Chain of Command

Tony sees much more than he lets on.

It is easy to see witness the happenings of the squad room from behind his desk.

Even easier to witness the happenings of the quadrant in which his team resides.

Years in the profession had allowed Tony to block out all of the noise - the clinking of coffee cups on the desks, the fluttering of papers, the shuffling of feet, the ringing telephones, the murmuring of voices - block out all of those noises and focus on the visual aspect.

Honing that skill had made him better as a cop and had made him a skilled as an agent in the NCIS.

Allowing him to notice the little things that people often missed.

To notice the little things that people often didn't think to consider.

But Tony sees it all.

Sees it. Records it. Catalogues it for later.

And as long as he fulfills the role of the 'Not Serious Funny Guy', he can get away with seeing a lot.

Because when he cracks his jokes, people tend to forget that he holds a position of authority.

Tend to forget that he didn't just flooze his way into this job.

Tend to forget he worked just as hard and just as long, if not more, than anyone else.

He doesn't remember how he allowed himself to get typecast.

Because in a way it's easier.

It's simpler.

Simpler because no one takes him too seriously.

And that makes it easier. To see. Record. Catalogue for later.

But in a different way it hurts.

That people will try and dust his accomplishments under the rug.

That people will only see him as that 'Not Serious Funny Guy'

That people will, in fact, not notice.

The label has begun to simmer within him over the years.

Reached a boiling point in the recent weeks.

Because anytime he tries to shed that horrible label, no one takes him seriously.

So he feels like he has to work harder, longer hours to feel like he's worth something.

Not just another agent with a quota to fill.

And as the bitterness takes stabs at his heart, Tony wonders when he started feeling this way.

When he really started feeling this way.

Because he had first felt the supercilious attitudes of the workplace years ago.

People at every turn trying to highlight his mediocrity.

It just didn't really bother him until now.

Now it's sucking the life out of him.

And though the brown-haired agent toys with the idea of quitting, something within him thinks thinks that he can hold this out.

Thinks he can hold out until he finds away out of this cloud of superiority complex.

Even his boss is guilty of it.

But then again, Tony supposes, that aura of superiority is only part of the chain of command.
.. … p… p… …

His self doubt is eating him alive when he sees Gibbs pull Bishop away from her desk one late night.

Hears him tell her to come with him.

Away from the quadrant.

Up the stairs.

And when Tony looks to the second floor balcony he sees Director Leon Vance and all of his superiority looking down at them.

And the three of them disappear into MTAC, one of the most secure rooms in the building.

Tony knew what that meant. All too well.

An undercover operation.

In his younger years, he had been the Golden Boy of undercover ops.

Fluent in Spanish and French.

Full of good looks and charisma.

Even Gibbs had given him a rare compliment for his success.

But at some point along the line, he had aged out.

And he figured it was only a matter of time before they turned to her.

A former treasure of the NSA with a long list of high profile accomplishments.

She was a walking resume of success and she'd barely cracked thirty.

Combine that with the hastened transition of desk job to field work and her excessive innate need to find validation…

Yeah. It was only a matter of time before the chain of command found another resource to abuse.

They'd done the same thing with McGee and his MIT degree.

An uneasy sensation of nervousness flitters through him as looks at the firmly shut doors the trio had disappeared behind.

He doesn't know what's bothering him so much.

The strange sensation doesn't go away.

.. … p… p… …

Gibbs and Bishop return almost an hour after they entered MTAC.

Bishop with a thick manila folder and a flip drive gripped so tightly, Tony swears he can see her white knuckles from half way across the room.

The former NSA analyst doesn't say a word as she slides past them.

Instead she ducks her head like a child waiting to be scolded and carefully avoids both his and McGee's questioning gazes.

A few moments pass before Gibbs follows behind her with the same perfectly stoic, indifferent look that he's perfected over the years, returning to his desk with the familiar aura of bravado.

When it becomes clear that neither are going to say anything, Tony takes it upon himself to break the silence.

"So what's the case, Boss?"

"There is no case, Dinozzo. Get back to work."

That short, clipped response practically insults his intelligence.

They can both clearly see the thick manila folder that neither individual handled with much discretion.

So those gestures all but confirm it. Undercover.

The tightlipped behavior from both only foster his curiosity.

And Tony's not going to let it go that easily.

