Working a crime scene with Ziva was nothing like working with Tony. McGee grimaced to himself thinking that was a monumental understatement.
Interspersed with inappropriate behavior and childish humor, Tony typically managed to make good observations and insights. Ziva didn't say much at all. And McGee found he missed Tony's more colorful commentary. He never realized how much it served to lighten the mood and how often it gave McGee a springboard for his own theories and ideas to investigate.
Tony often handed out bits of helpful information in a condescending manner, which McGee really didn't appreciate, but he had to admit he'd learned a lot from Tony in the past two years. Ziva didn't share or offer much while they were working. And with a small flash of pride, McGee realized she knew less than he did about working as an investigator.
While Tony seemed incapable of taking anything too seriously, she was far more focused and sober. And Ziva didn't seem able to grasp the idea that people could be homicidal without religious or political motivation. She seemed to believe people always acted with an ulterior objective in mind, usually something dark and sinister with an espionage slant. Tony was more inclined to think people's actions were the product of their own personal beliefs, wants and desires. They could be mean, vindictive and cruel without feeling the need to join a terrorist cell or stick it to a foreign government.
McGee didn't think Ziva saw teamwork the way Tony did either. Oh, not that she didn't do her share or work well with them…but she didn't give the same level of acceptance or faith Tony did for no other reason than McGee was a teammate.
Tony had never second guessed McGee's recitation of events of shooting the cop in that alley. He'd never called McGee's judgment or ability into question. While he might have thought McGee had overreacted or panicked, at least he had the decency not to say it out loud. Unlike Ziva, who McGee knew had been sure he was either lying or incompetent.
McGee sighed softly. Tony's way of helping him deal with that incident hadn't exactly been ideal, but he had made the effort. No one else on the team had.
McGee still wasn't sure he and Ziva were friends. Sure, he'd shown her around the area. And she'd made him dinner. Although, that had been far from something just between the two of them since it had included Abby, Jimmy and Gibbs. Well, Gibbs for a little while, McGee mentally amended. But it wasn't quite a team thing either because Tony and Ducky hadn't been there. And he knew Tony had been deliberately excluded.
He'd told her stories about their past cases, and shared a lot of details about Tony; something in hindsight he realized might not have been such a wise move. He belatedly came to understand exactly how Tony might have felt about his telling Ziva those things when Tony told Ziva about McGee's computer gaming. It wasn't something he was necessarily ashamed of, but he still didn't care for her knowing he spent hours doing it or that he had an Elf Lord as his persona.
"Why is Tony not with us?" Ziva asked quietly, raising the camera to take another picture of the body of Petty Officer Virginia Simms.
"He has to qualify on the shooting range before being allowed out into the field." McGee continued to sketch. He hoped Gibbs wasn't expecting too much from his drawings. Tony was better at this than he was.
She frowned. "Why?"
"Part of the new regs." McGee looked up from his sketch. He could quote chapter and page to her, but decided not to. "Any agent injured in the line of duty has to prove they can meet the field requirements before being cleared for more than desk duty."
He was glad those regs hadn't been in place when Tony came back to work after his exposure to the plague. If Tony hadn't been with them that morning McGee would likely have been blown to bits. He winced internally. McGee had never thanked Tony for saving his life that day.
McGee also never thanked Tony for dragging him out to the firing range to better his shooting ability. The weekend sessions out there had been fun. Tony had taught him a few things that helped improve his aim, while recounting how Gibbs had made targets out of Kate's PDA and Tony's favorite hat.
The taller man had been proud of the shot McGee had made in that alley. McGee had been proud of himself too until he realized it meant he'd actually killed a man. He still had mixed feelings about the action but had come to terms with the skill.
He glanced over to where Gibbs was on the phone. McGee knew he was talking to Tony, putting him to work tracking down information on Virginia Simms. He still wasn't sure what to make of Tony's strange behavior earlier.
He'd expected Tony to regale him with stories of where he'd gone and what he'd done the week he was out. McGee had been so sure Tony would have a ready explanation for not calling: some leggy blonde that kept him busy, a fast car he'd fallen in love with, drinking party that went on for days. He wasn't prepared for the near silence he'd gotten.
