Archive of Our Own

They're in Norfolk for a case. The body of one of the commanders from a ship in port is found murdered outside a bar. Gibbs has got the call at about 9 pm just as he tells them they can go home since the last case has just gotten wrapped up. Tony knows he's very much running on coffee right now and even then the only reason he is able to stay awake at the crime scene is because Ziva’s driving has jumpstarted his adrenaline.

By the time they have gathered the evidence and got the statements from the couple that found the body, it's 2 am and Tony can see even Gibbs starting to droop. It's a major sign that they have to rest when even the boss starts to feel the effects of their non-stop action catching up to him.

He looks over to where Tim is slumped against the van talking to Ziva ‒ who is slightly more awake. It's probably another thing she learnt from her Mossad training ‒ how to stay awake for nearly 48 hours while solving cases. He can see the way that Tim is shooting a pleading look over to where Gibbs stands, having decided a couple more photos just had to be shot. It's usually Tim’s job, but Tony has sent him over to Ziva when he nearly dropped the camera. Then when Tony tries to do the job, Gibbs grabs the camera out of his hands and glares. He guesses that means he looks as bad as Tim.

Gibbs is finally finished and then tells them that they are all staying in some motel tonight. He says that he doesn't want anyone to end up crashing the van, that they already have caused enough damage on it. There're mumbles between Tim and Ziva which consist of Ziva wondering about the evidence and Tim saying that Ducky knows the time of death was at least a week ago, so as long as the evidence stays in the boxes, it will still be fine. And all Tony can think is, if they're staying somewhere on NCIS’s dime, why can't it be someplace better than a shitty motel.

And it is better. Slightly. Only a 5/10 on the motel crappiness scale, but Tony has been expecting a 2, so it's an improvement. The wallpaper is peeling off in the reception area, but there's no mould, so at least his lungs will be fine. The hurt he is feeling is over such nice wallpaper being left like this, so that puts this place up into the top 5 motels he's stayed in.

However, as it turns out there are only three rooms available. At least that means only two of them will have to share ‒ unlike that time all four of them had to camp out in a single room.

After deciding that it probably isn't against NCIS protocol to leave the evidence in the van, the keys are dished out. Gibbs chucks the leftover keys up in the air after taking one for himself. Both Tim and Tony catch one, but Ziva snatches Tony's key out of his hand, declaring she is a woman and needs privacy. He is pretty sure she just doesn't want anyone to find out she’s watching the soap operas on the crappy motel tv.

“Looks like we’re sharing, Probie.”

“You know that's the key for the double room?” Tony just gives him the ‘how do you even know that’ look. “The fob is a different colour than the others.”

Tony nods. It makes sense. The fob on the key in Tim’s hand is bright pink and he's pretty sure the one he has caught was green. “Thought Gibbs would make sure he had this one.”

“You’re talking about the guy that at least once a week sleeps under his boat.”

As soon as they enter the room, Tony throws his jacket on the chair and removes his tie. He adds it and his shoes to the same chair, deciding that a shower can wait until the next day. He turns around and sees that Tim is already just in his boxers, crawling into the bed ‒ apparently exhausted enough not to be self-conscious.

Tim has picked the left side ‒ which is the side Tony usually sleeps on at home ‒ and he plans to tell him he’ll have to move. However, by the time Tony has taken off his shirt and slacks and folded neatly on his pile, Tim is already out for the count. So Tony just steps over the clothes that Tim has left littered over the room's floor and gets in on the right side. He takes the majority of the blankets ‒ just because he can ‒ and curls up to sleep.

He wakes up with Tim's arm over his chest and their legs tangled together. He should've guessed Tim is a cuddler ‒ it explains so much of his personality. He could make at least a dozen comments right now, but he is pretty sure Tim will just slap him when he wakes if he does that.

It's strange to be waking up like this. Aside from that one time he’d stayed at Abby’s because his apartment was getting fixed for the hundredth time and they’d shared her bed ‒ the actual one, not the coffin ‒ he hasn't woken up like this with a friend since then. Usually, when he wakes up in these situations, he's just had sex and could potentially be having another round soon. He really doesn't wake up next to his teammates like this.

The other week, the last time he woke up like this, the woman he’d been with had given him a soft smile and asked if he wanted to go out for breakfast. He gave an excuse and she had said, “Too bad. I was looking forward to it, Clary’s has the best breakfast date atmosphere.”

He’d hightailed it out of her apartment; in the cab on the way home, he’d passed Clary’s and saw several couples through the weekend ‒ his bedmate was right, it did look romantic. His stomach had felt more twisted up than it had when he had woken up with her head lying on his chest. At least Tim's head is still on his pillow ‒ albeit still closer than Tony is 100% okay with.

He is so out of place right now. Tim makes some small snuffing sound and his arm tightens around Tony's chest. Tony closes his eyes and pushes the thoughts that this is like one of those movies he's seen out of his mind. It mostly works.

He tries to move slightly, but Tim starts to stir, so he stops. He might not want to be in this position, but he also knows his probie really needs whatever sleep he can get right now. He thinks a moment of his own discomfort is a fair exchange for a moment of Tim being comfortable.

He watches as Tim's eyebrows start to furrow and his eyes start to blink open. Tony tries to look away, but he catches Tim’s eyes and it's too late. Tim stares at him for a couple of seconds and then a look of realisation crosses his face. He whispers “Good morning,” with a smile on his face and suddenly Tony's back in that woman's apartment last week, desperately planning his escape route. Tim's smile is nothing like hers ‒ which was flirty and charming, Tim’s is sleep-ridden and friendly, but Tony's body is acting as if they're the same.

He's not quite ready to admit it, but he takes the flight response a lot more often than he lets on. He has to run from Tim like he did last week in case Tim asks something similar of him. He knows Tim would never ask him on a date ‒ which is a good thing for so many reasons ‒ but his hands still start trembling.

He offers a stilted “Morning,” back and disentangles his legs from Tim's. He peels Tim's arm off his chest, then shoots out of the bed and heads over to the bathroom, throwing a “Promise not to use all the hot water,” over his shoulder.

Throughout the next couple of days, Tony tries his hardest not to act weird around Tim. And it works.

By the time the case is just closing up, Tony's breath has stopped catching every time Tim opens his mouth. He is beginning to convince his brain that Tim isn't going to turn around and ask what any of his exes have asked. Tim isn't going to suddenly want dates and morning pillow talks. He knows this and the rest of his mind has to start catching up.
~~o0o~~

Three days after the motel, with all the reports filed away from the case, Tony walks in after a full night of sleep to see Ziva with her shark's grin staring right at him. He ignores it while he sits at his desk and boots up his computer. It's only then he looks up and sees that somehow her grin has gotten bigger and her teeth sharper.

She strolls over to the front of his desk and leans over it, planting her hands right in the middle of it and getting her face as close to his as she can. He is actually starting to fear for his life right now. He glances over to his right to see if Tim has arrived and he has but he just gives Tony a ‘Sorry, but I'm not getting involved’ look, and Tony is going to kill him.

