Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

Title: Past Tense
Summary: When Tony left the team, he cut ties with Tim. It was entirely Tim's fault, even he admits that. Three years later, Tim has a chance to make it right when Tony returns to DC. Can he fix their friendship? Or is it too far gone? Mild AU from 13x24. Angst. Mentions of Tiva and Tali.

Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers through Season 17. Mentions of Tiva and Tali. Mentions of sexual assault.

Author's Note: This story is written for the Reverse Bang 2020 on LJ. There is a beautiful piece of artwork that inspired everything that will be posted on AO3 tomorrow. The story will be posted in full on AO3 (with extra art) sometime tomorrow. I'll do one chapter a day here so it's easier to follow. It is complete at 9 chapters with an epilogue.

The story is set sometime in season 16, pre 16x13 "She." Even though Ziva is mentioned, she is dead (or dead to the characters) for the is a mild AU.

Life has been strange these past few months. Hope you are well. Stay safe.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

It was a nice day. Was.

To everyone around Tim McGee and Tony DiNozzo, it is a pleasant spring day. The sun hangs high overhead, playing peekaboo with clouds so fluffy they appear to be spun cotton candy. The temperature is cool enough for a light jacket, but warm with the promise of summer. Office workers and federal agents bustle through the tiny patch of grass in front of the NCIS building.

Tim and Tony sit on a wooden park bench, their shoulders barely touching. Though his sportscoat, Tim feels Tony's body heat radiate at him. That is as present as Tony is. They don't speak a word. Tim tried a few times when they first arrived, but Tony didn't even acknowledge him. To Tim, they might as well be on opposite sides of the planet. A sudden breeze chills Tim to the bone. He wraps his arms around his chest, desperately trying to warm himself. Tony doesn't flinch.

Tim reminds himself how they ended up here. On this park bench, on this beautiful morning after a winter that seemed never ending. It is a view he tends to only enjoy through the breakroom window. He usually spends his five-minute vending machine run, wishing he were down here enjoying the sunshine.

Now, he wishes he were anywhere else.

Their morning started just like any other. Arriving at the office and catching a body before the sun even rose. They doggedly worked their case. Trained Ellie Bishop to her fullest potential. Struggled to stay just one step ahead of a cantankerous Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Everything was going great. Just like always. Tim may even dare to describe their current set-up as perfect. He and Tony bounced off each other, supported the other's strengths and filled in their weaknesses. They worked in a rapid fire tandem only coming from long-term partners. It all came crashing down when the team received word of a fire in an Israeli farmhouse. Their former teammate, Ziva David, was among the dead. As if that wasn't as life changing as a bullet, the Mossad director arrived with a little girl in tow. Ziva's daughter, she said.

Tony's daughter.

The first time he breathed her name to Tim, Tony choked on it.

Tali.

Tony just sat at his desk. Grim-faced and tight-lipped. He murmured, Tali, to himself over and over as though it could be a prayer. As though repeating it could make everything disappear. Tim didn't understand at first. He stood by his desk, clutching their casefile to his chest, while Tony recounted what happened. To Ziva. To Tali. To him.

Tim's brain kickstarted, desperately playing for the right words. But what was there to say when Tim's closest friend is gasping about how he is a father to an almost three-year-old?

Suddenly, Tony yelled at how he needed air because he couldn't breathe. Tim dropped the file, loose pages flurrying all over the bullpen. He grabbed Tony's arm and dragged the gasping, choking man out to the bench in the courtyard. Somewhere in the elevator, Tony mentally checked out. His breathing evened out, his glassy eyes staring dully ahead. Tim still didn't know what to say.

That's how they ended up here. On this bench at this odd hour between lunch and quitting time. Just watching the simple lives of those mulling around them. Trying to make sense of the world that was perfect until an hour ago.

Absently, Tim sips his coffee cup. He ordered shortly after they arrived because he needed a moment to compose his thoughts. He couldn't think of what to say, but he got coffee. The drink went cold long ago, but it was perfect when he ordered it. Rocket hot, enough caffeine to mirror Gibbs' brew, and so sweet he'll have a toothache by bedtime. So rare are the days when the weather, the coffee and the case is perfect. It figures today would be when everything is blown to hell.