And he really hadn't been prepared for Tony to hand him money. Not that he'd ever thought Tony would stiff him. No. He knew better than that. He just never expected to get the full amount handed to him. There was something decidedly final about the action. It worried McGee.
The key to Tony's strange behavior was that stupid dinner party, McGee realized with a sudden flash if insight. He'd known how Tony would feel being excluded, but he'd been so flattered Ziva had asked him and so delighted with the prospect of getting one over on Tony he'd lost sight of what the other man might think or do in response. It shamed him to think he'd risked a damn good friendship for someone he wasn't even sure he liked and he didn't think respected him.
He needed to talk to Tony. Really talk to him. Find a way to make things right. Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't get a chance until they were done with the crime scene.
Gibbs snapped his phone shut. "You have a time of death, Duck?"
The older man had arrived just a moment ago but didn't appear offended by the demand for information. "Based on rigor and liver temp, I'd say just she's been dead about ten hours. That would make it around eight to nine last night give or take an hour or so. I'll be able to refine it further when we get her back to the morgue."
Gibbs nodded. "Cause of death?"
The older man pointed to the gunshot wound in Simms chest. "Off hand, I would say she was shot." Ducky leaned closer. "The gun powder residue and stippling suggests it was very close range."
McGee had noticed the powder burns earlier. They were hard to miss on Simms white t-shirt, although the blood had done a bit to obscure them. Her casual dress of jeans, t-shirt and light jacket seemed to suggest she hadn't planned to go far. There was a deli not far away; McGee thought Simms might have been heading for it when she was shot.
"Point blank?" Gibbs asked with a frown staring down at Simms, gaze fixed on the wound.
"Probably." Ducky clucked his tongue. "Poor dear bled out very quickly by the look of it."
"Caliber?"
"Bigger than a 9 mm." Ziva stated with confidence.
"Quite." Ducky smiled at her. "Most likely a .357. or larger."
"Exit wound?"
"Help me roll her, Jimmy," Ducky instructed. The younger ME moved quickly to assist.
Ducky looked up, his blue eyes sad. "Through and through, Jethro."
Gibbs nodded grimly. "Ziva, you stay here. Find that bullet or the casing. McGee, you're with me. We'll check out the Petty Officer's home."
McGee nodded. He wondered what it said about him that he was more worried knowing he'd have to wait to talk to Tony than he was about riding in a car with Gibbs. At least he trusted Gibbs not to kill him. Ziva's driving he still wasn't so sure of.
Only a few blocks away from the small park where her body was found, Simms' home proved to be a small two bedroom bungalow a realtor would have described as cozy. McGee was sure Tony would have had some comment on Simms' overly feminine décor. Hell, even he thought the flowered wallpaper, frilly floral curtains, and pink carpet were a bit much, but didn't think Gibbs would care to hear his opinion. There was no sign of a struggle, everything neat and orderly. Probably just the way Simms had left it.
There was little in the way of food in her cupboards or refrigerator. McGee had a feeling he was right about her being on her way to the deli. Ducky's time of death coincided with her getting a late dinner.
McGee raised his eyebrows when he looked through her rack of DVD's in the living room. Interspersed among the romantic comedies and musicals were several action films that seemed decidedly out of place. They were definitely what Tony would call ‘guy' films.
Bathroom revealed more feminine frills. It made McGee glad his girl friend wasn't quite so prone to the usual ‘girlie' things when she offered to help him decorate his place. He had thought about asking Abby for help but had decided against it. He wasn't that fond of black.
On the dresser in her bedroom was a framed photo of Simms with a man. His arm was over her shoulder, one of hers around his waist. They were both smiling.
"None of his stuff here." McGee observed, giving the closet a quick check. "Whoever he is."
"Dating but not living together," Gibbs nodded. He held up the box of condoms he found in the nightstand. "Having sex at any rate."
"See if there is anything on her computer." Gibbs ordered, taking out his cell phone. McGee knew Gibbs was calling Tony. From the office, Tony could pull her phone records, get a line on Simms friends and coworkers, and maybe a lead on her mystery man.
