Fifteen Minutes to Midnight - Chapter 2
Title: Fifteen Minutes to Midnight
Author: fulltobursting aka unilocular
Artist:
hinky_hippo
Summary: In the midst of a case, Tim and Tony are at each others' throats...like usual. But when a routine interview takes a potentially deadly turn, they both learn the true meaning of friendship.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x10: House Rules. General violence, whump, bad language, and lots of movie references.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Chapter Two
According to the GPS, the trip to Fort Royal should take a little under an hour and a half. With Tim behind the wheel of the Charger, it’ll probably end up taking well over two.
I lean back against the headrest to stare out the window. The foothills of Virginia stretch towards the horizon, their naked trees raking against the cloudless sky. As Tim guides the car around a hairpin curve, sunlight blasts from behind the mountain and pours through the windshield. I push my Aviator sunglasses higher. The oldies radio station I just found melts into static.
Huffing, I search through the never-ending white noise for something else. Eventually, I settle on a country song with a deep baritone twanging on about his long-lost lover and Ford F150.
“Hey, McGee,” I say, “did I ever tell you that if you play a country song backwards you get your girlfriend, your truck, and your dog back?”
But he doesn’t laugh. “Just change it, Tony.”
Damn, I was pretty sure that joke would thaw his cold shoulder. With a dejected sigh, I fumble through the stations again. In the sea of static, I turn up two Gospel stations, three bluegrass and oddly enough, a punk rock one.
I shift between Gospel and country. “What’ll it be, McGee? The soundtrack to Sister Act or Deliverance? Personally, I’d take nuns over hillbillies any day. But it’s your choice.”
Tim doesn’t say anything, so I leave it on Gospel. After a youth spent in Catholic school, he should give me something - anything - from these people lifting their hearts up to the Lord.
To bide my time, I glance out the window again. High on a hill stands a lonely house, surrounded by nothing but dark woods and clear blue sky. Smoke curls from the house’s chimney before it billows into the air. The house’s owner must’ve turned their back civilization a long time and the thought sends a chill down my spine.
Tim cranks the heater up to full blast and suddenly, the air goes from sweltering to insufferable.
The sweat pricks to my brow and I crack the window, but Tim uses the controls on his side to close it. When I try to open it again, the window won’t budge. So I reach for the heater.
Tim holds up a warning hand. “Don’t touch it, DiNozzo.”
“Or what?” I swivel to face him. “You’ll ignore me some more, McGee? That’s real mature.”
Making a face, he turns off the radio and the car grows uncomfortably silent. Tim works his jaw as he stares out at the stretch of highway. His fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly I’m afraid he might rip it in two and I imagine he’s probably picturing his hands around my throat.
“Say what’s on your mind, Tim,” I say. “It’s bad to keep things bottled up.”
He lets out a hollow laugh. “You say that like you’re some sort of expert on maturity. After all the years you spent supergluing me to my keyboard, stealing my lunch, and going through my desk. Come on.”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “I haven’t done any of those in a long time.”
“You went through my stuff last week.”
I blink. “How’d you know that?”
“You left a hair in the Scotch tape I put over my drawer seam. Abby did a DNA match for me and, surprise surprise, it was you again.”
Tim rolls his eyes. “What were you doing this time?”
“My Mighty Mouse stapler went missing. So I had probable cause to search your desk. I had to rule out the usual suspects and all.” The look on his face says, and those are? “You, Bishop, Jimmy, and Ducky. How was I supposed to have known Gibbs borrowed it to
staple his report?”
“You could’ve gone through his stuff too.”
I laugh until tears rise in my eyes. “Do you think I’m suicidal, McSuspect? Gibbs would’ve signed me up for Agent Afloat again. And as much fun as that was, I’d rather not see the world from the deck of a destroyer.” I pause for a beat. “But that’s not the real reason you’re mad at me, is it?”
Tim slams his foot on the gas and the Charger snarls as it picks up speed. The first reaction from Tim in nearly a week makes me smirk. But I still don’t know what the problem is.
Over the past few months, Tim has grown progressively more withdrawn and distant. It felt like something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. One day, Tim left work himself and showed up the next day as a completely different person. I tried to coax him into talking to me with Nutter Butters and coffee and sprinkled doughnuts where I ate all of the sprinkles.