He averts his gaze back towards the blonde who hasn't yet opened the file in front of her, but somehow can't seem to tear her gaze away from it.

And the second the grey haired superior officer leaves his desk and disappears out of sight, he raises a brow expectantly in her direction.

But the blonde is too absorbed in whatever information that manila file must hold, that she doesn't respond until he physically says her name.

"It's classified, Tony."

She says it with her usual bravado, but Tony thinks he hears a slight undertone of nervousness mixed in with the confidence and excitement that the younger agent exudes.

It doesn't help that she's biting her lip, the same nervous tic she's had ever since Tony'd met her.

He still can't shake of the uneasy sensation.

Bishop's done plenty of undercover cases before. She knows her stuff.

He doesn't know why he would be particularly concerned about this one.

Because it takes the focus of your own problems, his consciousness practically yells at him.

He ignores it.

"Come on Bish. Tim and I are going to be backing you up anyway. We'll know the details soon enough."

The Oklahoma-born blonde is already shaking her head, eyes still on the folder, before he can even finish his sentence.

"You guys…"

She seems to be choosing her words carefully.

"You guys aren't my backup."

Tony almost scoffs aloud.

There was no plausible circumstance in which the head of any governmental organization was going to send a probationary agent with only two years of experience undercover without a team.

"It's a, ah, a joint case. The other organization is providing back up."

There it is again. Bishop never stumbles on her words.

But what she says throws him to much to focus on that.

A joint case? With no one on this team as backup?

Gibbs, as uptight and rigid as he was, was never one to let his team out of his control.

Which either meant that Vance had pushed the matter or the case was something far more serious than he'd originally thought.

Either way was considerably sobering.

Especially since it didn't seem that Ellie had any choice in the matter.

"When?"

An extended pause.

"Day after tomorrow."

"How long?"

"I don't know."

That reeks of deceitfulness.

"Ellie… You agreed to this?"

For the first time since he initiated the conversation, she looks at him.

Jaw set in determination.

Tony just knows she's going to give him some form of justification.

"Vance said he needed an agent that had experience with foreign affairs."

An uncomfortable silence follows.

They both know that her response isn't a real answer.

But her response does give him the answer to one thing.

The answer to why he hasn't quit.

He can't stand to see someone else go down that path.

That night would be the last he would hear from Bishop for two weeks.

… … … …

That desk has a habit of being perpetually empty.

A revolving door of sorts.

Kate, Ziva, and now Bishop.

She'd been gone for fifteen days.

And the desk has been empty for just as long.

Tim seems confused when he arrives at work each morning to the empty space, but he doesn't mention anything.

Too worried about what might happen if he does.

Gibbs stays tightlipped. Acts as if she never existed.

Yet, in true Gibbs fashion, he refused to hire anyone, even a temporary agent.

So the caseload is piled onto him because the city never sleeps and crime doesn't either.

More paperwork. More fieldwork. Same deadlines. Much, much longer hours.

And what is left of the team begins to fray at the edges.

Tony wouldn't have blamed them, lack of sleep does that to people.

Except that they turn on him.

Making snappy snide remarks.

Trying to drudge up his presumed mediocrity.

While over exaggerating their own eminence.

And he takes it because that's what he's supposed to do.

What he's expected to do.

Day after day after day.

He finally pulls himself from the office at half past two.

Forces himself to go home because he'll have to do all of this again in the morning.

With nothing but thanklessness in return.

The brown haired agent takes the long way.

Not wanting to resign himself to solitude just yet.

But then home becomes inevitable and half an hour later he's pulling into his driveway.

The crisp autumn air cuts into him as he steps out of his car, but that isn't what makes his hackles rise.

Someone else is here.

Tony thought back to his drive home and dimly remembered something feeling out of place.

Something strange.

But he'd been too tired to attribute it to anything other than lack of sleep.

Had someone been following him?

The brown-haired agent feels the familiarity of his service weapon as he steps out of his garage.

This line of work tended to do that to a person, fill them with paranoia.

His eyes swept over the lawn and the driveway, but nothing was out of place.

Tony considered turning away, heading up to bed. It was almost three in the morning.

He was tired.

And he'd been doing this long enough to know that it was probably just in his mind.

Still, the not knowing bothered him and he gives it one more shot.

Rounds the corner to check his porch.