“I knew I was right.”

Tony can usually tell what Ziva is talking about ‒ most likely it would be something he did to her ‒ but he’s completely in the dark right now. “Well, you know what they say, a woman is never wrong.”

Ziva backs away a little, her face is still close enough that he can see the evil glint in her eyes she has alongside the shark's grin, but they’re no longer sharing the same air. “You are gay.”

Ziva doesn't say it very loud, but still, it's loud enough that Tim can hear. “Ziva, you know Tony has had girlfriends before.” He doesn't quite appreciate Tim coming to his defence, but that’s mainly because he’s trying to work out how Ziva came to this conclusion.

“Then he’s, you know,” Ziva waves her hand about as if to magically make the right words appear and Tony has to lean back in order to not get hit, “half gay.”

“Bisexual?” Tim asks and if Tony wasn’t sure that Ziva would take it the wrong way, he would turn around and glare at him.

“Yes, that.” She then turns back to Tony and resumes her ‘in your face’ position. “You are bisexual.”

“There’s such a thing as don't ask, don’t tell.”

“Tony, we’re civilian-run, it doesn't apply to us.”

Tony snorts, if Tim isn’t going to help him, he can at least make Ziva interrogate him as well. “Oh Probie, of course you know that. I bet you know all the loopholes and ins and outs of that policy.”

“It helps to know it in case we get a case that requires it.”

“A case? Yet right, McBicurious.”

“Tony, this is about you, not McGee.” And Ziva emphasises her statement by pushing further into his personal space as much as the desk between them allows. She raises her hand and puts it on his shoulder. “I believe you got your first boyfriend and didn’t tell me.”

“I don't have a boyfriend, Ziva.”

“Yes you do ‒ McGee.” He can't tell if Ziva's being serious or not. “Or have you not talked about it yet?”

McGee’s brows are furrowed and Tony is so glad it’s a mutual thing of not knowing what the fuck Ziva is going on about.

“We aren't dating.”

“Yeah; as much as I joke about it, McGeek over there isn't gay.'' Then, before Ziva can cut in and comment on him avoiding denying his own interest in men, he asks, “Why do you think this? There is no way I would ever touch McGee like that.”

“I wouldn't touch you like that.”

“Hey, you would be lucky to get some of this.”

“Egotistical ass.”

“My ass is bigger than my ego.”

“No, it's not.”

“So you've looked.”

“This is why.” Ziva is like a dog with a bone ‒ one of those plastic toy ones that yappy little dogs seem to love.

“If McGee is checking out my ass—”

“I don't check out your ass—”

“Counts as what? dating, then I'm sorry, but half of DC is dating me.”

“Ziva, you really think I would date someone like Tony?”

“Abby told me about the motel.”

The motel? What motel? Oh, that motel. Tony is going to kill Tim and his big stupid mouth one day.

Tim must've told Abby about the motel ‒ why, Tony doesn't know, but Tim and Abby tell each other most things and, apparently, Tim cuddling him is one of those things ‒ and Abby would have told Ziva. This might explain that weird look he got on the elevator now ‒ once Ziva knows, most of the squad room knows.

“You mean McOctopus invading my space?”

“Says the guy that invades my space regularly.” Tim has a point, but that doesn't mean Tony has to acknowledge it.

“Ziva, I'm telling you, never share a bed with him, you'll regret it.”

“Why, did I attack your precious sensibilities?”

“I did not know you had those, Tony.”

“Maybe I just don't want McGee sleeping next to me.”

“We didn't have sex, Tony. Don't worry, your reputation as a ladies' man is still intact.”

“Ziva clearly thinks we're dating ‒ and so does Abby, apparently. Thanks to you.”

Tim's face has been blank, but now his usual pout comes out. “Would it be so bad if we were?”

“Yes!”

The flash of hurt Tony catches on Tim’s face is gone very quickly, but it still appears. It's then it clicks how what he said sounded like.

“Tim—”

“Don't.”

Ziva slithers back to her desk and the look on her face almost seems like regret.

Later that day, when he goes down to autopsy for a file, Jimmy gives him a disappointed look and Ducky sits him down in a chair.

Ducky starts with some story dating back decades and then gets onto an actual point Tony can understand.

Turns out that people think he's homophobic ‒ homophobic enough to warrant a Ducky lecture. He's not sure why it's such a big deal. Yeah, okay, disrespecting people isn't good and all that, but this all started when he argued with Tim. He always argues with Tim ‒ they insult each other every other day. He was telling the truth earlier ‒ Tim isn't gay ‒ so why is everyone now concerned he's going to disrespect Tim? He's not ‒ well, no more than usual ‒ it's just Ziva pricked a nerve and Tim was the one that caused it all in the first place.

~~o0o~~

He and Tim have been off with each other this past week. The start of it being purely Tony and his confused brain’s fault, but the second half being Tim's. Or maybe Ziva's or really Tony's again, because he didn't mean for what he said to be that hurtful. He really didn't . But it was Ziva and he has to always prove himself to her and be the guy she expects him to be. And using ‘boyfriend’ had brought all the thoughts back that he had tried to wash away after the motel. It made him panic like the word ‘girlfriend’ does when some woman he's seeing uses it. It wasn't that Ziva thought he is in a relationship with Tim, it was that she thought he is in a relationship.

Either way, whoever is to blame, Tony knows Tim is ignoring him the best he can and that he has to do something about it. And, well, he knows the perfect thing – plus he also has another reason for asking Tim.

Gibbs goes off to get results from Abby, so Tony goes over to Tim's desk. He sits on the shelf behind him and just watches as Tim scans through the victim’s emails. Then Tim turns around and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Don't you have calls to make?”

“Finished them.”

“Don't you have anything else to do at your desk?”

“Not really.” Tim starts to turn back around. “Plus I have something I want to ask you.”

“What?” The question is directed at his computer screen rather than Tony himself.

“Come play basketball with me tomorrow.”

“Why do you want me to come?”

“So I can teach my probie.”

Tim turns back to face him, eyebrows raised, but he stays facing Tony this time, not spinning back around.

“Okay. So you can impress the ladies?”

“I do that already.”

“Really?”

“Tony.”

“Fine, all the guys that I usually play are away this week, but I still want to practise.”

“Go alone.”

“I don't want to.”

“Ask Ziva.”

“Can't I just spend some time with the McGeek?”

“She said no?”

“I didn't ask.”

“You didn't ask?”

“Correct, but I did ask you, so?”

Tony thought he had known all the different confused faces that Tim has (there's the one where a case is leading nowhere, and the one that appears after a difficult-to-work-out Zivaism, there's also that one where someone asks for his number and Tim does a certain puppy dog tilt of the head) but Tony has never seen this face before. Before he can try to work it out, Tim replies with “Sure, just text me the directions to wherever the place is.”.

~~o0o~~

Tim is late because of course, he is. He is earlier to work, to crime scenes, but anything Tony personally invites him to, he always without fail comes at least twenty minutes late.

