Tim is wearing his shirt today.
It's the Ralph Lauren French blue point collar with the snagged thread in the right cuff. He's not sure if Tim
grabbed it by mistake, or if he forgot to bring a shirt over, or if he wore it for some other reason. They were
in such a hurry this morning that Tony didn't even notice until they were in the car, and by then it was too
late.
It's not that Tony minds. Not exactly. He hasn't worn the shirt to work in several months, and he's pretty
sure that as sharp as Ziva and Gibbs are, neither are fashion conscious enough to notice that it's his. And
it's not like Tony hasn't handed over the shirt off his own back in a very public way in the past. If
necessary, he can always make up some story about filing drawer mixups and McGee's improving fashion sense.
The problem is, Tony knows. And it's driving him crazy, watching Tim walking around in something that
belongs to him. It's a very public sign proclaiming Property of Anthony DiNozzo--in a language nobody
knows how to read. Nobody except him, and he can't help reading it, over and over again.
Not to mention the fact that Tim looks really good in French blue.
Tony crumbles at 4:35.
"McGee!" he snaps, and he doesn't hide his smirk when Tim jumps and nearly falls out of his chair. Playing with
Tim's mind never gets old, especially since it just leads him to ever more fun and inventive ways of getting back
at Tony. Once Tim has recovered enough to glare over at him, Tony leans forward and holds out the manila folder.
"Take this to Ducky."
"I'm not your errand boy," Tim says, mouth twisting sourly. "Do it yourself."
"You owe me," Tony says. He waits until Tim starts to open his mouth again, and then he lets his gaze travel
down that shirt, stopping at the telltale cuff before making the return trip to Tim's eyes. "I took yours down
last week, remember?"
"You offered," Tim grumbles, but there's a nice rosy glow rising in his face. He snatches the folder out of
Tony's hand and takes off before anyone else notices.
Tony waits thirty seconds before he 'finds' the actual report. "Oops," he says, flapping it in the air until
Ziva looks up. "I guess the probie made the trip for nothing."
"You are so immature," she says, and goes back to her work.
"DiNozzo," Gibbs growls.
"Which means I should take it myself," Tony says, and this time he does keep the smile inside. Most of the time
he doesn't mind that Gibbs knows all of his little tricks, but this one, he wants to keep to himself.
He catches up to Tim right outside of autopsy. Tim raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything as he follows
Tony into the blind corner of the hallway. Doesn't even try to stop Tony when he moves in, pinning Tim against
the wall with his body, fingers wrapped in the fabric of his shirt. Tony sees him grin right before
their lips meet, and that's when he knows for sure that Tim wore it on purpose.
"Oh, my. I'm sorry, I was just trying to catch McGee..." Ducky trails off; Tim's too tall to hide behind him
effectively, after all. But Ducky isn't derailed for long. "Oh, hello, McGee. I don't mean to interrupt, but
the folder you brought me was empty."
"Stakeout strategies," Tony says as he turns around and holds out the real report. He's pretty sure his own ears
are redder than Tim's face and Rudolph's nose combined. "I was just going over what to do if the mark
spots you."
"Of course," Ducky says, taking the report with his small Ducky smile. He glances over his shoulder, then leans
in a little closer. "But might I suggest the observation room for any future studies? It has the advantage of
a door. One with a lock."
Tim drops his forehead against the back of Tony's neck, no doubt trying to will himself invisible. But Tony
grins, unrepentant. "I like the way you think, Ducky."
Ducky laughs. "Years of experience, my boy. Years of experience."
Abby's been flirting with him all day.
Not that she doesn't usually flirt with him, at least a little. But Tim knows this careful tease, the way she
sets out to wind him up with a specific purpose in mind. He's been dreading this day for a while.
He almost doesn't go back down to her lab. He could just sneak out of the building, pretend he didn't catch her
clues. But she'll be hurt. And Tim hates it when Abby hurts. Hates it worse when he's the cause.
Besides. She'll make his life hell for a month if he takes the coward's way out.
She spins around when he walks into the room, and her entire face is taken over by a welcoming grin. Tim
remembers exactly why he fell so hard for her in the first place. If only she'd wanted more...
But if she'd wanted more then, he wouldn't be with Tony now. And that makes this confrontation just a little bit
easier.
