That Sinking Feeling
author's note. I knew I had to write this story as soon as I finished watching 'Escaped.' Even though I suspected it was coming, my heart actually sank when I saw Gibbs sitting in Tony's desk. This is what I think should happen on next week's episode, but probably won't. Tony will probably act like he doesn't care, so thank goodness for fan fiction.
In the harsh light of day, I may regret how angry I've written Tony... I do think he's got some inner rage, though. If you don't believe me, go and watch the end of 'Under Covers' again.
His heart sank.
Down past his cold-pizza breakfast, below the basketball scars on his knee, his heart sank all the way down to the sensible shoes Tony had begun wearing. It didn't take a trained federal investigator to sum up the situation: his stuff on McGee's desk, a confused Probie near tears with her stack of folders, and Gibbs sitting at his desk - Tony's desk - as if nothing was different except the Captain Kangaroo facial hair.
And McGee smiled. He actually stood there and grinned, with his absurdly brilliant teeth, as if the whole thing was a giant joke. Oh sure, it was fun with Tony in charge, he got to wear T-shirts to work and not fear for his life, but no one really took DiNozzo seriously, right? No one actually thought Tony deserved it, did they? Oh sure, McGee must have been enormously relieved.
Tony was glad to know what McGee really thought of him.
But no, that was ridiculous. This wasn't fourth grade, and he wasn't the last one picked for dodgeball. And it wasn't Tim's fault, not by a long shot. No, the man responsible for this predicament was sitting there in Tony's chair - it had taken Tony weeks to get the ergonomic controls adjusted to cradle his body perfectly - there he was, smug and hairy and inscrutable.
Gibbs was the one who had betrayed him.
Tony felt sick when he tallied up all the years he had spent, trailing after his boss like a pathetic puppy, schlepping equipment and accepting head-slaps. On it, Boss. You got it, Boss. I'm on your six, Boss. He had come to look at the older man as - Tony swallowed hard - a father figure. He may have head-slapped him back to life from the plague, but in the end, he had turned out like his real father, richly deserving of that second B. Because nothing was ever good enough for him, was it? How could Tony have ever thought that he would measure up to expectations?
He had seen it coming, though. Tony was a smart man and a brilliant investigator; he knew from the moment that Gibbs showed up at NCIS a second time. Flying in from Mexico to rescue Ziva was one thing - even if he constantly circumvented the authority that belonged to Tony by rights - because it was only for a few days. This time, the connection was tenuous. It was a case that Tony and Fornell could have handled, should have handled, but Gibbs suddenly didn't trust him. Tony was surprised Gibbs hadn't leaned over his shoulders while he was typing his report, pointing out all the misspelled words.
Tony crossed the bullpen in three long strides, leaned down into Gibbs' whiskered face. "Conference room," he whispered. "Now."
Gibbs didn't seem particularly surprised. With a customary half-smile for Ziva and McGee, he silently trailed in the wake of Tony, who was ruthlessly elbowing his way through the morning crush. Almost before the metal doors had slid closed with a small 'ping,' Tony reached over and punched the emergency stop button a lot harder than was strictly necessary. Gibbs had to give DiNozzo points for not flinching, having assaulted the button in a similar manner himself.
"You got something you wanna say, DiNozzo?" Gibbs actually looked amused.
"Just like that, huh." Tony folded his arms across his chest. "Fun's over, kids. Yeah, it's been a laugh and all, but the boss is back, so move over." He looked up at the shiny ceiling, and for a moment, Gibbs thought Tony might cry. "What, you couldn't even grant me the courtesy of a phone call?"
"It wasn't my call, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, still infuriatingly calm.
"You came back," Tony retorted. "That one's on you. You quit, and then you came back. Don't insult my intelligence by laying it on the Director."
"You wanted me to stay in Mexico." Gibbs wasn't smiling now, his gaze leveled on the younger man. "You don't want me here."
"I don't care where you go," Tony said. "You can be anywhere in the world, for all I care. Anywhere but my desk."
"It's my desk now," Gibbs corrected.