He arrives wearing a grey MIT t-shirt, because the guy apparently needs even the random college kids that sometimes show up at the court to know he went there.

Just after Tim sits his bag down on the bench, Tony throws the ball towards him.

It hits him in the stomach. It may be an apology game, but that doesn't mean Tony is going to suddenly change his personality.

They play one-on-one for a while. Tony allows himself to be pushed to the ground more times than necessary, he lets Tim make more baskets than he should. It's obvious what he's doing ‒ he's bragged about Ohio one too many times for Tim to not know how good he really is. Tony isn't still college-athlete level by any chance, but playing against a guy that barely sees the inside of a gym, he's fucking LeBron James.

Tony still scores the most points despite allowing Tim to get away with a lot of things.

They break for water and when Tony swaps his Nutter Butter for the banana that Tim has ‒ it's the final sign of apologising.

He didn't have to do all this ‒ has done worse in the past and never said a word about it ‒ but he likes to think he's grown as a person. If allowing Tim to (nearly) win at one-on-one and giving him the actually nice-tasting snacks lets him keep one of his only stable friendships, then he'll do it again. Maybe with less pushing to the ground next time, the growing bruise on his knee might like that.

~~o0o~~

It's only 8am and Tony's day is already going downhill.

Despite it being Monday morning, he hadn’t expected that to happen so fast, it usually takes until at least midday for his Monday to fall apart.

He makes his way to the bullpen, ignoring both Tim and Ziva’s greetings and falls into his seat. After taking off his backpack and allowing it to fall from his fingers onto the ground, he leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. Placing his face into his open palms he lets out a groan. Damn, he already wants to go back home and he's barely been in the office for twenty minutes.

He can hear Ziva ask Tim, “What's wrong with him?”

“Everything.”

He lifts his head up to glare at Tim before putting it back where it was and groaning again. “That girl from Legal asked me out on a date.”

“The one you are always flirting with?” Ziva asks

Then Tim adds “Robinson?”, like there is another blonde lawyer that comes up to Tony's desk to flirt with him. Actually, Tim has a point with clarifying; that does happen a lot. Fuck. He lets out another deep groan.

“Why is it so bad she asked you out?” He justs stares up at Tim as an answer because seriously, that's a fucking stupid question. What isn't bad about Taylor Robinson stopping the elevator to wait for him just so she can trap him in there with her so she can pounce with her question ‘Are you free tonight, I have reservations at Alfonso’s’? She had attempted a casual tone, but everyone knows Alfonso’s is the place for super romantic dates. Everything that happened in that elevator was bad and Tim needs his big brain checked out if he thinks otherwise.

“You were flirting with her.”

“Yes, Ziva, I was.”

“So, you were just leading her on, yes?”

“No.” Because really he wasn’t. He had honestly thought the only thing it would lead to was sex and that the flirting was casual. He knows how to give the impression of casualness ‒ has perfected it ‒ and he swears that was what he did to her, but apparently, she fucking misread him.

DiNozzo Rule #7: You weren't led on if the person you are accusing of doing the leading on knows for a fact he wasn't doing it.

Then Tim comes over to his desk to throw his two cents in “Tony, you flirted and then said no to a date. That's being led on.”

“You would know, McGeek.”

Tim hisses back with a “You're a dick.”

“That's insubordination.”

“It was about your personality, not your work ethic, but write me up if you want to.” Tim’s hands make a ‘I don't care what you do because you're annoying me’ gesture that almost hits Tony in the face because Tim is standing way too close to his space.

Tony shoves away the invading hands and asks, “What got your panties in a twist? Did your boyfriend break up with you?” Tony sends a quick prayer up to the sky that no one remembers last week’s conversation that involved McGee having a boyfriend ‒ with Tony being the boyfriend. Coworkers make jabs about the other liking the other gender all the time ‒ or least Tony and Tim both do. That's why he said it, not because he still feels a slight itch when he thinks of that motel and really needs to distance himself from the idea of him and Tim in a potential romantic situation.

“McGee has a boyfriend?” asks Ziva and Tony doesn't know if he's more surprised she can still hear them or that she can understand their snake-like hisses.

“No. I most definitely don’t!” Tony swears there is slight disappointment in Tim's tone that's more covered up by the anger. “Tony’s just being … well, Tony.”

“Why do you care so much that I said no to Robinson?”

“You led her on.”

“No, I didn't, all I did was flirt. Not once did I imply I wanted to date her.”

“We heard your comments. There were a lot of innuendos,” Ziva says.

“Sex doesn't mean dates.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

“What?”

“You have no regard for other people's feelings.”

“I didn't say I wanted to date her. I never gave her the idea. I don't date.”

“Then stop leading people on.”

“I don't lead them on. I flirt and flirting is fun. It doesn't have to end in fucking marriage.” Tony is glad Tim isn't still in his personal space; if not, he would hit him.

“Of course – because Anthony DiNozzo is allergic to commitment and doesn't even know how marriage even works.'' Tim gets his last dig in and then turns back around, his fingers going to work fast on his keyboard.

He thinks about telling Tim about Wendy, how she left him almost at the altar and had not so gently ripped his heart out.

Telling Tim how of course he doesn't know how marriage is supposed to work because his twisted father ended up marrying someone new every other year.

How of course he doesn't want commitment, because look what happened with Jeanne. But using Jeanne is starting to sound like an excuse in his mind. That's why he said no to Robinson, why he brushes all Ziva's attempts to get him back out there away. Before, he had Wendy as an excuse ‒ can't want a relationship if the last woman abandoned you and even then when he was younger and the girl he was with started to talk about dates ‒ he used his father as an excuse ‒ not seeing the point in dating if it will just end.

There have been so many excuses, there's always been one, always had one stored in his pocket ready to take out and explain his actions. Maybe he should stop using others as an excuse and start using himself.

There has to be something wrong with him if he never wants any woman to stick around. How when someone mentions a romantic dinner with candles, his chest tightens and his palms sweat. It can't just be because of his father or Wendy or Jeanne. He's over those issues. He barely talks to his father and he thought he forgot how he was taught by him that some people care more about appearances than love. Wendy had taught him that sometimes people just don't work right together. At the time it had felt like someone telling him to not allow himself to love people in his own way, but after a while that stopped.

He does love people. He knows how to love. He loves Gibbs and how he took him in after finding out about Danny. How Gibbs allowed him to stay in his house every time his apartment used to get fucked up. And he was heartbroken when Kate died. Every time he looked at that empty desk, he imagined her teasing him and how he missed it ‒ still misses it sometimes. When she explained why she said she had the plague his heart had felt full, and he'd realised that they really did care for each other. He loves Abby and her endless optimism and Ducky and his wisdom and Ziva and her weird ways of caring. He won't ever admit it, but he also does love Tim despite all the insults and pranks they do to each other. He loves his team, no doubt about it. It's just why hasn't he been able to love the majority of his exes as much as that.

His father didn't scar him from loving people, but sometimes it feels as if he's cursed to not fall in love. Or when he does that it's designated to fail.