"McGee!" she shouts, right before she launches herself at him. She smells like acetone and waxy lipstick,
gunpowder and violets, and she's warm and soft in all the right places. He holds onto her longer than he should,
aching nostalgia controlling his arms.
"Mmm," she whispers, right in his ear. "What do you say we continue this back at my place?"
Tim steps back. She tries to follow, but he puts his hands on her shoulders and gently eases her away. "Abby,
I can't," he says, and he feels ten kinds of guilt, all wrapped up in the way her face falls with genuine hurt
right before she pushes out her lips in a pout.
"You have something better planned?" she asks, eyes narrowed, but they relax again as she discards that thought
and comes up with one more to her liking. Tim's always loved watching Abby reason. "Or, ooh! Is there a new
case? Because Gibbs hasn't said anything to me yet."
"No case," he says, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath. "Abby, I'm seeing somebody."
"Oh. Well, all you had to do was say so," she says, twisting her lips. Then the narrowed eyes are back along
with the lip thing, and that's a bad combination. She looks him up and down, and Tim has to fight the urge to
fidget and cover himself with his hands. "Wait. You mean you're seeing seeing someone, not just seeing
someone."
"Um. I guess," he says, not sure if he's followed Abby-speak this time around.
"Oh, Tim!" She hugs him again, face pressed against his chest so that her next words are muffled. "I'm so
happy for you!"
"Thanks," Tim says. A good portion of his earlier guilt eases, making it easier for him to give her a good tight
squeeze and then step away.
"You have to tell me all about her," Abby says. "She's not a cheerleader, right?"
"Not a cheerleader," Tim agrees, but before he has to think up a good lie, there are footsteps behind him.
"Hey, Abs," Tony says. "You done with McGee yet?"
Tim doesn't know if it's something Tony does, or if it's his own face, or if Abby's just that scary smart. But
she knows, and he knows she knows, and he's pretty sure she knows he knows she knows. She looks from him to Tony
to him again, eyes anime-big.
"Oh, wow," she breathes. "Really? I mean, really really?"
Tim doesn't know what to say. He can't help looking to Tony for guidance--which is probably confirmation enough.
"Really really," Tony says at last. That earns Tony a squeal and a hug, and he grins at Tim over Abby's
shoulder. "Didn't I tell you? Girls like guys who like guys."
Tim snorts.
Abby leans back so that she can see both of them. She cocks a sultry eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't
want to continue this discussion at my place, Timmy?"
Tim swallows, and looks at Tony.
Tony just smiles.
Tim's hand is warm in his. Warm, and alive, and when the door opens, Tony can't bring himself to let go. He
lifts his head slowly, hoping that it's the nurse with Tim's next round of meds.
Ziva's staring at him. Or rather, at them. At their hands. Tony thinks she's going to drop the styrofoam cup
in her hand, or maybe crush it, but then she takes a deep breath and sets it down on the tiny bedside table.
Tony drops his head back down, too tired to deal with whatever barrage is to come. He's been up way too long
now, first tracking down the dirtbag who did this, then waiting and waiting for the doc to give the all clear,
but he can't sleep. Not without replaying the scene over and over in his head.
Every time, it ends just like it did with Kate, instead of with Tim lying here safe and relatively sound.
Tony makes himself loosen his grip. He turns his head to the side and rubs the grime and exhaustion off of his
face, and then he finally sits up to face the music.
"I brought you coffee," Ziva says, "if you want it. I even added enough sugar to choke a pig."
"A horse," Tony says. "Enough to choke a horse."
"Pig, horse, what does it matter? It's still a lot of sugar, yes?"
Tony snorts. She smiles at him, and he's suddenly insanely grateful that she's here. "Thank you," he says
softly.
"You're welcome." She picks up the coffee cup again, but she doesn't hand it to him. "I think maybe I should
drink this, and you should get some sleep. The nurse told me the chair in the corner folds out."
Tony looks over his shoulder. A puffy striped monstrosity takes up most of the wall that the air conditioning
unit doesn't, and he can see how it might turn into something slightly more comfortable than the stool he's been
sitting on.
"I'll keep watch," Ziva says, and from her, he knows it's more than a platitude. "Go on. Gibbs will have your
guts if you're not ready for work tomorrow."
"You know just what to say to a guy," Tony says--but he lets go of Tim's hand.