Whoever shot Simms had to have known her. Total strangers didn't usually get close enough to shoot someone at point blank range. McGee wondered what Tony would find, and almost wished he was back at the office. While he enjoyed field work, his first love was digging for information.
McGee powered up Simms' computer that was in the other bedroom which she'd set up as something of a home office. He could hear Gibbs talking in the other room but couldn't make out the words.
McGee wasn't too surprised to find her computer wasn't password protected, since Simms job didn't require handling of any classified information or fixing computers. He checked the last file she'd been working on. McGee winced when he realized one was a ‘Dear John' letter. And it looked as though she'd e-mailed it a day or so before she was killed.
"Boss?"
"Yeah?" Gibbs stood in the doorway.
"Think I might have found a motive."
"Boyfriend, right?"
McGee blinked. He really should be used to Gibbs being one step ahead. "His name is Don Jensen. And I got an address."
McGee frowned. "How—"
"Tony started looking into the phone records as soon as we had a name for the vic." Gibbs sounded pleased. "There were regular daily calls between them until a week ago." Gibbs pointed to the computer, his expression impatient. "Can you pack that thing up?"
"On it." McGee knew better than to make Gibbs wait. He sighed softly as he hurried after Gibbs clutching Simms' laptop. Looks like it would take even longer to get back to the office than he'd expected.
He tried not to flinch when Gibbs pulled out of Simms' driveway with a squeal of the tires. At least he was in the front seat this time and had the ‘oh shit' handle to grab on to.
"Do we know if Jensen is home?" McGee asked, trying not to look at the on rushing traffic as Gibbs passed a slower motorist.
"According to the financial records Tony pulled, Jensen is self-employed. Business address is the same as his home address." Gibbs snorted. "Some internet company."
Gibbs cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller display. "You find out he has a gun?" Gibbs nodded in response to whatever Tony was saying. "See if you can track down her friends. I want to talk to them." He hung up with his usual disregard for social convention.
Gibbs glanced over at McGee. "Jensen has a registered handgun."
".357?"
"Yeah."
It looked like this was going to be a straightforward case of a lover's quarrel gone bad. Not their usual case, but certainly far from ordinary. McGee honestly wondered why they didn't encounter more mundane homicides. Like the sort that Tony talked about when he worked in Baltimore; killings motivated by gang turf wars, drunken arguments escalating into murder, divorce settlements and custody battles that got ugly, hit and runs. He supposed working for NCIS got points for rarely being boring.
Jensen's home was an older ranch style in a sleepy neighborhood just fifteen miles from Simms. McGee was grateful for a short ride. It hadn't been long enough to make him nauseous. It was kind of frightening to think that he was getting used to Gibbs' driving.
McGee reached for his gun the same time Gibbs did when a knock at the door revealed it to be open and unlocked. Gibbs pointed to him, and then motioned for him to go around back. McGee kept low as he dashed around the house. He hoped like hell Jensen didn't keep some big dog in his back yard.
McGee tried the back door, disappointed to find it locked. Shrugging, he kicked it in, quickly moving through the house. He found Gibbs in the living room, along with Jensen. Jensen was obviously dead, a gun shot wound to the right temple, a .357 cradled loosely in his right hand.
There was a note on the coffee table. McGee put on a glove before picking it up.
"Suicide note?"
"Looks like." McGee scanned the sheet. It was only a few brief paragraphs. "Stuff in here about not being able to live without Virginia. Hadn't meant to shoot her…just wanted to make her talk to him…things got out of control."
"Ya think?" Gibbs retorted, expression grim.
McGee winced. He continued reading. "Says he's sorry. And that he hopes his last act will make it right."
"Make it right?" Gibbs snorted, shaking his head. "I'll call it in. Grab your kit and start taking photos."
McGee frowned. "But—"
"Until we know for sure his gun was the one that killed Simms and that he really did off himself, we will continue to investigate, McGee."