He loves people, so why is it so hard to fall in love?

He doesn't care about a lot of people, his team being the people he cares about the most. The only thing close to that he had with an ex was Jeanne. But that was different.

He started out wanting just sex with her ‒ which he really wasn't going to do, but still very much wanted ‒ it was between the daily calls he had to keep up with and then going on dates to ‘woo her’ that he actually started to not feel uncomfortable around her. He managed to plan dates ‒ okay, so ‘plan’ was a loose term as all his ideas came from movies ‒ but still he enjoyed it. It started to feel like when he was with Wendy. None of the awkwardness and his skin feeling too tight like when it did when he convinced himself he should give someone a chance with a date. It took him a while to notice and then Valentine's Day happened.

When Jeanne had given him a gift; he hadn't started to feel sick like he had done when he was younger and got cards from a bunch of girls. He felt happy and peaceful. His body had stopped trying to coil in on itself whenever Jeanne acted smitten and he had found himself acting in the same way. He had meant every smile and compliment and romantic gesture that he did. He enjoyed every bit of their relationship – the sex and romance. He wondered why it wasn't always this easy on dates, why it was so difficult and tense with all his exes.

He remembers the first time he tried to date after Jeanne. He remembers why he just sticks with sex and doesn't let it go further.

~~o0o~~

When lunch rolls around, it's just him and Tim in the bullpen. Gibbs had picked Ziva to go with him to follow up a new lead in the cold case they are currently reviewing. He knows Tim has some form of food on him, he swears he saw Tim put an honest-to-god lunchbox in his desk drawer earlier ‒ but still, he turns to ask, “Do you want to grab some lunch?”

“Depends, are you paying?”

“Really, McMoneybags?”

“You did ask me.”

“So?”

“You also owe me $40, so if you buy lunch, consider it paid up.”

Since Tony is not one to look a gift horse in the mouth ‒ because really, their lunch will probably cost half that if they go where Tony wants to go ‒ he says, “Deal.”

They of course argue in the car about where they're going and then when he says that ‘I'm paying, I pick’ and then Tim replies ‘It's money you owe me, so actually I'm paying’, which starts the who's really paying argument.

The blip involving Taylor earlier almost seems like it didn't happen as the familiar argument washes over him, as Tim gestures so much his only worry is if his eye will be taken out. It almost seems like it didn't happen.

When their waitress flirts with him, Tim's upper lip tightens. When she gives him her number when she comes back with refills, Tim's hand clenches around his fork. When Tony slides the number written on a napkin into the pile of already used ones, Tim sighs.

“You just did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Lead her on.”

“I flirted and be glad of it; if not, that drink would have been full price.” Tim had argued that it was his money paying.

“But you're not gonna call her?”

“No.”

“But she's hot.”

“So was Tyler.”

“Taylor. And yes, she was, you should've said yes to her.”

“Well, I have no regard for other people. I would be a pretty bad date, don't you think?”

“I didn't mean that.”

His chuckle is leaning a bit too much towards self-deprecating. “Yeah, you did.”

“No. I was just annoyed at you.”

“You're always annoyed at me, most people are.” He shouldn't have asked Tim to lunch, leaving the guy alone with his stupid lunchbox would be much better company than what Tony provides.

“Yeah I am, but it's because you chuck paper balls at me and superglue my keyboard, not because—”

“Because?”

“You're Tony.”

“I think everyone I've met will disagree with you there.”

“I shouldn't have said what I did ‒ the not caring or the marriage thing ‒ and I'm sorry, Tony. It's just, you do that all the time. You chat up some woman ‒ hell, you even allowed that lawyer to think she had a chance with you ‒ you can't do that.”

Tony drops his fork on his plate. “And who are you to tell me what I can and can't do?”

“It hurts people.”

“These people are adults. They know not everyone is going to like them back.”

“But you make them think that they do have a chance.”

“Why are you so invested in this?”

“Because ‒ because I care about people.”

“And I don't?”

“Yes!” Tony pushes back his chair. “No. I didn't mean—” He throws a twenty down on the table and starts walking to the door. “Tony.”

He ignores Tim and walks away from the restaurant. The Navy Yard isn't that far away, the only reason they drove in the first place is because the quickest way on foot is through a park.

He's not going to sit and listen to Tim tell him he's heartless ‒ he's heard it enough times already.

He does care, it's just in a different way.

He never means to lead people on. The second someone mentions a date, he automatically corrects them. He tries his hardest to not be too flirty, too 1940s romantic. Perfecting the whole player, only likes sex, flirting style had taken a while, but he's managed it. He likes it. He doesn't like when some people still don't catch on to it and ask him on a date.

When he gets back to NCIS, his first stop is the bathroom to wipe the wet mud off his Oxfords.

His second stop is the lab so he doesn't have to go back to the bullpen.

It's after that he goes back to his desk and pointedly doesn't look at Tim for the rest of the day.

~~o0o~~

The next couple of days are rough. Not only is Gibbs giving him the ‘take your head out your ass’ look and Ziva's concern has gotten dialled up to an 8, but they also catch a case involving a missing child. They find her, of course, but it's a close call and Tim trying to apologise every other second didn't help.

Leaving work Wednesday night, Tony decides the drink he very much wants, he very much deserves.

The first thing he had done after moving to DC was check out the bar scene, newly unengaged and dealing with being untrusting of those in his life, he had really needed beer and sex.

Over the years, he's managed to weed out the good and bad ones and settled on his top three.

MacAllans: a rather shabby bar downtown that has the cheapest beer and where he goes when he wants to drink and be left alone, but still wants to be near people. The conversations from those dining being able to surround him without him having to use energy to be involved in them.

Bright Spots: a nightclub near DuPont Circle where he can get anyone he wants and forget everything running through his mind.

There's also his usual, a bar about a block from his Georgetown apartment that always has a good selection of both beer and women: Brewdog.

That's where he's going to go tonight. He loses his tie and chucks it on the passenger seat before he leaves his car and walks down the street.

He grabs one of the only empty barstools left and flags down the bartender.

It's about an hour into him silently cursing all the dirtbags out there and perusing the very fine selection of women in the bar that someone comes and sits next to him.

Her red lipstick is slightly smudged and her blonde hair looks like she got a perm from the 80s, but still Tony puts a smile on his face.

Sex won't stop him from thinking about how sometimes it's harder to save people, but it will at least take his mind off it for a while.

The woman turns out to be called Maggie and really, she's great. She leans into him and flutters her eyes and Toy knows he's going to get laid.

Then he says something in response to her. Something about first dates and her reply was “That's weird.”

He just shrugs and changes the conversation. He turns up his charm and throws out an invite to his place.

“I'm more a third date kind of girl, sorry.” And yeah, maybe he's disappointed, but it's not like that hasn't happened before.

“It's okay.”

“I'm free tomorrow night, if you want to get the first one out of the way.”

Tony's nose wrinkles. She's hot and she seems interesting, but he's not feeling it. “I'm actually busy tomorrow.”

“Saturday?” And damn, she's like Ziva and not letting go of the bone.