Tony shifts his weight. The first sign of life since they arrived at the bench. He presses his hands against his face and shakes his head. When he peers from behind his hands, his mouth is open in a silent scream.

"Tali." His voice is breathless.

Tim wishes he knew how to react. Wishes he had some magic words that would make everything better. If their situations were reversed, Tony, with that golden tongue of his, would know exactly what to say. Tim wants to follow Tony's lead, but the older man gives nothing away. He remains motionless, mouth agape and eyes glazed like a shell-shocked war victim.

Tim downs the dredges of his coffee before fiddling with the now empty cup. Silently, he reconsiders his approach. Sitting here and doing nothing can't be helping. It can't be.

"How are you feeling, Tony?" Tim asks as lightly as he can.

"Good. Great. Absolutely amazing." Tony attempts a smile, but it is truly a grimace. "Except for the fact that I have a kid I knew literally nothing about. I missed out on everything for the last two years of her life. Everything, Tim. It's like that movie, you know the one…" He waves his hand at Tim. For once, Tony's encyclopedic knowledge of movies fails him.

Tim nods. "Of course, I do."

A gaggle of women around Gibbs' age, clad in power suits and running shoes, walk past Tim and Tony. And for a moment, the men are lost in the sea of estrogen. The women's voices are raucous and lively, brimming with tales of office gossip and family life. Tim recognizes the lady from the armory. Seeing that she caught his eye, she winks at him. He half-smiles and waves. He'll never tell her that she's older than his mother because that's how you end up with the gun that doesn't shoot straight.

Once they're alone again, Tim settles back against the bench. He suddenly notices Tony moved farther away. Tony leans forward, elbows against his knees and staring at the ground.

"Where is she now?" Tim asks.

Tony cocks his head. "Who?"

Tim's brow furrows. "Tali."

"Oh yeah, Tali." Tony inhales slowly. "She is in the director's office with Vance and Orli. I just saw her and well, I kind of freaked out. I need a few minutes to process everything."

"It's been…" Tim checks his watch "…over two hours."

Tony's smile is weak. "And I just need a few more. Hours, that is."

Tim clasps his hand on Tony's shoulder.

"I'm surprised you never told me about you and Ziva," he says slowly.

"What do you mean, Tim? We weren't a couple."

Tim decides not to point out the evidence in the director's office proving the contrary. Even before Tali, the signs were there. The way Tony and Ziva would verbally spar in a way that was more than friendship. At the time, it wasn't Tim's business because it never impacted their work. He had his suspicions, but he kept to himself. Though now, there is living and breathing proof in the director's office.

Tim just raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

"You can be honest with me," Tim says. "I hardly think Rule 12 matters now."

"I am, Tim. If I was going to break Gibbs' rules, it sure as hell wouldn't have been Rule 12." He considers for a moment. "I've always hated Rule 6."

Shifting to his side, Tim moves to face his friend. Tony remains in profile. He looks up now, his gaze fixed on something across the green. Tim's eyes slide over Tony's hardened features.

"I hate to say it, but – " Tim bites his lip. " – is Tali even your daughter?"

"I don't know. I mean, she probably is. The timing works out for when Ziva and I…yeah…" Tony's voice trails off. He sighs quietly. "It was just one time, Tim. I lost my head one time and two years later, here's Tali!" He draws out the name like Heeere's Johnny from The Shining. "Remember how they used to warn us in sex ed that it only takes one time." He laughs humorlessly as he rakes his hand through his air. "Apparently, they weren't lying."

All Tim has to offer is a sympathetic smile.

"Christ, I'm Ted Danson in Three Men and a Baby. I mean, Ted Danson's not too bad. Though, I'd rather be Tom Selleck, but that leaves you with Steven Guttenberg." He half-smiles with a shrug. "Sorry."

Tim has no idea what that means. "That's okay. I think."

Tony genuinely laughs. "Of course, it is."

"Did you care about Ziva?" Tim asks.

"Yeah. That's probably a good way to explain it." Tony finally looks at Tim. "I care about you too, Tim. It's just a little more different and manly. Yeah, that's a good word for it. Manly. That's part of why Ziva and I made our arrangement in the field."