"Right, Boss." McGee headed out to grab his gear from the car. He could hear Tony in his head commenting, ‘Gibbs is of the opinion that just because it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, doesn't mean it is one, Probie.'
McGee couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed that the case ultimately proved to be just what it appeared to be, a murder-suicide. Jensen's gun had been the one to kill Simms. Ziva spent the better part of the day looking for the bullet that killed Simms. Abby matched to the one in Jensen's head and to the gun itself.
All in all, McGee should have been happy to have wrapped up the case in such a short time frame. And for the most part he was. This kind of rapid, neat closure rarely ever happened. It had literally taken one day to process the evidence, validate their theories and write the reports.
But McGee was frustrated over not getting a single minute alone with Tony to talk to him. Tony hadn't seemed quite so cold when they'd gotten back to the office, but he still wasn't his usual self. It was downright odd not to hear a single movie reference being made, not one comment on the fickle nature of romance, and no whining about how much doing paperwork and time in the office sucked. Tony didn't ask for details on what he'd missed by staying behind, nor did he mention all the work he'd done while stuck at the office. Other than a ‘good job, McGee, Officer David', Tony hadn't said much at all.
If it hadn't been for Gibbs glancing at Tony's desk periodically as though expecting him to say something, anything, McGee would have thought he was the only one who noticed. Ziva didn't seem aware of Tony's change in behavior, but she'd spent the bulk of her day scouring half the park for a bullet slug. It was petty, but McGee was glad she looked tired.
He wanted to grind his teeth in frustration. McGee saw the clock move closer to quitting time. He resigned himself to not getting the chance to talk to Tony at the office. On a good day it was just too chaotic for a private conversation anyway. That left out of the office. McGee was fairly certain getting Tony to come to his place or meet him somewhere was out of the question; Tony's place was really the only option. He could do that.
He'd bring a pizza and a six pack of beer as a peace offering. He'd never seen Tony refuse food yet. Well, other than those tofu things Kate used to bring, but no one liked those. It should at least get him in the door, he hoped.
McGee felt better with a plan. Not that things ever quite worked out the way he planned, but at least he had a starting point. It was more than he had all day.
McGee finished up his report. He nodded to Tony unsure of what to say when the other man offered a general ‘good night' directed toward the office rather than any one in particular. Gibbs followed Tony, stopping him near the windows.
McGee couldn't hear what was said. The exchange didn't appear heated, and nothing Tony said warranted a head slap; one more thing that had been conspicuously absent during the day. Tony gave Gibbs a quick smile, and nodded his head once before leaving.
McGee wasn't quite sure what to make of the expression on Gibbs' face. Since he didn't follow Tony or call after him, McGee assumed the former Marine was satisfied for the moment with whatever they'd discussed. He wondered if that hurt or helped his chances for talking to Tony later. No matter. McGee was determined to talk to Tony.
He e-mailed his report to Gibbs before printing it. He'd learned that from Tony too. Gibbs had a tendency to delete e-mails or ignore them outright but he always paid attention to hard copy. What was a mystery was why the man insisted on getting the damn e-mail in the first place.
McGee shrugged into his coat and grabbed his pack. He'd order pizza from his cell phone on the way. Stop off and pick up a six pack. He'd be at Tony's in under an hour.
"Heading home, McGee?" Ziva asked.
"Yeah."
"Going to be playing online?" She smiled, clearly still amused by his hobby.
He realized he didn't know anything about her that would let him tease her on equal footing the way he could with Tony. Ziva had yet to share anything about personal about herself. And she probably wouldn't any time soon.
He just shrugged one shoulder. "Not tonight."
She raised both eyebrows. "Other plans?"
"Yes."
He smiled leaving her with that simple answer knowing she was waiting him to say more. He wondered if this was how Tony felt that morning when McGee had stood in front of his desk. Probably. He grinned to himself in the elevator. Having Tony rub off on him wasn't all bad.
McGee called the pizza place closest to Tony's apartment from the car. He ordered what he knew was the other man's favorite and told them he'd be by to pick it up. The beer proved to be more of a challenge. He really had no idea what Tony liked.
