The Pros and Cons of Breathing

Chapter 1: Calm Before the Storm

In memory of Special Agent Caitlin Todd, who will always be my superhero.

Tony was awakened by the sound of soft snoring that was far too close to his ear for comfort. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the windows of his living room. He shifted, realizing he was still in his work clothes from the day before. He turned his head to side with a crack, in an attempt to determine who was using him as a human pillow.

Tony observed, with both amusement and embarrassment, as McGee continued sleeping peacefully with his head resting on his shoulder, his mouth hanging open slightly as he snored. Tony glanced around the living room as the events of the day before slowly caught up to him. And when they did, they hit him like a brick wall.

Justine Riker.

They were a good team. They really were. He, Gibbs, McGee, and Ziva, they had the best case-closed rate of any team in the entire agency. But they made mistakes. They screwed up sometimes. Sometimes, they were too late. Yesterday had been one of those times.

Justine Riker, eight-year-old daughter of Lance Corporal Jonas Riker, had been kidnapped a week ago. They had been searching frantically for her since then, and yesterday they had found her in the basement of a convicted rapist. Deceased, and with unspeakable wounds on her body. She had been dead for six hours.

It had not been a good day. Gibbs had been in a silent fury as Ducky and Palmer arrived to remove the body and take it back to NCIS, and the three underlings of the MCRT had all been taciturn on the ride home. Gibbs' driving had been even more angry and erratic than usual.

Tony and McGee had decided that a boys' night was in order, both of them in low spirits, but neither of them wanting to face their empty apartments. They had spent the night watching the original Star Wars trilogy, because that was at least one series of movies that the two men could agree on.

Many hours later, and after a plethora of beer and pizza, it appeared that they had both conked out on the couch. Tony shifted, pushing McGee off of him gently. The younger man fell back into the couch, his body twisted in an awkward position. McGee's eyes opened slowly, and he blearily looked around the room, no doubt going through the same thought process that Tony had.

He saw the memory as it hit his friend's face, and he frowned as McGee sat up. He decided to try and lighten the foul mood that was threatening to settle on both of them as the experiences of the past day hit them. "Okay, McCuddles, if one of us doesn't get a girlfriend soon, people are going to start assuming things."

"Well, people wouldn't be so quick to assume things if you hadn't convinced the entire agency that I'm gay," McGee retorted, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight pouring in through the large windows in Tony's living room.

"That was eight years ago, everyone's forgotten about that by now," Tony said, waving off McGee's protests as slowly rose from the couch. McGee stretched in the spot Tony had just vacated.

"Eight years ago? You told that pretty girl over in HR last week that I wasn't at work because I was at a pride parade!" McGee accused, rolling over and pulling one of the sofa pillows over his head.

"Wasn't that where you were?" Tony asked as he headed into the kitchen, with the intention of trying to scrounge something up for him and McGee to eat for breakfast.

"I had food poisoning!" McGee called indignantly from the living room. Tony snorted as he rooted through the cupboards. Unfortunately, he hadn't been shopping in about a week, and they were mostly bare. He really didn't have anything to make for breakfast,.

"Speaking of food, looks like we're eating out for the most important meal of the day," he said, shutting the last cupboard and heading back to the living room, halting in front of McGee, who still had the pillow covering the back of his head. Tony promptly yanked it away and hit McGee over the head with it, Gibbs-style. "Up and at 'em, Probie!" Tony raised his voice as he said the now rarely-used nickname.

"I hate you so much right now," McGee groaned as he blinked up at him. Tony offered McGee a hand, and helped pull his friend into a sitting position.

"Someone didn't handle their alcohol very well," Tony commented with a smirk as McGee pushed himself off of the couch. McGee leveled a good-natured glare at him.

"It's your fault for offering me beer after beer. Why didn't you cut me off?"

"Because you're a lot less whiny when you're smashed," Tony said, heading towards his bedroom to change into some fresh clothes.

"Can you find something for me while you're in there? I smell like a brewery," McGee called after him after dubiously sniffing himself.

"If you don't mind them hanging off of you like rags, McSkinny," he responded, rifling through his dressers for something acceptable to where out to breakfast. He selected a brown silk button-up and his favorite pair of khakis.