But none of it worked.
He wouldn’t talk about anything except the case at hand, his apartment, and occasionally, an update on Delilah’s adventures in Dubai. Eventually, our weekly bar trips turned into me monologuing about my thoughts on shacking up with Zoe while Tim killed our bottle of wine alone. One night, in an effort to get him to talk, I took him to Gibbs’ basement. We spent the night with our boss, downing bourbon, sanding a boat hull to death, and seeing who could get the most splinters. I got the worst hangover in human history and no useful information on why Tim was acting so weird.
After Plans A through F failed spectacularly, I moved on to Plan G-for girlfriend.
And, come to think of it, I bet that’s why he’s pissed.
“Are you upset because I called Delilah?” I ask.
He tromps on the gas pedal. Bingo.
“It wasn’t a bad thing,” I continue. “You started acting all squirrely and - “
“You called her to say you were concerned about my welfare, Tony. She was ready to come home until I talked her out of it.”
I cock my head. “Would it have been such a bad thing?”
“Yes…no…maybe. I don’t know.” Tim rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t know anymore. You don’t get it, Tony. Her job is like ours. She just can’t drop everything and come running…” He looks stricken as soon as he says the word. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to travel with…her disability?”
“I can imagine, McGee, but she really would do anything for you. Even traveling thousands of miles at the last minute because you needed her.” I glance back out the window. “She was a little surprised that you didn’t tell her about your dad either.”
“How did you…” Tim sounds so lost and heartbroken. “How did you know about that?”
“I picked up your phone one day when you were in the head because I thought it was related to the case.” Outside, the mile markers fly past at record speed for Tim. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad was in hospice?”
He stays quiet for a long time. “Because it isn’t really your business.”
My chest tightens. Outside of the car, the world goes by dizzyingly fast. Once beautiful, it now looks barren like an alien planet. “I always thought we were friends, Tim.”
“We are, Tony,” he says, quickly, placatingly. “I just didn’t feel like talking about it. It’s all I deal with outside of work and I just want to forget, for a few hours a day, that the man I just reconnected with won’t be here in a few months.”
“It’s not like he had a choice,” I say.
He draws a shaking breath. “But he did. He chose to go into hospice instead of staying with me until he passed away. I wanted more than anything to be there for him, but he couldn’t even give me that in the end. Can you blame me for not telling everyone?”
I glance back to Tim, surprised to see how much older he looks in the pale sunlight. Like a man who had his entire world ripped apart
in the span of a few weeks.
His struggles are nothing like what I have with my father-a conman hiding under the guise of an entrepreneur. I’ve tried to keep his secrets too. I’m not sure what I’d do if my dad showed up on my doorstep to tell me he’s dying. Every time he turns up, I fear that might be the reason for the visit, but he’s usually just looking for money. Perhaps I should count my blessings.
“Your dad probably didn’t want to be a burden,” I offer. “I wouldn’t say I blame him either. Just don’t let it ruin the time you two have left.”
“I know and I’ll try.” Tim’s nose wrinkles. “How’s your dad been lately?”
I make a face. “Last I heard, he was trying to figure out way to win his ex-fiancée back. But we aren’t talking about him, Tim, we’re talking about you.”
“Were,” he says, holding a hand up. “We were talking about me and now, we’re done.”
I respect him too much to press, but I still have to know one thing. “Have you gotten over me calling Delilah yet?”
“Not quite.” When I pull out my cell phone, he looks at me like I’m crazy. “What are you doing?”
“Calling Zoe so you can ask her about my deepest, darkest secrets. That would be make us even, right?” I check the dashboard clock. “She should be on her way to work.”
“Actually, you don’t have to do that.” Tim touches a spot on his chest and winces. “I still have that bruise from the first time Zoe and I met. But Tony, thanks.”
I blink. “For what?”
“Trying. It made me feel better, even though I don’t think I will be.” He sighs. “Not for a long time…”
“And that’s okay, Tim,” I say, patting his shoulder. “Just know that you aren’t going through this alone.”
His smile is thin, at best, and I take it as the end of our conversation. As we head for Front Royal, I hum the theme to Deliverance under my breath. By the time we reach our exit, Tim joins in with all his off-key glory.
