming out with me and Alexis this weekend. Her sister, Helga, should be back from her conference.”

Tim’s head snaps toward Tony, his glare full bore. “I’m not going on a double date with you.” A pause. “Wait a second. You’re trying to set me up with someone named Helga?”

“She’s a children’s librarian with a major DC library.” Tony sounds almost gleeful as he adds: “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a cardigan or half-glasses. Though I can’t guarantee that she doesn’t wear orthopedic shoes.” When Alexis described her sister, Tony couldn’t help picturing an unattractive version of Alexis who looks a bit like a gargoyle.

“I’m not coming, Tony.” Tim turns back, arms crossed. “Deal with it on your own.”

For a split second, Tony’s expression turns panicked. He doesn’t want to have to explain to Alexis why he showed up empty handed after promising her sister a date. Because if Alexis rats him out to Secretary Lewis, he’ll be a marked man for the rest of his career. He’ll probably have to go work for the FBI or Homeland Security or even worse, the Army CID. He shudders at the thought.

“Do you really want to end up on SecNav’s blacklist, McGee?” Those words cause Tim’s head to tilt like a trained dog’s. “Because Alexis will tell him about me and you. And believe me, you don’t want to be Secretary Lewis’ bad side.” He shudders at the thought. “Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt.”

A hurricane of emotion slides over Tim’s face. In the end, he turns away.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Let me know what time.”

And then, they fall into silence as they search the evidence garage for the Patterson box. They start to blend together, the cool cardboard beneath Tony’s fingers and the pressing silence around them. Tony moves from box to box as quickly as he can. At this rate, they could be here all night.

Tony looks at Tim, who’s halfway down the aisle.

“Did you find that box yet?” Tony asks.

Tim shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Suddenly, a woman’s voice calls. “Me neither!”

Tony’s heart clenches in his chest. He forgets to breathe, and it sets off a hacking fit that nearly takes him to his knees. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath.

Kate.

When he peers through the shelf, Kate watches through the boxes from the other side of the shelving unit. She looks different than the last time Tony saw her. Her hair cascades down her shoulders and it blends into a long, flowing white dress.  The hole in her head is missing and her cheeks are white, but she looks good. Healthy. Alive even.

His lungs are still rolling his chest. He bends over, breathing hard.

She moves straight through the shelving unit. She slides next to Tony, crouching to check him over. Her eyes are earnest and wide, lively. He chases the sweat from his brow.

Tony blinks slowly because he hasn’t seen her in weeks.

“Kate?” His voice is barely a whisper.

Down the hallway, Tim inhales sharply. Goes deathly pale. Looks like he might just bolt.

“Good to see you remember how to work, Tony.” Kate laughs, good-naturedly. Then, she looks down the hallway. “Hey McGee.”

Tim’s body goes rigid, and he offers a meek wave.

Tony straightens up. “Have you seen the Patterson box?”

“Who put it away?” Kate asks.

“The investigating agent, who didn’t run a partial print,” Tony says as though it explains everything.

Kate wolf-whistles as she glances around the evidence locker. “That means it could be anywhere. Good luck.” Her lips tick in a wicked grin. “I wonder if I should arrange some boxes while I’m down here.”

“Please don’t!” Tim exclaims.

When she looks over, he drops his gaze to his shoes.

Tony smiles. “What McGee means is that it’s already hard enough to find anything down here.”

The thought of her pranking them makes Tony’s eyes itch. She might not be here anymore, but it’s like she never left. His eyes start to burn, wetting at the lashes. He scratches at the face as though it could make the feeling dissipate. There’s a wet spot on his cheek.

Kate’s smile is sad. “I’m not going to move anything, McGee. I can’t. I came to say goodbye.”

Tony swallows the lump in his throat. “Thanks for everything.”

She goes to punch his arm, but it goes right through him. Every piece of muscle and sinew that she touches burns from the cold. He shudders.

Tim starts, “Uh, yeah. I – “

And that’s when Tim bolts back to the elevator. Tony sprints after him and manages to catch Tim before he gets too far. Tony lassos his arm around Tim’s shoulder. He tries to get away, but Tony pulls him tighter until their temples are touching. Tim’s breathing is strident, Tony is gasping for air too.

“Come on, McGee,” he says.