“Sorry, I'm really busy.”

“If you're not interested, why did you just invite me to your place?” And okay, he should've seen that coming.

“Um, well—”

“Did you think you could use me just for sex?”

‘Of course not’ ‒ is what he should say. “Yeah,” is what he does say. “Kind of. I don't date.”

“Just use women for sex?” She's shooting daggers at him now.

“I don't use them. I just don't date them. Can't date them.”

“That's not normal.”

“Yes, it is. Some people just like sex.” Saying that is easier than explaining everything ‒ how most of the time he feels sick on dates, but after a while, with certain people, he doesn't.

“I think you might be defective, Tony. Most guys at least pretend they want to go on a date with me before they fuck me.”

“It's normal.” He signals to the bartender for another. “Really, it is. I find you attractive, but I don't want to date you, simple.”

“Not simple.” Maggie grabs the drink the bartender places on the bar and throws it at Tony. “It's fucking illogical, is what it is. You have to date people at some fucking point.”

She walks off and Tony's ears start ringing.

He pays his tab and beer drops from his hair as he walks home.

~~o0o~~

Good shirt: On. Condoms: In pocket. Cocky grin: Just right.

The place that's being blessed by his company tonight is Bright Spots. He wants someone that doesn't go past his expectations. Someone that is there for the same reason as him.

He's not going to let last night confuse his brain anymore. He is normal. There are other people like him ‒ other people that just want sex and tonight will prove that to him.

He drags the first guy that looks him up and down under the strobe lights. They dance and grind and when the guy nods towards the bathroom, Tony smirks and says “My apartment.”

He makes sure to give their cab driver a tip so no reports of near public indecency are written.

~~o0o~~

In the morning he shakes his bedmate up and tells him he is going to have a shower in the very pointed way that actually means ‘be gone by the time I get out because you weren't meant to stay the night anyway’. By the time he reaches to turn on the shower, he hears the faint click of his front door closing.

~~o0o~~

By the time he shuffles into the elevator at work, he almost feels like himself again. After the past couple of days, he had thought that was impossible.

Someone stops the elevator before it can fully close. Ziva takes one look at him and tries her most caring smile.

“Rough night?”

He smirks. “No more than usual.”

Ziva steps into his space and strokes a finger under one of his eyes. He shakes his head before she can say anything. It's when she takes a step back that she catches the mark on his neck.

“That type of rough night, I see.” She pokes deep into the hickey before going back to her side of the elevator.

This thing he has ‒ had ‒ with Ziva would never have worked. He knows that now.

When he first met her he was grieving Kate and wasn't all that up for anything. There was flirting and innuendos and more tension between them than he had with any of his exes.

But then Ziva came in one day and instead of talking about some one-night stand, she mentioned someone and became, for lack of a better word, shy. After using some of his best interrogation techniques ‒ i.e. annoying the suspect until they plan to kill him ‒ she told him about her boyfriend. It was Tim that caught the enamoured look in her eyes, but Tony that had teased her about it.

“I know you don't like talking about it, but—”

“My night was fine, Ziva.”

“I don't mind that.”

“What do you mean then?”

“You don't like talking about Jeanne.”

“Of course I don't. Why are you bringing her up?”

“Did you celebrate your six-month anniversary? Roy wants to, but I don't see the point.”

“Our six-month anniversary was in February so we didn't celebrate it, but I was going to take her on holiday.”

“You didn't.”

“A case and an ex-boyfriend came up. It's a good idea, though. Most people don't celebrate, but we need happiness in our lives, so go for it.”

Ziva considers it and as they walk out of the elevator to their desks, she asks, “What restaurants are nice then?”

He gives her in-depth details about every romantic restaurant DC has to offer ‒ just because he doesn't like dates doesn't mean he hasn't been on them.

~~o0o~~

A week or so later they catch a case. Dead reservist that has connections to an active Petty Officer. It's pretty simple in terms of their recent cases.

Tim and he are back to normal and Gibbs must've finally realised that as he sends them both to talk to the victim’s employer.

It's some café near Norfolk and if Tony was ever in the area while not on a case, he would probably have gone in.

Tim is flirting with a barista and Tony is trying not to appear confused. He's finished asking the regulars about their victim and had thought the Probie’s conversation would be entertaining to listen to. He was wrong.

Tim asks her on a date, even gives her his card.

“Did you seriously just ask her out?”

“She's not part of the case and you do it all the time.”

“I flirt all the time.”

“Oh, so that red hair from the Jacobs case was just flirting. Despite you coming in late in yesterday's clothes.”

“I didn't say we didn't sleep together.”

“You're a hypocrite.”

“How?”

“Cause I asked her out and you're all accusing, but when you sleep with someone it's not a problem.”

“It's different.”

“Why? Because you're the senior field agent and I'm a ‘probie’? Well, newsflash, Tony, I haven't been a probie for four years.”

“It's not because-”

“Then what is it?”

“You asked her on a date.”

“So fucking what?”

“You barely know her.”

Tim tilts his head “Do you know the names of all the women you sleep with?”

“That's different, I don't ask those women or dates.” If anything he avoids it.

“What's the difference?”

“You don't know her.”

“For god's sake, Tony, I don't know why we're arguing about this. I asked her, so what?!”

“It's a date.”

“Yeah. You know what, no, I'm not going in circles with you, I'll meet you in back in the car.”

~~o0o~~

Since Tim stormed out of the café, Tony didn’t have the opportunity to argue for the keys and ended up in the passenger seat. Due to the café being Norfolk and the traffic going into DC being its usual mess, it will take a while to get back to the Yard.

Tim had turned on the radio about two minutes into the ride and now Tony reaches out and lowers the volume. Tim is trapped in a car with him for the foreseeable future and the only person that has been able to ignore him in a car was Kate.

“I just don't understand why.”

“Why what?”

“Why did you ask her out?”

“Because she seemed interesting.”

“So?”

“So I asked her out.”

“Straight away.”

Tim raises his eyebrow, but keeps looking at the road.

“You don't know her.”

Tim sighs. “We had this conversation in the café, Tony, I don't really want to have it again.”

“No, it's just ... you don't know her. You got her name and immediately asked if she wanted to go to some art gallery.”

“Actually, it was a poetry slam.”

“That's worse.”

“Your point, Tony?”

“You wanted to ask her out. You even told her you guys could take a walk in the park after.”

“How much were you eavesdropping?”

“I finished my interviews and had to wait for you, McRomance. Answer my question.”

“You didn't ask a question.”

“Response to my statement then.”

“Yes I did that and yes, I wanted to. What's with the third degree, I've done it before many times, contrary to what you may believe. I've done it front of you before.”

“Yeah, but it's different.”

“You keep saying that; what's up?”

“Nothing.”

“Tony.”

“This was the first time I've heard you ask someone out since Abby.”

“No, it's not.”

“No, it is because every time since then your word choice has been vague and I assumed you were only sleeping with them or went on dates for sex only.”

“I did sleep with them as well. Why would I ask someone out just for sex? I like dating people.”