Tony had boasted about how fast he could bong a beer, but McGee had never actually seen him drink. They'd never gotten together to go clubbing since that wasn't really McGee's scene or even grabbed a drink after work. McGee sighed and shook his head, grabbing a six pack of the first beer he saw in the cooler.
He got to Tony's place and parked on the street. McGee took a slow, deep breath. He wasn't good at stuff like this; not that he was even sure just what ‘this' was, but he knew he wasn't good at it.
"Doesn't matter, Tim." McGee told himself. He couldn't take another day like today. He wasn't willing to give up his friendship with Tony and keep this…this ‘coworkers and nothing more' thing. He could hear Gibbs' voice in his head, ‘Suck it up, McGee and do what you have to'. He grabbed the pizza and the beer and headed for Tony's apartment.
He knocked. It seemed odd that there was no doorbell but McGee chalked it up to another of Tony's paradoxes. Even though he was expecting the door to open it still surprised him. He opened his mouth and then closed it unsure of what to say.
Tony cocked his head to one side, leaning casually against the door, green eyes amused. "You come by to show me your fish impersonation?"
"No." McGee rolled his eyes. "I brought dinner. And beer."
Tony arched an eyebrow. He shrugged, stepped back and opened the door wider.
McGee couldn't help looking around curiously. He'd never actually been in Tony's place before. It wasn't as messy as Gibbs' had implied or as much like a cheesy bachelor pad as Kate assumed. McGee thought it looked comfortable, homey even.
"Nice place."
"I like it."
McGee wasn't surprised to see a state of the art plasma screen TV in Tony's living room. The news wasn't what he expected to see on it though. A movie or a game, yes, but the news didn't seem the sort of thing Tony would spend much time watching.
"Make yourself comfortable." Tony nodded to the couch.
He must have changed clothes when he'd gotten home. The suit had been exchanged for a faded pair of jeans and an Ohio State t-shirt. The other man's causal attire made McGee more conscious of his own suit and tie and he briefly wished he'd had a chance to change as well.
Tony waved a hand toward the kitchen. "I'll grab a couple of plates." He pointed the beer McGee was still holding. "You want a glass?"
"Bottle is fine."
The whole conversation was strangely stilted, formal and yet casual and familiar at the same time. McGee decided not to think about it. He put the pizza and beer on the coffee table before shrugging out of his coat and leaving it on the back of the couch.
Tony offered him a plate when he came back. McGee took it. He opened the pizza box and waited politely for Tony to take a slice or two.
Tony left his own plate on the coffee table and took one of the beers instead, twisting off the top before taking a seat on in the overstuffed recliner. He took a sip and sat back, staring at McGee steadily. McGee tried not to fidget.
"You want to tell me what you're here?" Tony cocked his head to one side. "Or you want me to play twenty questions until I get it?"
Although Tony's direct approach caught him off guard, McGee was almost relieved. It gave him a starting point he'd probably have never found on his own. He cleared his throat. Even though he knew the question was going to sound like something right out of a grade school playground, McGee couldn't stop himself from asking, "Are you mad at me?"
Tony smiled slightly and shook his head. "You know, until I talked to Abby this morning, I never thought giving you what you wanted would be construed as punishment."
That wasn't an answer to his question. McGee frowned, setting the plate down on the coffee table. "I never asked—"
"Oh yeah, you did." Tony sipped his beer again, pointing a finger at McGee. "Lost count of the number of times and the different ways, but you made it quite clear that you preferred me to be serious and focused on the job."
McGee bit his lower lip. He hadn't initially appreciated Tony's lighthearted look at life or juvenile behavior, finding it decidedly unprofessional and distracting. But until today, he hadn't realized how much better it was compared to more sterile, almost humorless environment at Norfolk. Nor had he realized, until Tony stopped doing it, just how much he looked forward to their verbal sparring. He'd missed Tony more today than he had the week the other agent had been gone.
Tony sighed, shaking his head again as he looked away. He toyed with the bottle cap, walking it across his knuckles with the same innate grace he did most things. Tony curled his fingers around the bottle cap and looking at McGee again.