Tim shakes his head. “That’s…that’s not Kate.”

Tony glances back at Kate, who stares at them curiously. He holds up an index finger and says, “Give us a minute, Katie.”

Tony pulls Tim closer to whisper in his ear.

“That’s Kate,” Tony says. “I saw her for weeks before Ziva happened. She’s our teammate, Probie.”

“You didn’t see what she did to Ziva. She…she…” Tim turns a vicious shade of green.

“That’s because Ziva had her killed.” Tony lets the words sink in. “Ziva is the only reason that Kate is dead. It was supposed to be me, remember?” Tim swallows hard and Tony reels him in closer. “Kate was the one who died in my place. She did what she did to keep us from dying too.”

Tim licks his lips. Tony holds him tight.

“If you don’t say goodbye, you’ll regret it.”

And with that, Tony lets Tim go. It’s the junior agent’s decision to make. To stay or go. As Tony doubles back to where Kate stands, Tim tentatively follows. He faces Kate, his face drawn as she smiles at him.

“Katie!” Tony bellows.

She doesn’t correct him, and it hurts.

Tim holds out his hand. “It was nice working with you, Kate. I’ll miss you.”

Looking curiously at Tim’s hand, Kate raises her chin. “It was an honor, McGee. You’re a good agent. Just don’t do what Tony does because he’s a screw up.”

Tony releases a broken laugh. “The biggest?”

“The best,” Kate says instead.

Tim laughs, eyes shining. He chases the tears away. Tony ignores the itching his eyes. There must be something down here that he’s allergic to. Maybe it’s cardboard.

Tony throws out his hands. “Group hug time! Bring it in, Kate! You too, Probie!”

They crash together for the last time in a tight little space with Kate in the middle. He knows she’s there because it feels like he is standing on an air-conditioning vent. He closes his eyes, leaning into the frigid feeling that seeps into his bones. The seconds tick past until the air warms around him and he feels himself clutching a warm, soft body. As if Kate is made of flesh again.

When Tony opens his eyes, he finds a wide-eyed Tim staring at him. Their faces are thisfarapart. Tony only gets this close to his dates. Tony dramatically drops his arms and takes a huge step backward.

Kate is nowhere to be found.

Tony points at Tim’s flushed face. “We never speak of this again. Got it?”

Tim nods quickly. “Oh yeah.”

“Back to work.” Throwing his arms out, Tony starts to hum, Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work we go.

Rolling his eyes, Tim retreats down the hallway. When Tony turns back to his side, he nearly faceplants over something that was between their feet. Right where Kate had been standing rests an evidence box. Both Tim and Tony stare at it, knowing exactly what it was and where it came from.

The missing Patterson box.

Tony glances around the emptiness surrounding them. He swallows hard. Lifts his chin to ignore that awful allergy that’s still plaguing his eyes. He waits for her to come back as if looking around long enough will make Kate appear out of one of the boxes like a genie. It isn’t until Tim touches his shoulder and shakes his head that Tony finally accepts that she really is gone.

Still, he waits for Tim to heave the box up and head back to the elevator.

Into the nothingness where she once was, Tony whispers: “Thanks, Kate. For everything.”

Chapter Text

That weekend, Tony manages to score reservations at the newest restaurant in Washington. The head chef might be related to one of his frat brothers, but Tony decides he’ll let everyone think he name-dropped to keep up appearances. He’d rather Alexis Lewis think he is a man who can make things happen because of who he is rather than one who has a Rolodex of people who owe him favors. 

The name’s DiNozzo. Tony DiNozzo.

Tony and Alexis are nestled in a back booth, heads tilted towards each other. He told Tim and Helga that their reservations were half an hour after the time he met Alexis. He wanted just a few minutes to get himself reacquainted and in a fashion that he didn’t think was possible, she forgot how he lost her number. She forgot about everything. After the month he had, it’s almost too perfect.

Alexis Lewis shows up in a cute little shell pink number that leaves nothing to Tony’s imagination. He tries—and fails—to stop staring. She looks just like Rosamund Pike as the ice queen in Die Another Day and he’d love to think he channeled his best inner Bond. He wears his best Zegna suit, the black one with the smart lines and the perfect lapels. As he sips his Scotch, he feels more like James Bond than he probably should. Maybe he should have ordered a martini—shaken, not stirred.