“Asides from Jeanne and Wendy, I haven't asked anyone on a date for something other than sex.”

“Wendy?”

“No one.” That's not something he's getting into right now ‒ if possible ever.

“So you just let girls ask you out, then?”

“Yeah, but nearly all the time I say no.”

Tim tilts his head.

“I don't really like dates, especially with someone I just met.”

“So that's why you asked me about Emma,”

“Barista?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, it's strange.”

“Strange?”

“You asked her to do one of the most romantic ‒ if preppy ‒ dates just after getting her name. At that point, I usually decide if I'm going to sleep with them or maybe ‒ rarely ‒ be friends. It's strange to me.”

“You really don't ask any of those women on dates?”

“Not really.”

“Not even Jeanne?”

“I don't think Jeanne is a good example and the last time I remember asking some girl out and actually wanting to was Wendy. And then the first time I actually asked her on a proper date was six months into sleeping with her.”

“I still don't know who Wendy is.”

“You aren't getting to find and don't ask Ziva; I don't want her to know. It was before either of you two came to NCIS,”

“Abby know? Did Kate?”

“Unless Gibbs told Abby, no, and no, I don't think Kate knew, I never talked about it.”

“I can see why.”

“What?”

“You slept with her and it took half a year for you to ask her out. Women don't like that, Tony.”

“We went on dates before that, but it took that long for me to ask her.”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“It took me that long to want to do it. I didn't want to have candlelight dinners or dance with each other in the kitchen. But then I did and so instead of forcing myself not to run when she was saying all the romantic clichés, I started to join in and mean them. I didn't feel like my skin was tightening."
His body had stopped curling in on itself because he could stop pretending he shared the same sentiments. He finally did and he could stop acting so hard for Wendy not to notice his discomfort.
Some dates he was more calm, like at the batting cages or when they rented Pulp Fiction. Others, like that night at the Italian restaurant when she attempted to play 'Lady and the Tramp' with him had caused his heart to beat faster and his leg to start shaking.
They went back to Rossi’s for their first-year anniversary and he didn't want to run this time when she used her fork to roll a meatball to his side of the giant spaghetti plate. He had hooked their ankles together and when they were waiting for dessert to arrive, he had softly kissed her over the table.
He wanted to be there that time, he wasn't forced into acting a certain way or having to say the right things. He had liked the conversation the first time, but the whole candle-lit dinner had thrown him off balance. The second time it had settled him, he had managed to keep a girlfriend for a whole year and hadn't messed it up like he usually did.
It seemed that every time he got even a quarter as far as that with other people, he would suddenly say the wrong thing. Let them in on how his brain was working. It took until his third girlfriend (late freshman year) for someone to tell him he wasn't normal. He hadn't realised until Stacy that not having butterflies in his stomach when talking to your girlfriend wasn’t normal. It was normal to him.
Stacy had mentioned their breakup to one of her friends and it led to him being judged by a group of cheerleaders. They all stared at him and one of them had made an ‘I told you so’ comment to Stacy because apparently, Tony DiNozzo was a player without a heart.
His teammate, Quinn, had found out and tried to comfort him. Then Tony fucked that up, too ‒ apparently asking someone how do you tell if a crush is a crush is not something you should do. Good thing, he learned not to do it again.
It took until Wendy to understand a feeling he should have always been feeling. Seeing her that morning ‒ six months into their relationship ‒ across the table planning out her classwork schedule, he finally felt the butterflies.
He had used his desk computer at work that day to scroll through Yahoo’s science section (because he hadn't started to trust Google yet) to see if he was correct about his theory. He was ‒ no mysterious illness to be had.
He had a normal relationship. He was feeling normal things. He was normal. (It didn't last long).

“You were uncomfortable with your girlfriend?” And Tim's face tells him it wasn't normal feelings he had had 7 years ago.

“Kind of. I liked sleeping with her and she was funny and hot and smart, but for the first while, whenever she mentioned going out together as a couple, I didn't really want to.”

“That doesn't make sense, Tony.”

“What you did in the café doesn't make sense to me.”

“I don't understand.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I don't feel my skin tightening when I ask girls on dates and when we hold hands.”

“Maybe it's just different for me. Like with the way I grew up; maybe that's how I react to relationships. My dad and multiple stepmoms weren't the greatest love story.”

“Maybe. I still don't understand.”

“I don't either, Probie.”

There's silence in the car for all of two seconds until Tony breaks it. “I'll superglue your
keyboard if you tell anyone about this conversation.”

“You could have simply asked me not to and not threatened me, but don't worry, I'm not going to say anything.”

“I wasn't going to worry.”

“Sure, Tony.”

“I wasn't.”
~~o0o~~

He signs off with the evidence and allows Tim to go back upstairs.

As soon as he enters the lab with the contents of their victim’s work locker, Abby drags him and pushes him into a chair.

“Timmy said something is up.”

“What did he say exactly?” His threat was real, he will superglue that keyboard.

“Just that you didn't seem yourself, which means something is wrong. Are you okay? Don't answer, well, do answer if you want, but you don't usually. So here's Bert, you can hug him until you start to feel better.”

“I’m fine, Abs.”

“If Timmy is worried about you, you're not fine.”

“McGee, he said..”

Instead of finishing the sentence he just looks at Abby.
The first time he met Abby was also the first day he was at NCIS ‒ well, first official day, he had had to go to FLETC and have an official job interview first. Abby had heard Gibbs finally filled the absent spot Stan Burley had created on the team and wanted to meet the 'lucky' person that got it. Tony hadn't thought he was lucky at the time ‒ yes, he had gotten a new job away from a corrupt partner, but he had to leave Baltimore, a place that had just started to feel like home, and his fiancée had also left him the day before their wedding because apparently moving an hour away was too hard for her (more she thought he was lying about the reason for leaving and finally had an excuse to get rid of her). He wanted to be at NCIS being interrogated by an overexcited Goth, but at the same time he was wondering whether Wendy had sold her dress yet or not.

Abby had looked hot with her messy pigtails and smudged eyeliner and so unlike Wendy, he had turned up his charm. And it worked. At the end of his first day, Abby had come up to the squad room and invited him out for drinks to celebrate surviving his first day with Gibbs.

However, after spending ten minutes making out with her in the alley next to the bar, Tony had pushed her away.

He ignored her for the next week until Gibbs helped pull his head out of his ass.

There was a pointless explanation of rule 12 and Tony having to tell his boss ‒ his fucking boss ‒ that Abby is excellent and smart and so his type, but he's not going to be involved with her. It was a talk he would've expected to have with his father, not his boss ‒ but well, there were a lot of things he expected to do with his father and never did.

He brought Abby a caf-pow from the new machine in the break room and they exchanged a nod with each other ‒ no feelings hurt, we just aren't right for each other.

It's strange how much his relationship has changed with both Abby and Gibbs over the years. He still hasn't told either of them the truth of why he didn't do whatever should've happened that night, but at this point he's gonna be taking that to his grave.