He rooted through some of his older clothes, trying to find something that would fit McGee. He selected a gray tee-shirt, a suede jacket, and a pair of brown chinos. Tony hadn't worn the outfit in years, so it was slightly rumpled, but McGee was lucky he had anything that the slimmer agent could squeeze into.

Tony tossed them unceremoniously out the door, letting them fall into a pile. He heard a grunted 'thanks' from McGee as he closed off his bedroom to get changed. A few moments later, he was combing his fingers through his hair as he headed back into the living room, and McGee was straightening the jacket Tony had loaned him, looking contemplatively down at the outfit.

"This looks familiar," McGee muttered, looking up at Tony. Tony gave him a concerned look.

"Well, yeah, McGee. Probably because I've worn it before."

"No, I mean really familiar," he argued, brushing past Tony to head in the bathroom, so he could get a look at himself in the full length mirror. He furrowed his brow at his reflection.

"So this is what hangovers to do you?" Tony questioned, crossing his arms. What is up with him? McGee suddenly snapped his fingers, causing Tony to jump slightly. "What?" he asked, somewhat annoyed. McGee looked at him, a certain forlorn quality forming in his expressive green eyes.

"Did you ever see that picture that Kate drew of you?" he asked quietly. "Not the cartoon-y one, but the one she drew right before..." He swallowed involuntarily. "You were wearing this in the picture."

"Yeah," he replied. "The one of me at my desk with the phone... Gibbs gave it to me a little bit after Ziva joined the team. Said Kate would have wanted me to have it. I never even thought of the clothes." He shifted awkwardly, watching as McGee's eyes grew distant.

Thoughts of Kate were bound to come up at this time of year. After all, today was May 23rd. Tomorrow would be the eight year anniversary of Kate's death. Eight years. Some days, he could believe it was that long, when he thought of all that had occurred since her passing. Meeting Ziva. Gibbs' injury and subsequent retirement. His return. Jeanne. Jeanne leaving. Jenny's death. His time as an agent afloat. Killing Rivkin. Losing Ziva. Somalia. Paloma and Alejandro's attacks against Gibbs and NCIS. Meeting EJ. The Port-to-Port Killer. Franks' death. The bombing of NCIS. The death of Eli David and Jackie Vance.

Other days, he could have sworn on his life that just yesterday, he had been chucking balled up pieces of paper at Kate's head, going through her purse, and poking fun at her puritan ways. Sometimes, he could almost convince himself that she wasn't dead. Then he would look up, and see his favorite ex-Mossad ninja sitting at Kate's desk, and he would come back to the future like a car driving head-on into a brick wall.

Gibbs always gave them May 24th off, no matter what was happening at the agency. This was good, because every year Tony would drive from the night of May 23rd into the morning of the 24th, his destination being the cemetery in Indiana where Kate was buried eight years prior.

The only person who knew of this was Gibbs. Gibbs had his own ritual on the anniversary of Kate's death. He would visit the rooftop where she had been shot, and he would lay down a bouquet of flowers. He didn't know if he said anything, or did anything other than that simple gesture of remorse. He didn't push the subject. However, every year, on the last day of work before the 24th, Gibbs would call his name just as he made to exit the bullpen and go home.

"DiNozzo... tell her I'm sorry." He had said it yesterday before they had left work. Ziva had just looked confused at the request, and he had exchanged a mournful glance with McGee.

And he always did. Every year, he would sit at the marble stone that marked where Kate's body lay, and he would talk to her. He would tell her everything that had happened since he last visited, like catching up with an old friend. Even if she never said anything back, it still made him feel better.

"Well, come on. I'm hungry," Tony said abruptly, breaking the awkward and heavy silence that had formed between himself and McGee. McGee nodded dimly and followed Tony to the door. He grabbed his keys and wallet, and a few moments later they were in Tony's car and heading to the nearest cafe.

They found a nice little internet cafe called Perk Place a few blocks away from Tony's apartment. Together, they headed inside, finding a comfortable booth in the corner of the restaurant and taking their orders when the waiter approached. As they waited for their meals, they talked about anything and everything, as usual. Over the years, he had found that McGee was extraordinarily easy to talk to, even if he wasn't that easy to understand sometimes. They're conversation rarely lulled.