The restaurant spreads out around them like a landscape of dark wood and dark leather and wine bottle décor stretching from floor to ceiling. The copper-rimmed lights are low, just enough to see your dinner companion and forget about the rest of the world. It’s gaudy and pretentious, but it’s everything Tony loves in his hideaways. Secrets never make it through the front door.

Tony nuzzles at the nape of Alexis’ neck. She smells like jasmine and flowers, delicate and feminine. After the week he had—Gibbs ran them into the ground with the Patterson case and like Tony thought, it was the secret girlfriend no one knew about—she is the perfect distraction.

Alexis lets her blonde hair fall into his face. It makes him smile and he kisses the side of her neck again. She arches, leaning into him.

I don’t think we’re going to make it through dinner.

He clears his throat. Reaches for his Scotch.

Tony tries for conversation. “I’m surprised your sister didn’t want to come with you.”

“I think Helle – “ she pronounces her sister’s nickname so that it rhymes with jelly “ – didn’t want to get stuck if we planned our own thing.”  

That leaves Tony grinning his Chesire cat smile. “Are we planning our own thing?”

Alexis’ smile is wicked. “Let’s see how the night goes first.”

“So, you’ve forgiven me for not calling.”

She leans closer, lets to her lips just graze his. A whisper of a kiss, the ghost of her lips makes him ache. He barely contains the shiver that slides down his spine. Her own smile is downright devilish.

“Let’s see how your friend does first,” she murmurs.

Tony doesn’t bother to correct her. He and Tim might not be anywhere close to friends—their working relationship rapidly improved after the Ziva David fiasco and dealing with Internal Affairs together—but he’ll let Alexis believe they’re blood brothers if it makes her go home with him.

Tony nurses his Scotch while Alexis sips her white wine. He is about to go back to nuzzling her neck when someone flumps into the booth across from them. Both of them go rigid, and Alexis shifts away from him. When Tony glances up, Tim sits there with an agitated expression on his face. He wears a navy suit that Tony instantly recognizes from the shop window on their stakeout while following Ziva David.

Maybe Probie is finally getting some taste. Maybe.

“You should’ve warned me about parking,” Tim grouses. “It was a nightmare.”

Tony narrows his eyes. Tries to tell him not to blow their entire date by being his usual wet blanket self. When Tony widens his eyes at Alexis, Tim glances over. Flinching, he tries for a bland grin. He holds out his hand for Alexis to shake. She smiles broadly, welcoming and soaking him in. Tony feels a pang of jealousy because that should be all for him.

“Alexis Lewis,” she says.

His smile turns dumbfounded. “Tim McGee.”

Before they have a chance to talk, a waiter materializes seemingly out of nowhere. Tim quickly glances through the drink menu. Tony forgot to offer him pointers before they left work yesterday. Tony thinks Tim will pick something manly like Scotch or bourbon or –

Tim taps the menu. “I’ll have the chardonnary.”

Tony closes his eyes. Cringes.

Are you kidding me, Probie?

That makes Alexis smile. “I love a man who isn’t afraid to order a nice glass of wine.” She holds up her own drink in a salute to Tim. “You’ll enjoy it. This is a nice vintage.”

Then, Tony downs the rest of his Scotch in one go. If Alexis loves a man who orders wine, Tony will drink a few bottles of the stuff. When the waiter returns with Tim’s drink, Tony orders a glass too. But not the frou frou, girly wine that Alexis and Tim are drinking, Tony orders a robust, manly glass of Zinfandel.

Suddenly, Alexis’ phone chirps. When she checks it, her face pulls into a little frown.

“My sister is looking for a parking space.” She shakes her head. Makes an agitated face. “I’ll be right back. Don’t get started without me, boys.”

“Oh, we won’t,” Tony says with a wink.

Tim just furrows his eyebrows. And with that, she ducks out of the booth. That leaves Tim and Tony staring at each other. Tony lounges against the backseat of the book, one arm propped beside him. It’s all low lighting and dark wood with copper accents and stiff, model-looking waitstaff. Tim toys with the steam of his wine glass, seeming uncomfortable. Tony doesn’t quite know how to fill the silence between them because this part of his world doesn’t usually include Tim.

Tim glances around. “Nice place. How did you manage to get reservations?”