Kissing Abby wasn't horrible, having sex with Abby would've been great (or at least he assumes it would be, from all the comments he's heard about her sex life). And don't get him wrong, he really fucking wanted to, but at some point between her sliding her hands up his shirt and him taking his mouth off her neck, his stomach just got this mega off feeling. Almost like he had had a sudden realisation that his oven was on or he left his cat, but he doesn't own a pet and at that point his oven was still needing to be installed.

It was later, sitting on his couch with his head in his hands, that it clicked. His brain had for some fucking reason signalled to his body that having sex with Abby would likely lead to them having an awkward budding romance. Tony knew enough about Abby to know she threw herself in fully, heart first and straight away, and well, he never did that. In hindsight, he shouldn't have gotten weird about it because Abby is not really the one for relationships and he didn't have to stay up all night trying to (and failing to) find an excuse to tell Abby. It wasn't a big deal ‒ well, until he started to avoid her ‒ but he treated it as one.

Tony thinks Abby is awesome and smart and great and knows despite still being attracted to her that their friendship is solid and stable and he would never do anything to ruin it.

He respects her and he loves her and trusts her, but he is never going to try and explain his brain to her. He'll, he's not going to try and explain his brain to himself.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You said Timmy told you something in the car?"

More like confuse him.

“It's fine, Abs.”

“No it's not, but Aunt Abby is going to let it slide this one time.”

He tries to hand back Bert, but just gets a shake of the head.

~~o0o~~

A week later he overhears:

"Did you get him to say anything?"

"Timmy, what's wrong with him? If he’s saying he isn't like us, that doesn't make sense. He's not making sense."

"I know. Do you think I should tell Ziva?"

"Does she know he's like this? If she knows, why she didn't come to us?"

"I don't think she does."

He goes back to the elevator ‒ he'll just text Tim to get the results instead.

It wasn't that odd to ask Tim that ‒ yeah okay, so he made that mistake in college, but that was about two decades ago; maybe times had changed and he hadn't realised it. Both Abby and Tim are concerned and that shouldn't be happening. Tony is the guy that's always fine, normal, the guy that gives you exactly what you expect of him and he might've made a mistake in the car.

It seems as if he keeps making mistakes ‒ first the bar, then the car. He needs to get drunk ‒ forget how messed he can be. He's not in the mood for sex, so Bright Spots is out and so is MacAllans ‒ he's not wanting cheap, watered-down beer. Brewdog it is: women, good drinks, perfect.

Maggie. Not perfect then. He almost forgot about her, how there was a reason for him losing his mind and giving in to his confused mind. Maggie: the reason why Abby and Tim are so concerned right now.

He knows he shouldn't let what she said get to him, doesn't quite understand why it gets to him so much. Stacy and her friends had said much worse things about him.

It's just, it does get to him and he leans his head back against the cool metal of the elevator. He likes Brewdog ‒ there's a reason it's in his top three ‒ but now he can't go. His palms are sweaty just thinking about it.

It's not normal.

That's weird.

I think you might be defective.

His hands are freezing yet covered in sweat. He wipes them on his slacks and then sticks them in his pocket. Tony takes a breath in and then lets it go.

He's not going to let Maggie ruin Brewdog for him. If he wants a drink, he's going to go get one.

But he's not going alone.

~~o0o~~

He leans over Tim's desk, planting his hands right on top of the file Tim is reading. He had waited until the bullpen was empty to strike.

“We should go out for drinks tonight.”

“Invite Ziva, she still freaks every time we're at a bar and you're not there.”

“What if I want it to just be us? No team, no Ziva, no freakout.”

“No next morning car explosion?” Tim smiles, but there's still a seriousness in his eyes. “Why?”

“Why? How about 'cause you're my probie, my wonderful, amazing genius teammate, my incredible, funny, hot, intelligent partner?” Tony knows his words are working when Tim's face grows red.

“What the hell do you want? I don't think my ex-girlfriend used that many compliments.”

“Then you need better taste, McSexy.”

“McSexy? Did you take painkillers again?”

“No, I just want my delightful—”

“Stop with the compliments. Why do you want me to go with you, alone, to a bar?”

“Be my wingman?”

“You just said I need better taste and you have been saying I'm virgin and/or gay for the past five years.”

“Sorry for that—”

“Did you just apologise?”

“A guy can do that every once in a while.”

Tim reaches a hand up to touch Tony's forehead “No fever—”

“Stop, Tim.” He takes his hand back.

“Why do you want me to go with you?”

“I just do.”

Tim stares at him. “Yeah okay, that's true. Okay, I'll go.”

“Thanks.” Tony starts to walk back to his desk, but Tim grabs his wrist

“But I need more.”

“One of my exes is a regular there” Kind of true. “And she hates me.” That's true but he really likes Brewdog and he's not going to let an unfortunate accident to not allow him to go there ‒ he's not scared to per se, just if he never sees her again he'll be fine.

“Most of your exes do.”

“Yeah, but I really fucked this one up.”

“Go to a different bar then.”

“No. They have good drinks, great prices and the music is the perfect volume. Plus, you know we haven't had to arrest/kill anyone there, so bonus.”

“How bad is it with the girl?”

Tony looks around the busy squad room. “Can I explain later?”

“So never.”

Tony takes his other hand up and grabs Tim's one. “I promise I'll tell you. I think I need to. Maybe there is some truth to what she said and,” Tony whispers the last part, “I think I need you to tell me I'm normal.” He didn't mean to say that, but now it's out there he realizes it's true.

“Normal? Of course you are, Tony. Are you okay?”

“You don't know how fucked up I am.”

Tim looks around and then stands up from his chair. He tugs at their joined hands and removes his hand from Tony's arm and places in on his shoulder. “Tony, you may be the most annoying person I know, and there were days I hated to work with you, but those days are gone. I know you'll call me gay or a girl for saying this, but I do care about you and I can assure you that you are not fucked up, okay.” He leans in and says in Tony's ear, “You aren't fucked up and since you need me to say this, you are normal.” He leans back. “There's not really a ‘normal’ anyway, but you would fit into it if there was.”

“You don't know. Tim, you don't know.” He's shaking. He mumbles “You don't know.” on repeat. His voice is so wet but he can't stop speaking “I'm so fucked up. Why can't I be fucking normal . I'm not normal.”

“Tony, you are,” Tim whispers into his hair and he holds him. “Okay, come on.” Tim tugs him to follow and Tony watches as he glares at anyone that even glances in their direction. They get in the elevator and Tim stops it.

“Oh, is Timothy finally breaking the rules?” He tries to tease, but it’s too shuddery.

Tim pulls him into a hug ‒ something they've never done before ‒ and wraps his arms around Tony so tight, he's surprised he isn't complaining at lack of breath. “Tony, I don't know what happened, but you're okay now.” Tim strokes his hair.

After a minute, Tony removes himself from Tim's arms.

“Sorry about the wet patch, probie.” He adds a toothy grin. “Bet that's not the first time you've heard that.”

“Tony.”