Tim's vaguely aware that the office lights have dimmed, that the ambient noise has died down to the dull hum of
the florescent lights and occasional footsteps on the walkway above him. But he's completely absorbed by the
program he's working on. It'll reduce the time on their internal database searches by at least ten percent--if
this latest workaround doesn't blow up in his face.
Which is why he doesn't notice Gibbs at first. It's not until he lays the second sheet of paper on the desk
that Tim comes out of his coding fugue. He looks up at Gibbs, but Gibbs simply taps a knuckle against the paper.
Tim doesn't get it at first. It's his requisition for time off next month. Just a Friday, and a Monday that's
already a government holiday. He's about to ask if he made a mistake on the form, or if Gibbs has suddenly
turned psychic about the cases they're going to get, when he looks at the other paper.
It's Tony's requisition--for the exact same days.
"Does Abby know?" Gibbs asks, and Tim gets the same feeling in his gut that he gets every time he sets foot on a
ship.
"Um," he says. The plan was to sell it as Tony showing Tim the wonders of spring break. Perfectly innocent,
except for whatever trouble a couple of guys having a good time with a lot of hot women and cold beer could get
into. He tries to remember that as he looks up at Gibbs, but the question's thrown him badly. "Why would Abby
want to know about Daytona Beach?"
Gibbs plants both hands on Tim's desk and leans forward. Tim leans as far back in his chair as he can get, but
it's still not far enough. "Don't play coy with me, Tim. Is Abby okay with you and DiNozzo playing house?"
Tim tries to swallow, but his entire throat from his mouth to his lungs is dried shut from fear. He nods instead,
cursing Tony for not listening to him. He knew it had been a bad idea to try to sneak anything past Gibbs, but
Tony had been so persuasive...
"You're not just saying that because you're afraid for your life, are you?"
Tim shakes his head.
"Okay, then," Gibbs says. He pulls a pen from his pocket and signs both forms. Tim thinks Gibbs might even
have a bit of a smile, but he's too freaked out to look directly at him. Gibbs clicks his pen shut, picks up
the papers, sets them in his outbox, and starts gathering his things to go home.
"I know I don't have to remind you to keep it out of work." Gibbs says as he shrugs into his jacket.
Tim starts to shake his head, but changes it to a nod, confused by the tangle of negatives in that sentence.
"Good," Gibbs says, and he's definitely smiling now. He smacks Tim on the back of the head, so lightly it's
more like a pat, and walks away without looking back.
"I'd say I knew I'd be dead before I ever saw this, but that would be in bad taste, wouldn't it?"
Tony opens his eyes less than willingly, but that doesn't change the fact that she's standing at the foot of his
bed. Dressed in the same Catholic schoolgirl outfit that he always pictures her in, though the pigtails are new.
He wonders for several seconds if she's adopted the style from Abby before he remembers oh, yeah, all in his
head.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, rubbing a hand over his face. It's too early for conversations with the
dead, real or imagined, and he's not all that sure he's actually awake. Either way, it's disconcerting.
Especially when Tim snuffles against his shoulder and squirms a little closer.
Kate giggles, like she rarely did in life. "Aww. Isn't that adorable? I can't believe he puts up with you,
but I have to admit you two look good together."
Tony draws the blanket a little further up over their bare chests. It's not that he's self-conscious in front
of Kate's non-existent gaze. It's that...
Yeah, okay, he's a little self-conscious. She wouldn't have appreciated him standing over her bed making
pronouncements, after all.
"What do you want, Kate?" She's wandering around his bedroom now, drawing her index finger over the top of the
window sill and glaring at the clothes piled beside the bed. At least she hasn't found his porn collection yet.
"Why do you think I'm here, Tony?" she asks before she perches on the edge of the armchair, her legs crossed
primly at the ankles and her wrists resting on her knees.
"Hmm. I'm thinking you missed out on the opportunity to get me in bed during life, so you're stalking me now."
Kate snorts. "You don't even believe that one. Try again."
Tony closes his eyes. "You don't need to warn me not to hurt him."
"No," Kate says. When he opens his eyes again, she's standing right next to the bed, staring down at him with a
fond smile on her face. "You're right. I don't."
Tim snuffles again, then licks his lips and opens one eye. "Tony? You say something?"
Tony looks up, but Kate's gone. "No," he says quietly. He pulls Tim a little closer and presses a kiss to the
top of his head. "Go back to sleep."