“It’s a long story,” Tony says.

Tim stares at him as if he expects Tony to tell it.

Instead, Tony asks: “Can you imagine a better night than this?”

“Um, yeah,” Tim says without a moment’s hesitation.

Tony glares at him.

Tim makes a face. “You forced me on a blind date with a woman named Helga.”

“Who just so happens to be SecNav’s daughter.” Tony brightens, laughing. “If you didn’t come, Alexis would rat you out and you’d be on his shit list. Come to think of it, just by being here, I bet you’ll be on his shit list too.”

“Oh, that’s just great.”

Tony raises his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the club, Probie.”

Making a face, Tim takes another sip of his wine. Tony is nearly bouncing out of his seat with anticipation. He can’t wait to see what Helga looks like. He fully expects her to be a frumpy, overweight woman with half-glasses and orthopedic shoes and a cardigan. Basically, what Tony pictures to be Tim’s type.

Tony leans forward. “If it makes you feel any better, dinner is on me.”

Tim’s eyebrows climb to his hairline as he grabs the menu.

“No lobster,” Tony says.

Tim rolls his eyes. Just as Tony is about to peruse the menu himself—he’s thinking about ordering the lobster—he catches sight of movement across the restaurant. Alexis heads back to the table. She has blonde hair with a cheerleader’s build and in her pink dress, she stands out like she is the only woman in the restaurant. But the woman next to her…

Jesus Christ…

On her own, Alexis is a solid nine. Not that Tony likes to assign women an attractive rating. He’s too much of a modern male for that.

But the woman next to her makes Alexis look like an ugly stepsister from Cinderella.

Helga—Helle—looks like dark-haired, real-life version of Jessica Rabbit from Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

At the first sight of Helle, Tony’s brain short circuits. He feels like one of those cartoon characters from Who Framed Roger Rabbit whenever Jessica Rabbit showed up. His eyes nearly bug out of his head and his tongue unfurls onto the table like a carpet.

Across the table, Tim catches Tony staring. He makes an annoyed face, eyes rolled so hard that Tony only sees the whites of them. But when he looks over his shoulder at the women, his face turns sheet white. He ducks down in the seat so far that he’s nearly under the table.

This isn’t a blind date anymore. It’s about to be a massacre. Tim can’t hold his own against a beautiful woman. And Tony has a front row seat. He should feel bad, but he doesn’t.

“What do I do, Tony?” Tim bleats.

Tony snaps back to life. “Talk to her, but um…don’t be yourself.”

Tim’s mouth gapes. “That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”

It doesn’t take long before the sisters reach the table. Somehow, Helle Lewis is even more beautiful up close. It takes everything Tony has in him to stop staring. Alexis takes to glaring a hole in the side of his head. To try to win her back, he plasters on his best grin.

Baseball. Cold showers. Baseball. Cold showers.

Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Helle.” He introduces himself before looking at Tim, who forgot the English language. “That’s Tim over there.”

Helle throws him a bright grin before sliding into the seat beside him. Under the table, Tony kicks Tim hard enough for the younger man to yelp loudly. Tim jumps back to life, downing a portion of his wine.

He idiotically grins at Helle. “I carry a gun.”

“And I read books to little kids,” she replies, clearly not impressed.

So Helle isn’t a badge bunny like Alexis led me to believe. Looks like McGee’s a dead man walking.

And the double date goes worse than Tony expected. He regals the trio with movie quotes and stories about Gibbs and some of his adventures from being a cop and federal agent. The stories make Alexis slide closer and closer to Tony’s side until she nearly burrows into him.

On the other side of the table, Tim flails like a person who can’t swim in the open ocean. His conversation with Helle is stilted and uncomfortable. He manages to fling a piece of shrimp onto her green silk dress. She bumps his shoulder with a joke and a good-natured laugh. “That was shrimply amazing," she says. Tim looks like he wants to crawl under the table and die.

At the end of their night, the table is littered with nearly empty cups of coffee and decimated deserts. Alexis throws her hands over her head and stretches like a cat. Her body leans back against Tony, and he can feel the heat coming through the layers of clothing between them. Which shouldn’t be there much longer, if everything ends right…

“What a great night.” Her eyes flick to Tony. “I don’t think it could get any better.”

He leans to nibble on her ear. “Just you wait.”