"No." Frustrated, Tony began to pace the tiny cubicle. "It's mine. You left, Gibbs. You turned in your badge. In case you had forgotten, you turned in your badge to me."
"I remember that," Gibbs said, so softly that he wasn't sure if Tony heard him.
"Do you know what you said?" Tony's voice was rising in pitch now. "You said, 'You'll do.' Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but that's good enough for me, right?" Gibbs hadn't remembered that part. He wished he would have said something a little more complimentary, knowing how Tony had always craved any kind of positive reinforcement. Probably something to do with his father. "Did you honestly think you could come back and nothing would be different? You could just sit right down and pretend you never quit? "
"I retired, Tony," Gibbs stated. He knew that Tony had to say his piece. "Technically, according to human resources, I was on leave."
"You quit," Tony reiterated. "You got mad at someone, and you up and left. Are you planning to quit every time some chain of command doesn't listen to you? This time it was Sealift. Who's it going to be next time? The FBI? Or you going to storm off to Mexico the next time the director doesn't let you have your way? We're NCIS agents. You should be used to it by now." He was red-faced and shouting by now. "You can't demote me just because you got bored of lying on the beach."
Gibbs watched the other man draw a deep breath. "You finished, DiNozzo?"
He wasn't. "You know, I led the team for three months." Tony stabbed the palm of his hand with a pointing finger. "I did everything I was supposed to, I didn't screw up once. I would have found Ziva, and I would have caught Mickey. I'm not a probie anymore."
"You screwed up," Gibbs countered, the old tone returning to his voice. "He stole your car, and he bugged you. We almost didn't catch him because of you and your campfires."
"Yeah?" Tony snapped. "And what would you have done differently?" Gibbs was silent, because they both knew the accusation was unfair. "You know, your perfect Kate screwed up all the time. She trusted people she shouldn't, she lost her gun for Pete's sake. And you never stopped trusting her. You never would have done this to her."
"Hey!" Gibbs screamed right in Tony's face, channeling his inner Marine. "You leave Kate out of this."
"Her blood was on my face, Gibbs!" Tony shouted right back. "You think you're the only one who cares? You think you're the only one who gets obsessed? What if we wouldn't have caught Mickey? How long would you have chased Paulson for?"
"About a day longer than you," Gibbs said, but at least he took a step back from Tony.
"You trained me," Tony said. "And I'm a good agent. Oh sure, it would have been nice to hear you say so, I don't know, maybe once, but you and I both know it. I've earned my keep. You would never have gotten my job if you hadn't slept with the Director."
That actually caught Gibbs off-guard. "How'd you know about that?"
"Serbia," Tony explained, "and I'm not an idiot. She's a redhead."
"I am not here because I slept with the director." Gibbs quickly recovered from his momentary surprise. "You know why I'm here."
"Because you changed your mind."
"Because I came out of retirement."
"You didn't retire. You quit."
Gibbs tried a different tack. "If I recall correctly, DiNozzo, you've left quite a few places behind, yourself."
"I've moved on, yeah," Tony admitted, looking at the wall. "But I've always moved up the ladder, never down. I came here because you wanted me."
"I still had to whip you into shape. Give me credit where credit is due."
"Fine." Tony whirled around to face his boss again. "You have my desk. You have my team. Do you want my pay raise, too?" He pulled a wad of bills from his wallet, threw it at Gibbs' feet. "I only would have wasted it on coffee."
"Pick that up, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered calmly.
"No." Tony frowned, sourly. He knew he was being irrational, but he didn't care.
"Pick it up," Gibbs repeated. He reached for the elevator stop button. "The Director wants to see you."
Tony met his eyes, but didn't move. "I said, pick it up," Gibbs ordered a third time. Not breaking eye contact, Tony retrieved his cash from the elevator floor. "You done now?"
"For now," Tony muttered.
"Good," Gibbs said evenly.
He caught Gibbs' hand midair before it could contact the back of his head. "You don't get to do that any more."
"I wasn't going to slap you, Tony," Gibbs said softly as the elevator started to move again.