"An arrangement?" Tim questions.

The color drains from Tony's cheeks as though he just said something he wasn't supposed to. He closes his eyes, seemingly unable to believe where the conversation heads. A sinking feeling spreads through Tim's gut, cold and icy.

"What does that mean?" Tim asks.

Tony shakes his head. "It doesn't mean anything."

Part of Tim knows he should take Tony's words at face value. He should just smile, nod and change the subject. They've been through so much in the last few hours. Their teammate—the other Musketeer as Abby called them—was dead. Tony discovered he had a kid that he knew nothing about. They are having one hell of a day. He should just let it go. Maybe they'll discuss it tomorrow or ever. But, for the first time since they met, Tim questions his own teammate.

Tim's frown deepens. "If you don't tell me, I'll assume you and Ziva broke Rule 12."

"That wasn't it. It was..."

Tony glances over, the expression on his face makes Tim's stomach flip-flop. The silence stretches until Tim almost cracks. Tony exhales like a condemned man.

"Ziva and I agreed that…" Tony runs his hand though his hair. "We agreed if an assignment ever went south that we'd get you out first."

Tim flinches as though Tony just shot him. His body goes rigid, mouth agape and one hand clutching the arm of the bench until his fingers begin to ache. He could have lived with unwittingly being a third wheel to his teammates—he suspected with how Tony and Ziva used to flirt. But his own teammates not believing he was an adequate field agent. Shit, he doesn't know how to deal with that.

"Wasn't I good enough to have your six?!" Tim spits out.

"It's not like that, Tim," Tony says.

"The hell it isn't!" Tim barrels onward, the insecurities he hides bubbling to the surface. "Did you guys think I was only good at the computer stuff? Should I only be allowed to deal with hacking and tracing money and pinging cell phones? Should I just stay in the lab with Abby? Did you and Ziva think the geek shouldn't carry a gun?"

"Jesus, Tim, it wasn't like that." Tony's shoulders slump as he sighs loudly. "It wasn't like that at all."

Tim's eyes harden. "Then what was it is like?"

Tony crosses his arms. "The whole thing was Ziva's idea. You know how Mossad works, army of one and screw everyone else. She made it very clear that I should have your six because she didn't need the help." Tony stares back out at the green, his eyes getting that faraway look again. "I made her promise to get you out before me. I had just lost Kate, Tim. I wasn't prepared to lose you too."

Tim's grip tightens around the bench handle. His knuckles his crack, but he doesn't feel it. He is too busy trying to make sense of Tony's confession. He wonders which betrayal would have been worse to him. A resounding vote of no confidence or the possibility of them leaving him behind in a case gone sideways. It doesn't matter now because they'll never be in that position again. Hell, it shouldn't matter at all. None of it should. One of them is dead, the other likely to quit to be a father.

The momentum of the moment still carries Tim forward.

"Didn't you believe in me?" Tim asks suddenly.

Tony hesitates. His lips apart, eyes widened, gobsmacked. The expression dissipates before it fully settles on his face. It is just a moment, barely a split second. For Tim, it is enough.

He scrambles to his feet. "Why didn't you trust me in the field, Tony?"

"Tim, I…we…" Another moment to process. Another hesitation. "How can you ask me that?"

Tim jabs his index finger in Tony's direction. "You trained me, Tony. You. And you didn't trust me in the field. What does that say about you?"

Tim hangs back, thinking Tony might say something to assuage him. To tell him that his deepest, darkest fears weren't coming true right in front of him. One friend is dead, the other never trusted him. What should have been a great day is turning into a waking nightmare. Their world is falling apart, the team will never be reunited again.

Tony fumbles. His lips move as though forming words, but his gift of gab eludes him. Only a strangled laugh emerges from his mouth. Tears sneak their way down his cheeks. Tim wonders whether they're having the same terrible dream. Tim just expects him to say something. Except Tony doesn't. He just stares up at Tim as though he can't believe they're having this conversation.

Without a second thought, Tim slams his coffee cup into the trash can. He storms back to the NCIS building, snaking his way through the blissfully unaware passerby.

"McGee!"

Tim picks up the pace.

"Tim!"