And it wasn't until he stepped further into the yard, further away from the light and comfort of his garage that he saw what was there.

A figure sitting on the steps.

A familiar figure.

"Bishop?"

Her eyes snap open and she instantly stands to face him.

The blonde looks surprised to see him, considering she's been sitting on his doorstep for God knows how long.

"Hi."

He waits for an explanation, for anything, but Bishop doesn't say anything else.

"Bishop. What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry. I… I didn't mean to bother you."

Again he waits for some clarification, something that would explain why she's on his porch at three in the morning.

Tony looks her over. She was fidgeting with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater, purposely avoiding his eyes. And other than the dark circles under her eyes, nothing seemed obviously wrong.

Other than the fact that she was jumpy as hell.

"No… no. You're not bothering me. It's just… Is everything okay?"

Bishop looked away from him out into the road, illuminated by that little pool of light that struggles to leave the flickering streetlamp, probably trying to figure out the least incriminating thing to say.

And Tony can tell by the rigidness in which she stands, the tension in her shoulders, that she's having an internal battle of which one to choose.

"Bishop, you don't have to tell me anything about the case. Just let me know. Are you okay?"

He puts the extra emphasis on 'you' in his question.

The blonde slumps a little as she resigns herself.

"They're throwing to much stuff in the air, Tony. Vance wants answers, the mark wants loyalty, the heads want accountability. Everyone is breathing down my neck waiting for me to break a cipher that doesn't have a break. The mark… I can't get them without being too suspicious. And… And…"

She starts speaking faster, trying to get it over with, but nothing she's saying is making sense.

So he stops her.

"I didn't ask about the case. I asked about you. Are you okay?"

The silence settles again and her anxiety backs up minutely, shame slowly taking its place.

It was odd that he'd never seen that emotion take place on her before.

"I can't sleep."

She says it so softly that the words almost slip into the dark before he can catch them.

Acid bile rises in his throat as his heart sinks.

"Ellie… You know it's okay to back up a little. No one's going to think any less of you for it."

Almost instantly her guard is back up. The shame hides behind the wall of misplaced determination.

"No! I can do it! They need me to do it."

Of course they do.

Tony swallows hard.

Remembers the pressure that Gibbs was putting on her during the Parsa case.

"Ellie…"

She doesn't give him a chance to continue.

"You told me you've done this before. That you were good at this?"

The blonde is fidgeting again. If there was ever a poster child for nervous energy…

"Yeah, but…"

All of sudden she goes still.

"How close is to close?"

Tony stiffens. The coolness of the air slices against him as he takes in what he just heard.

"What?"

His response has more bite to it than what's probably good for this situation.

And he can see Bishop mentally backtracking on what she said.

"It's just… He wants… Never mind."

Bishop hastily checks her watch

"I have somewhere to be."

At three in the morning?

Shit.

She's practically leaning away from him and towards the darkness.

Tony inwardly sighs.

As long as they make her think she's obligated, she's never going to stop trying to do her job.

"Look. If you ever need someone to talk to, just come to me. But don't hang outside on the porch, just ring the doorbell okay? I'm usually here."

Bishop gives him a jerky nod.

Tony can't tell if she's just nodding to appease him.

But then she's gone.

And he's alone on the doorstep again.

… … … …

He man's up enough to send in a resume.

Asking for a reassignment.

Tony can't sit in this goddamn office under Gibbs's thumb.

The extra casework is making him stay longer and longer hours. Far into the night.

McGee gets off easier because he has a family to go too. A home to come back to.

Tony doesn't have anything or anyone waiting for him.

And everyone in the office knows that.

The cases progressively become harder and harder to solve and put away.

Whether it's due to sleep deprivation or actual complexity, he doesn't know.

Regardless, Tony can practically feel the disappointment dripping off the grey haired marine each time a road block comes up.

And it's always about something that could not have possibly been avoided.

Nothing that Tony does can please the man.

That much time with someone who seemingly despised him could not be good for anyone.

He mentions Bishop's reappearance to Gibbs, albeit leaving out some details not wanting to get her in trouble.

Tries to pry some details about the case she's involved in. Nothing.

And when Tony goes to Vance, the dark-skinned director tells the younger agent to very blatantly leave it alone.

Bishop doesn't come back either.

He doesn't know what he was expecting.

The blonde was undercover after all.