Click to Read Chapter Three
Author: fulltobursting aka unilocular
Artist:
hinky_hippo
Summary: In the midst of a case, Tim and Tony are at each others' throats...like usual. But when a routine interview takes a potentially deadly turn, they both learn the true meaning of friendship.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x10: House Rules. General violence, whump, bad language, and lots of movie references.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Chapter Two
According to the GPS, the trip to Fort Royal should take a little under an hour and a half. With Tim behind the wheel of the Charger, it’ll probably end up taking well over two.
I lean back against the headrest to stare out the window. The foothills of Virginia stretch towards the horizon, their naked trees raking against the cloudless sky. As Tim guides the car around a hairpin curve, sunlight blasts from behind the mountain and pours through the windshield. I push my Aviator sunglasses higher. The oldies radio station I just found melts into static.
Huffing, I search through the never-ending white noise for something else. Eventually, I settle on a country song with a deep baritone twanging on about his long-lost lover and Ford F150.
“Hey, McGee,” I say, “did I ever tell you that if you play a country song backwards you get your girlfriend, your truck, and your dog back?”
But he doesn’t laugh. “Just change it, Tony.”
Damn, I was pretty sure that joke would thaw his cold shoulder. With a dejected sigh, I fumble through the stations again. In the sea of static, I turn up two Gospel stations, three bluegrass and oddly enough, a punk rock one.
I shift between Gospel and country. “What’ll it be, McGee? The soundtrack to Sister Act or Deliverance? Personally, I’d take nuns over hillbillies any day. But it’s your choice.”
Tim doesn’t say anything, so I leave it on Gospel. After a youth spent in Catholic school, he should give me something - anything - from these people lifting their hearts up to the Lord.
To bide my time, I glance out the window again. High on a hill stands a lonely house, surrounded by nothing but dark woods and clear blue sky. Smoke curls from the house’s chimney before it billows into the air. The house’s owner must’ve turned their back civilization a long time and the thought sends a chill down my spine.
Tim cranks the heater up to full blast and suddenly, the air goes from sweltering to insufferable.
The sweat pricks to my brow and I crack the window, but Tim uses the controls on his side to close it. When I try to open it again, the window won’t budge. So I reach for the heater.
Tim holds up a warning hand. “Don’t touch it, DiNozzo.”
“Or what?” I swivel to face him. “You’ll ignore me some more, McGee? That’s real mature.”
Making a face, he turns off the radio and the car grows uncomfortably silent. Tim works his jaw as he stares out at the stretch of highway. His fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly I’m afraid he might rip it in two and I imagine he’s probably picturing his hands around my throat.
“Say what’s on your mind, Tim,” I say. “It’s bad to keep things bottled up.”
He lets out a hollow laugh. “You say that like you’re some sort of expert on maturity. After all the years you spent supergluing me to my keyboard, stealing my lunch, and going through my desk. Come on.”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “I haven’t done any of those in a long time.”
“You went through my stuff last week.”
I blink. “How’d you know that?”
“You left a hair in the Scotch tape I put over my drawer seam. Abby did a DNA match for me and, surprise surprise, it was you again.”
Tim rolls his eyes. “What were you doing this time?”
“My Mighty Mouse stapler went missing. So I had probable cause to search your desk. I had to rule out the usual suspects and all.” The look on his face says, and those are? “You, Bishop, Jimmy, and Ducky. How was I supposed to have known Gibbs borrowed it to
staple his report?”
“You could’ve gone through his stuff too.”
I laugh until tears rise in my eyes. “Do you think I’m suicidal, McSuspect? Gibbs would’ve signed me up for Agent Afloat again. And as much fun as that was, I’d rather not see the world from the deck of a destroyer.” I pause for a beat. “But that’s not the real reason you’re mad at me, is it?”
Tim slams his foot on the gas and the Charger snarls as it picks up speed. The first reaction from Tim in nearly a week makes me smirk. But I still don’t know what the problem is.
Over the past few months, Tim has grown progressively more withdrawn and distant. It felt like something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. One day, Tim left work himself and showed up the next day as a completely different person. I tried to coax him into talking to me with Nutter Butters and coffee and sprinkled doughnuts where I ate all of the sprinkles.