"Wasn't really trying for the silent treatment." Tony's expression was vaguely apologetic. "Was just how it worked out."
"I don't—"
Tony shrugged one shoulder and shifted in his seat to lean forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You have said more than once you don't want to hear about my off hour activities. You don't want to me talk about movies or sports or women. I believe you said I share too much. So other than the job, I don't really have a whole hell of a lot to talk to you about."
McGee winced internally. Tony had a point, and it hurt to think just how right he was. He gotten so used to their easy repartee he'd lost sight of just how much of it involved topics not related to the job. He'd also lost sight of how often he'd told Tony he didn't want to hear about his life. It wasn't true, but he never thought Tony actually believed him.
Tony gave him a considering glance. "Honestly, I thought you'd be relieved to have me be more professional and less like an X-rated Peter Pan."
McGee blinked. "Didn't think you knew Kate called you that."
Tony smirked, but there were shadows in his eyes that bespoke more of self-deprecation than humor. "It was too good a line for her to keep to herself."
McGee nodded. Kate seemed to take delight in getting in her digs. But Tony kept her on her toes and seemed to enjoy the challenge. And unlike Ziva, Kate never deliberately excluded Tony from anything.
"I'm sorry."
Tony cocked his head to one side. "You really shouldn't apologize—"
"A sign of weakness, yeah I know." McGee sighed heavily. "Gibbs keeps telling me that."
Tony chuckled. "Wasn't what I was going to say."
"Oh." McGee flushed. "What…ah…what were you going to say?"
"Saying your sorry is the same as admitting you did something wrong. You really shouldn't accept blame so willingly, McGee." Tony smiled tightly, and McGee can almost see him gathering his reserve about him. "Being honest or stating your preference is hardly qualifies as doing anything wrong."
"I wasn't honest." McGee blurted out. They'd been making progress, Tony was warmer than he'd been all day and McGee wasn't going to give that up. Not again.
"Excuse me?"
"I hated today." McGee confessed baldly. He grabbed a beer for himself, rolling the bottle between his hands. "It was all wrong."
"You didn't like being in the field with Gibbs?"
"Don't be obtuse." McGee glared at Tony. He hated when Tony did that. McGee knew for a fact Tony was smarter than he let on.
"You know what I mean. You weren't you." He waved hand in a frustrated gesture, adding emphasis, blue eyes meeting green. "I know I said before it would be better for you to be…well, like you were today, but I was wrong, okay? I don't ever want another day like today."
"I know it was that fucking dinner." McGee grimace and shook his head. Tony had ignored all his stupid comments before about his behavior.
"I was an ass about the whole dinner party thing. She asked me and I knew she wasn't going to ask you. And I admit I was pretty damn thrilled. It was stupid and petty, but I wanted to get one over on you. I admit it."
Tony arched an eyebrow, but didn't comment. McGee ran one hand over his face. "You're always so sure of your prowess with women. And it was just such an ego stroke to think she'd rather spend time with me. Not you."
He sighed, putting the beer bottle down on the table. He didn't even like beer. "Hell, I didn't know Palmer was invited until he showed up. And then Abby was there and Gibbs too."
"Explains the two bottles of wine you brought to dinner." Tony murmured. He cocked his head, frowning. "You didn't really think she'd have planned a romantic dinner for just the two of you, did you?"
"Why wouldn't I?" McGee glared at Tony. Just because he wanted things back the way they were didn't mean he wanted Tony insulting him. "You don't think someone beautiful and sexy like her would go for a guy like me?"
"You're not her type, McGee."
"Why? Because I'm not good looking enough and drive a fancy car like you?" McGee snorted. "You're not her type either."
"No, I'm not."
Tony's mild rejoined wasn't at all what McGee expected. Tony seemed to think every woman had the hots for him. Tony gave him look and McGee flushed knowing Tony knew what he'd been thinking.
"Oh she might give you or me a ride just to see what its like. But we would never be more than scratching an itch."
"Why not?"
"I know people, McGee." Tony rolled his eyes. "Who they sleep with or lust after are usually totally different than who they want to spend the rest of their life with."