But he was worried about the way things were left that night.

What happened just leaves more questions than answers.

Tony locks the door of his house behind him.

1:30 am.

Without switching on the lights, he sets the thick case file he'd brought home on the kitchen table in front of him.

Stares at it for a long moment.

And now that he's completely alone with his thoughts in the silence, it hits him.

Gibbs' sharp retorts, Abby's smug replies, Vance's blatant secrecy, McGees ' see-no-evil, say-no-evil' attitude.

All of it resounds his ears, hitting him hard.

Mingling, gradually smothering and sweeping, his heart and head with the other imperfections and mediocrities that had been thrown at him over the years.

Because even those little things hadn't lost their ability to hurt him.

He was so tired. Tired all of this. Tired of the worthlessness. Tired of not being in control.

Tony throws the file across the room. Sending it in a noisy flutter.

Papers and pictures fly disarray, but he doesn't care.

He slowly leans forward on the table and rested his head against his hands.

Stares at the wood and all its little indentations as the mask he had carefully worn all through the day started to crumble, letting pain and anger slip through the cracks.

-.-.-.-.

It is exactly seventeen days since her last visit before he hears from Bishop again.

He'd gone to bed three hours before and his body is screaming at him that it isn't nearly enough, when he pulls himself out of bed for some water.

The brown-haired agent isn't exactly sure what woke him up this time.

Though admittedly he had been getting less and less sleep in the recent weeks.

Thinking, debating, arguing with himself about what he planned to do with his life.

Tony shuffles on the cold floor towards the kitchen.

Checks the screen window to his front porch out of habit.

No.

It was empty. Really empty.

So he fills himself a glass of water and tries to divert his mind to a different topic.

It's only when he's on the way back to bed, that he sees the front porch from a different vantage point, that he sees her.

From this view he can only see her from the back, sitting hunched in the corner, legs folded up, hands shoved underneath her arms.

He lets out a breath.

Unsure if he should be grateful or worried that she finally showed up.

The screen door opens with a creak.

It sounds like a scream in the silence.

Bishop doesn't even twitch.

Tony clears his throat.

"It's been awhile."

Silence.

"Didn't I say you could ring the doorbell?"

Still nothing.

Bishop isn't jumpy this time. Instead… she's tense.

Tony could cut it with a knife.

He sits down on the stairs across from her because he can tell it's going to be a long night.

Another five minutes pass in silence.

"Look, we could stay out here all night probie, but inside's probably more comfortable."

The former NSA analyst agent gives a jerky, cut off shake of refusal.

So they sit for a minute more, until Bishop finally finds her voice.

"I… found a break …"

Her voice is hoarse. A lot rougher than it usually sounds.

Both hands tucked under her arms, she still refuses to look at him.

That makes his brow crinkle in confusion.

"That's good, right?"

The younger agent simultaneously shakes her head no and shrugs her shoulders.

Then she finally looks at him, and under the dim moonlight he sees the far-away, glassy look to her eyes.

"I found a break…"

He's seen that look before. Shock, trauma, despair.

"I had to get close to get it."

Close.

Bishop doesn't give him enough time to wonder.

She slowly unfurls her left arm, extend it away from her body, and even under the dim moon light he can see it.

Bruises.

Colored, blue and red and green and yellow.

Overlapping each other in that way that makes it easy to make out all the colors and none of them at the same time.

Disappearing up into her long-sleeved sweater, where they surely continue on.

Tony stares in horrified disbelief.

But when he reaches forward to examine the injuries, she pulls away. Averts her eyes.

"Bishop… what happened?"

He hastily backtracks when he sees the walls going back up.

"Have you… Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"I didn't get all of it."

That's not an answer. She knows that's not an answer!

So he waits.

"I got a break in the case, but I didn't get all of it… They said I'm too valuable to be extracted."

A slight pause.

"It would be too suspicious…"

Anger and disbelief swells up within him.

That was insane!

Behavior like that broke more that a few regulations, both federal and occupational.

Which meant that the people over her case had to be one of the bigger governmental organizations.

So high up on their own high horses, that they didn't give a shit on who they crapped on.

"It doesn't feel as bad as it looks."

There she is again with the faux justifications.

"Don't say it. Don't you dare try to justify it."

Bishop looks like she's about to cry and he wants to find whoever's making her do this and shoot them.