Once they had their meals (a breakfast burrito for McGee, scrambled eggs and toast for Tony) the conversation diminished slightly as Tony began wolfing down his food, his mouth not vacant enough for coherent words.

"Uh, Tony, the food's not going to run away," McGee commented, and Tony looked up from his food for a moment to look at him.

"Ermhungee," Tony mumbled through a mouth full of food, and McGee looked like he was trying to suppress a smile. Honestly, he just wanted some food in his body to get some energy. He felt particularly run down after his night on the couch, and the awful day that had preceded it. The copious amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before hadn't helped, either.

"I'll pretend I just understood what you said."

"Finbeemer."

"Right."

They ate in a companionable silence, and once they had finished their meals, they both ordered their preferred caffeinated drinks. Tony got his typical hazelnut coffee, and McGee ordered something really fruity sounding with a name far too long for Tony to bother remembering.

They sipped at their drinks, their conversation picking back up again. "So, did you talk to Gibbs yesterday before we left?" McGee questioned, blowing on his coffee in that way that annoyed Tony so, so much.

"No," he replied darkly. "I wasn't going to poke the bear."

"This case has probably been even harder on him that has been on us," McGee theorized. "I mean, the girl... she was the same age as Gibbs' daughter."

Tony nodded somberly. "I know. Every time we get a case with a young girl... he sees Kelly. To him, this probably feels like he failed her all over again."

"Maybe we should go see him today," McGee suggested. "Balboa's team is on call this weekend, so we have today off."

"I don't know if you've noticed this over the past eight years, McGee, but Gibbs is a loner. We wouldn't be able to help him. He's probably down there with Fornell, downing bourbon, and commiserating about the woes of being federal agents and divorcees," he guessed, drumming his fingers on the side of his coffee cup. "At least, I hope so."

"Yeah..." McGee trailed off, distracted.

"So, what are our plans today, McGee?" Tony asked, leaning back in his chair and trying to cheer up the conversation.

"Our plans?" McGee asked, an expression of both exasperation and amusement forming on his face. Tony was fairly used to receiving that look from... well, pretty much everyone.

"Oh, come on, Elf Lord. Like you've got anything better to do."

"Actually Tony, I think it's you that doesn't have anything better to do," he retorted, though he was smirking slightly. Tony was about to respond when the cafe door opened with the tinkling of a bell. Tony glanced back and saw a hulking figure, hands deep in the pockets of a black hoodie, head darting from side to side.

The thing about being an NCIS agent is, you never really turn it off. When you leave work, you don't just automatically go into civilian mode. You're still watchful. Careful. Alert. Ready for anything. And if you were Tony, you never left home without your SIG strapped to your leg.

Unless of course it was today, where he had foolishly assumed that he and McGee would be safe going out for breakfast without bringing firearms. Granted, he had a knife on him, courtesy of Rule #9, but you know what they say about bringing a knife to a gun fight.

"McGee," Tony said quietly, jerking his head back to indicate the man, who was still standing near the door, fidgeting nervously.

"Can I help you, sir?" the barista at the coffee counter asked tentatively. The man didn't respond, instead diving his hand deeper into his pocket. Tony chose this moment to act. He stood up in a swift motion, McGee close behind him, and withdrew his knife from where it had been concealed on his belt. At the same time, the man pulled out a Colt .45.

There were gasps and small screams from around the cafe. He looked back at McGee, who apparently had been smart enough to bring his SIG. The younger agent withdrew and aimed it straight at the head of the man. "Federal Agent, drop it!"

The man didn't budge. "No," he whispered, his hand shaking violently as he held the gun. "You killed her," he mumbled. Tony didn't have a clue what the insane man was talking about. McGee was at his side now, moving forward cautiously. However, McGee didn't hear the man's last inaudible words. "Now I'll kill you."

Tony didn't even think, he simply reacted. He found himself sidestepping to stand in front of McGee, and his left hand pushing the younger man back. A second later, he heard the loud bang of a shot firing, and his world faded to black.