Tony toyed with the bottle cap again, looking toward the ceiling. "You and Abby did the wild thing, but she isn't who you'd bring home to meet mom. Which isn't a big deal, ‘cause you aren't who she'd bring home either."
Tony sighed. "Five gets you ten that Ziva's got her own personal ‘no coworkers' rule that is probably even more iron clad than Gibbs'." He shook his head. "But the real kicker is she's got herself one hell of a daddy complex. Her type will be a lot like dear old dad. And neither of us are much like him."
McGee frowned. "How do you--"
"What turns her crank is someone in power. Man or woman probably doesn't matter to her much." Tony continued as though McGee hadn't spoken. "It just has to be someone who could keep her safe while harboring secrets." Tony smiled wryly. "People in power always have secrets."
McGee rolled his eyes. That sounded like something from one of Tony's movies. "You don't think skill and ability had anything to do with getting ahead?"
"If it were skill and ability then the best guy for the job would always get it." Tony snorted, cynicism clear in his voice and countenance. "Skill and ability get you the interview, McGee. Most of the time, it's who you know and what you got on someone else that gets you a job in a position of power."
Tony pointed a finger at him. "You really think Sheppard got the job as director because she's got all the skills and ability to do the job? May I remind you she assigned Ziva without talking to Gibbs, she issued that dress cod edict and hired Chip."
McGee had to admit those examples showcased a lack of good judgment. Tony pursed his lips. "She may have the politics down. Haven't seen enough to know for sure yet. But as far as experience goes she doesn't have it."
"How do you—"
Tony's smile was sly. "I dug into her record."
McGee blinked. "You didn't?"
"I did." Tony nodded. "Pays to know who you are working for."
McGee was impressed in spite of himself. He never would have thought to dig into her past. And even if he had, he wasn't sure he'd have the balls to do it.
"You hacked into her record?"
"Hell, no." Tony laughed softly. "Everything has a hard copy, McGee. If you are persistent, know where to look or who to ask, you can find just about anything."
Tony waved a hand in dismissal. "But that's all off topic." Tony sat forward. "Ziva thinks she can kick your ass. Means she doesn't regard you as an equal. And that more than anything means you aren't going to ever really stand a chance." Green eyes were frank and honest. "If it makes you feel any better, neither will I."
"Would it piss you off if I said yes?"
"Nope." Tony grinned.
"We okay?" McGee asked hesitantly.
"Yeah." Tony leaned forward to grab two slices from the box and put them on the plate he'd left on the coffee table earlier.
McGee blinked. He hadn't expected it to be that easy. But he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth either.
He took a couple of slices for himself. McGee sighed softly. "Why would she invite me and make it seem like it would just be the two of us?"
"It's something every woman in the world does. Look approachable and be unattainable." Tony nibbled the tip of the slice he held. "Kind of the whole origin of sexual tension."
McGee shook his head. "I should have known better."
Tony took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Doubt she meant for you to feel like it was going to be more. Me…sure. But you…she likes. She probably was just thanking you for showing her around town. And to make sure you didn't read too much into it she invited Palmer."
"She said he'd tuned her piano." McGee hadn't even known Palmer could do that. But then he didn't know Ziva even had a piano until then.
"Palmer invited Abby."
"He did?" McGee hadn't known that.
"Yeah." Tony snickered. "He's sweet on her. He told her it was a team thing to get her to go. Since Gibbs had already given her a warning on playing nice with Ziva, she kind of felt obligated to go."
McGee nodded. He could see that. "Doesn't explain why Gibbs was there."
"No it doesn't." Tony chuckled. "You want to ask him?"
"Ah…no."
"That's what I thought." Tony grinned. He saluted McGee with his beer. "Me neither."
McGee laughed. God, he'd missed this easy friendship. Not usually very religious, he sent a silent ‘thank you' heavenward that Tony wasn't the sort to hold a grudge.
"You want to watch the game?"
"Sure."
TBC
Chapter End Notes:
I'm not entirely sure where this story is going. It may ultimately end up as a slash story, but for the moment, it's gen.