Furious at them for putting her through this.

But the fight goes out of him because she sounds so tired. Looks so tired.

Just like he is.

This job isn't good for either of them.

"We don't have to stay out here Ellie."

The circles under her eyes speak for themselves.

Again, she shakes her head.

"I can't. They'll get suspicious if I'm out of contact for too long."

So the silence falls upon on them. An uncomfortable, strained one.

He stares at her bruises and she stares into the dark.

"You can't keep getting hurt like this, Bishop."

It is much easier to say that to someone else than it is to say it to himself.

He's been saying it to himself for years.

Bishop hugs herself tighter.

Whether that's a sign of acknowledgment or not he doesn't know.

Then she silently pulls herself up.

"Thank you, Tony."

He nods.

"Anytime."

He watches her disappear into the darkness.

Tony doesn't miss the limp in her gait.

… …..

Four days later, two men in suits step out of the elevator.

Though their professional attire isn't odd, both of the individuals seem distinctly out of place.

So he tracks them silently with his eyes as they make their way across the bullpen, over to Gibbs's desk.

"My name's Andrew Kramer. This is my colleague Justin Cena. We work for the Central Intelligence Agency."

Both of them flash some variation of identification and Tony sits up straighter in his chair.

"There was an incident involving one of your agents, we need both heads of the joint staff to be present. The CIA's case operation leader, David Elsevier is already present."

Horror and disgust sweeps up over him.

Did that mean Gibbs had been on the case the entire time?

He goes with them to the hospital. Refuses to stay behind and be a butt monkey.

He's silent the whole way there.

Simmering.

Praying that she was going to be fine.

He does the whole nine yards.

Frets in the waiting room.

Listens to the doctor read the medical report.

Waits some more.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

An email.

Your application is pending in review.

And when they are finally let into the hospital room, he sits in the sole visitor chair, glowering at the people who he used to call his team.

Abby, Gibbs, and Andrew Kramer stand behind him. They all have the audacity to look concerned.

When neither of them bothered to mention her name for well over a month. And the latter being indirectly responsible for the current state of affairs.

He cuts Tim some slack. Tony wants to be angry at him, but he had a family to take care of.

So he can't angry at him. Though it doesn't mean he understands.

But them. There's no excuse.

Elsevier sits outside filling out paper work.

No doubt to cleanse his hands of whatever events took place.

His hatred for Vance equates to something even more unfathomable.

The director didn't even bother to show up to the hospital.

Citing schedule conflicts.

Bastard.

Tony forced himself to turn back to Bishop.

Her current state was a far cry from the former NSA analyst that had become a staple in the office as she sat cross-legged on the floor, with her attention fixed on her computer and ear buds dangling from her ears, often exuding enough exuberance for the entirety of the workforce

Two separate IV drips fed fluids and nutrients into her body, but it didn't seem to be doing anything despite what the nurses were saying.

She was breathing steadily, a sign that her ribs were healing, but even that bit of good news hadn't been satisfying.

Now she looked like a ghost.

They had used her, abused her, sucked her dry.

All he'd gotten from Andrew was that the mark had gotten too handsy.

Then gotten too nosey.

Then had found out that she'd had ties with the government.

And the aftermath of that revelation clearly hadn't gone to well.

And during each of those moments, not one of them thought to pull Bishop back from the case.

It was unfathomable.

"There is a bit of good news."

Andrew mentions over the steady beeps of the hospital machines.

"She did break the cipher. We have the information we need to put-"

Tony cuts him off with a hard punch to the face.

Pain ripples across his knuckles, but it feels minimal compared to the feeling of satisfaction hit gives him.

"Tony!"

Gibbs barks while Abby squeals in surprise.

And right then every quelled emotion, every time he was forced to keep his thoughts to himself, every time he was forced to roll over and let the insults hit his back.

Every time someone tried to point out his mediocrity.

Tried to shunt him off to the side.

Tried to brush of anything he said as dismissive.

It all rose within him right there.

"What?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He looked between the three of them.

At Gibbs and his look of disappointment and disdain.

At Abby's smugness as she waited for Gibbs to reprimand him.

At Andrew Kramer's look of shock as he cradled his jaw.

He looked at all of them.

"I quit."

And when he turns back to his unconscious friend on the hospital bed, it feels like a weight has been lifted.