But none of it worked.
He wouldn’t talk about anything except the case at hand, his apartment, and occasionally, an update on Delilah’s adventures in Dubai. Eventually, our weekly bar trips turned into me monologuing about my thoughts on shacking up with Zoe while Tim killed our bottle of wine alone. One night, in an effort to get him to talk, I took him to Gibbs’ basement. We spent the night with our boss, downing bourbon, sanding a boat hull to death, and seeing who could get the most splinters. I got the worst hangover in human history and no useful information on why Tim was acting so weird.
After Plans A through F failed spectacularly, I moved on to Plan G-for girlfriend.
And, come to think of it, I bet that’s why he’s pissed.
“Are you upset because I called Delilah?” I ask.
He tromps on the gas pedal. Bingo.
“It wasn’t a bad thing,” I continue. “You started acting all squirrely and - “
“You called her to say you were concerned about my welfare, Tony. She was ready to come home until I talked her out of it.”
I cock my head. “Would it have been such a bad thing?”
“Yes…no…maybe. I don’t know.” Tim rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t know anymore. You don’t get it, Tony. Her job is like ours. She just can’t drop everything and come running…” He looks stricken as soon as he says the word. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to travel with…her disability?”
“I can imagine, McGee, but she really would do anything for you. Even traveling thousands of miles at the last minute because you needed her.” I glance back out the window. “She was a little surprised that you didn’t tell her about your dad either.”
“How did you…” Tim sounds so lost and heartbroken. “How did you know about that?”
“I picked up your phone one day when you were in the head because I thought it was related to the case.” Outside, the mile markers fly past at record speed for Tim. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad was in hospice?”
He stays quiet for a long time. “Because it isn’t really your business.”
My chest tightens. Outside of the car, the world goes by dizzyingly fast. Once beautiful, it now looks barren like an alien planet. “I always thought we were friends, Tim.”
“We are, Tony,” he says, quickly, placatingly. “I just didn’t feel like talking about it. It’s all I deal with outside of work and I just want to forget, for a few hours a day, that the man I just reconnected with won’t be here in a few months.”
“It’s not like he had a choice,” I say.
He draws a shaking breath. “But he did. He chose to go into hospice instead of staying with me until he passed away. I wanted more than anything to be there for him, but he couldn’t even give me that in the end. Can you blame me for not telling everyone?”
I glance back to Tim, surprised to see how much older he looks in the pale sunlight. Like a man who had his entire world ripped apart
in the span of a few weeks.
His struggles are nothing like what I have with my father-a conman hiding under the guise of an entrepreneur. I’ve tried to keep his secrets too. I’m not sure what I’d do if my dad showed up on my doorstep to tell me he’s dying. Every time he turns up, I fear that might be the reason for the visit, but he’s usually just looking for money. Perhaps I should count my blessings.
“Your dad probably didn’t want to be a burden,” I offer. “I wouldn’t say I blame him either. Just don’t let it ruin the time you two have left.”
“I know and I’ll try.” Tim’s nose wrinkles. “How’s your dad been lately?”
I make a face. “Last I heard, he was trying to figure out way to win his ex-fiancée back. But we aren’t talking about him, Tim, we’re talking about you.”
“Were,” he says, holding a hand up. “We were talking about me and now, we’re done.”
I respect him too much to press, but I still have to know one thing. “Have you gotten over me calling Delilah yet?”
“Not quite.” When I pull out my cell phone, he looks at me like I’m crazy. “What are you doing?”
“Calling Zoe so you can ask her about my deepest, darkest secrets. That would be make us even, right?” I check the dashboard clock. “She should be on her way to work.”
“Actually, you don’t have to do that.” Tim touches a spot on his chest and winces. “I still have that bruise from the first time Zoe and I met. But Tony, thanks.”
I blink. “For what?”
“Trying. It made me feel better, even though I don’t think I will be.” He sighs. “Not for a long time…”
“And that’s okay, Tim,” I say, patting his shoulder. “Just know that you aren’t going through this alone.”
His smile is thin, at best, and I take it as the end of our conversation. As we head for Front Royal, I hum the theme to Deliverance under my breath. By the time we reach our exit, Tim joins in with all his off-key glory.
Click to Read Chapter Three