Her grin borders on lewd. And when her father finds out about their date, Tony will be a dead man. But he will make sure the punishment is well worth the crime.

Across the table, Tim morosely looks at Helle. She smiles at him sympathetically. They both know their night was a complete and utter disaster, but at least they tried. They look like they’re ready to shake hands and wish each other a nice life. Tony wishes he could part way with a woman like that, mature and reasonable and talking it out. He prefers to pretend like he doesn’t know them until they stop calling. His way is so much easier.

Tim rubs his forehead. “Maybe I should’ve stayed home and played Tears of the Fallen.”

Helle’s entire face lights up. “Wait. Do you play Tears of the Fallen?”

Before Tim can reply, Alexis smacks her hand on the table. Tony recoils.

“Helga,” Alexis bites out, “you’re not supposed to talk about–” she drops her voice before rumbling “ – the games. We talked about this. It’s embarrassing.”

Helle ignores her. “None of my friends are interested in Tears of the Fallen. They said it’s too boring, but not too many people appreciate a good, immersive RPG. Did you reach the gold mine yet?”

Tim’s eyebrows jump. “Yeah, but I think my game has a bug. I’ve been stuck there for a few weeks now. It’s so dark and I can’t see anything. I even tried changing the brightness settings and using a different monitor. Nothing helped fix that part.”

“Oh! You’re never going to believe it!” Helle claps her hands, wiggling in her seat. “You just have to talk to the old man in the village and he’ll give you a torch.”

“You’re kidding. I never even thought of that.” Tim smacks his forehead with his hand. “That makes perfect sense than an NPC would give you what you need. I don’t think I’ve found the old man yet.” He leans toward her. “Say, what kind of gaming rig do you have?”

And then, Tim and Helle dive straight into an incoherent conversation that Tony won’t even try to comprehend. Something about gigabytes and RAM and some kind of port that sounds vaguely dirty. Tony never thought there’d be someone who spoke the same language as Tim.

Beside him, Alexis covers her face with her hands. Tony wraps an arm around her shoulder in an attempt to salvage his night.

Suddenly, Helle asks: “Did you know Tears of the Fallen has a multi-player mode?”

“I had no idea,” Tim says.

Helle’s eyebrows lift. “I could help you find the old man…”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Tony sees what Helle is doing from a mile away—offering to come back to Tim’s place on a Saturday night—but Tim doesn’t even have a clue. Tony closes his eyes to roll them. Then, he kicks Tim under the table.

Tim jolts to life. “Yeah. Oh yeah. I have an extra computer set-up in my apartment. Did you want to come over…and help me out?”

Helle can’t get out of the booth fast enough. “I haven’t been to a LAN party since college.” Over her shoulder, she throws Alexis a quick wave. “See you tomorrow, Lexi. Want to grab brunch?”

Dumbfounded, Alexis flops her mouth. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

As Helle waits for Tim, the junior agent throws Tony a shocked look. He glances from Helle to Tony and back again. Tony just grins at him before offering a mock salute.

“Have a nice game night,” Tony says.

Tim looks like he doesn’t know quite what to do. Then, Helle asks: “What operating system do you use?”

And suddenly, Tim turns into a conversation master. They leave together, arm in arm and discussing the pitfalls of using Linux. Whatever the hell Linux is.

Alexis is still staring at the empty seat across from them.

“What just happened?” she asks.

“I think we just watched the mating ritual of two nerds.” Tony laughs incredulously. “Who knew your sister was a closet nerd?”

Alexis’ face pinches. “I did and she is so embarrassing when she talks about video games and computers. That’s all she ever talks about and well, the library. I thought for one night she could stop, but I guess not.” Then she looks at Tony. “It seems like your friend was into it.”

Tony half-shrugs. “That’s sort of his thing too.”

They sit together in a stunned silence. Tony half-expected to have to drag a dejected Tim back to his apartment. When he turns to Alexis, she looks up with those wide brown eyes. He loses his breath.

“Where were we?” he asks.

“You promised to make my night even better.” She leans forward under her lips are brushing his. “I don’t see how. The food was perfect. This place is great. You even found my nerdy sister someone who might make her happy. I’d say it was a pretty great night so far. How are you going to top it?”

Tony grins wickedly. “I guess I’ll just have to show you.”