“I'll tell you later, okay. If I talk, I'll do this thing again and we're at work. Fuck, we're at work, god, I just freaked about a tiny little thing and started to, you know, in the fucking Navy Yard. Fuck.” Tony hits the switch “How red are my eyes?”

Tim lifts his hand up and grazes underneath one of them and then quickly takes his hand down. “Not bad, go to the bathroom and splash some water on them, it will make it less noticeable.”

The doors open, Tim heads back to his desk and Tony turns toward the bathroom, but before he leaves, Tony grabs Tim's wrist this time. “Thanks for ‒ you know, the elevator was thoughtful, thanks.”

“It's fine, Tony. Really, I do care about you, you know?”

“You're such a girl.” But there's a smile on his face as he says it.

~~o0o~~

Despite him asking Tim to go for drinks being the excuse he needed to go back and face the mess he made at Brewdog, he decides against it. He can't be certain he won't freak out again if he sees Maggie and one freak-out is enough for one day.

Tony takes him to MacAllans. They have live music ‒ it's not jazz, but Tim seems like the guy that doesn't mind local bands while eating.

Tim wrinkles his nose when they enter and his upper lip rises as Tony sits down at a table that has wet marks from some of the leftover glasses.

"This entire menu is unhealthy."

“Ignore that.”

“Ignore it?”

“You walk up six flights a day ‒ more than that. You can have a delicious burger right now.”

Tony’s surprised when it takes until they've finished their food for Tim to ask.

“Does this all relate to that conversation in the car a week ago?”

“How is it going with Emily?”

“Emma and I broke it off after a couple of dates.”

“Oh?”

“Just weren't suited for each other. So is it about that?”

“Emma?”

“No, the conversation we had after that.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Kind of.”

“Tony.”

“The reason we had that conversation was because something happened.”

“What happened?”

“I was going to take you to Brewdog.”

“Okay?”

“I met a woman there and I messed up. I used the wrong words, said stuff I shouldn't have said. It wasn't normal stuff I said.”

“You keep saying that ‒ normal ‒ why?”

“It's what we all strive to be and I still fuck that up.”

“You don't.”

“You dragged me into an elevator earlier because I freaked out.”

“When Jim died, I broke down in Abby's lab. I barely knew the guy ‒ we only went to FLETC together.”

“That's not like this. We were all shaken up by that explosion. This is me fucking up normal people feelings.”

“Tony, I don't know what to say. I don't understand.”

It's like that day in the car. They both don't understand the other and Tony doesn't think they ever will.

“Thanks for earlier and also this.”

Tim looks like he wants to push, but Tony's face must give something away because all he does is smile. They're okay for now ‒ and maybe Tim will forget his freak-out from earlier.

~~o0o~~

Tony hears a “Sasha, I love you!” ring out just as the elevator doors ding open. It's no mistake that it's Abby, her lab is the only room close to the door and also the excitement is at a level only Abby has.

He turns to Tim as they enter the lab and whispers in his ear. “Didn't know Abby had a girlfriend.”

He gets a puppy dog tilt of the head and one of the many confused expressions Tim has. “She doesn't.”

He can see Abby through the glass door sitting at her desk, a dark-haired woman perched next to the computer on the desk. Abby has great taste, she's hot. From what he can see, her hair is probably mid-back length and the lab coat she's wearing is cinched at the waist with a belt. Damn, he's pretty sure she resembles one of those fantasies he had about his chemistry teacher in high school. Despite the appearances he gives, intelligence is exactly his type. Good looks definitely don't hurt, though.

“Stop leering, Abby will kill you if she catches you.”

“I don't leer at taken women.”

The door to Abby's office area wooshes open and as they walk in, Tim replies, “I really doubt she's taken.”

“Who's Tony after now?”

“No one, Abs, we’re here for the results.'' Tim raises an eyebrow at Tony and he just stares back.

“Yeah, okay, just a minute, Sasha ‒ Dr Sasha Groundwater ‒ here just gave me an idea about the case.”

“Was that what the yell was about?” Tim asks her.

Tony's surprised by the British voice he hears, but he's pretty sure he keeps it off his face ‒ Tim not so much. “Yeah, Abigail here,” he mouths ‘Abigail?’ to Tim and gets a shrug in response, “really loves giving out, well, love, I suppose.”

“See, Tony, I said she wasn't Abs’ girlfriend.”

Sasha catches his eye as she says, “Oh, I’m most definitely not Abigail’s girlfriend.”

~~o0o~~

Tim stands up and announces he's going down to the lab to see if Abby has results yet, but before Gibbs can give an answering grunt, Tony stands and stops him.

"I'll go, McGeek, it's not like you need the workout."

Tim stares back at him in a way that either means ‘Is that a backward compliment?' or ‘What the fuck?', and really, Tony doesn't know the answer to either, just that if he sits at his desk any longer he might explode for the strength of Ziva's glare. He's not even exactly sure why Ziva is glaring at him.

He's planning to just hang with Abby for as long as possible before he absolutely has to get back to work and just calm the fuck down.

There's no Abby, only a Dr. Groundwater.

They make the standard small talk ‒ turns out she's in America to get experience in federal agencies or maybe it was that federal agencies need her experience, Tony had tried to focus but she's really hot.

She asks why he became an agent and he gives his clever quip of ‘My talent with talking and firing guns doesn't come in handy anywhere else.’

Other talents he has involving his hands and mouth come up and he makes sure to slip his card into her lab coat pocket before making his way back upstairs. He learned from past experiences that for Gibbs, pretty women aren't an excuse to miss work.

~~o0o~~

It's much later after he's been home a couple of hours and changed out his slacks and shirt for a worn sweatshirt and old gym shorts that he hears his phone beep.

Sasha Groundwater: So you said you were talented with your mouth

Tony DiNozzo: Let me show you how much

Sasha Groundwater: Need your address to be able to do that

And with a smirk tugging at his lips Tony sends off his address. He should probably put on a jumper that doesn't have a dozen different pizza sauce stains on it.

~~o0o~~

"This doesn't mean we're in a relationship now."

"That's usually my line."

"You a player?"

"Something like that. You?"

"I just don't wanna date someone since I'm not going to be in The States for long."

"Makes sense."

"You?"

"Me?"

"You're hot and funny, why don't you have a girlfriend?"

"I'm too busy."

"Can't use that excuse forever."

"It works for now."

~~o0o~~

At times Tony thinks he was rather unfair to McGee, that some of the teasing and jokes and pranks over the years were unwarranted. Then Tony gives in to the protests and allows Tim to pick the movie for their occasional movie night and all feelings that resemble guilt leave his body ‒ what thirty-year-old man picks Titanic out of all the man movies Tony has on his shelf?

“I’ve never understood why Rose gives up her engagement for a man she just met.”

Tim just rolls his eyes. “They love each other.”

“They looked at each other from across the deck.”

“Jack thought she was pretty.”

“I thought Sasha was pretty, but I didn’t automatically start planning to run away with her.”

“She's not engaged. Wait, is she is?”

“No. But that's not the point.”

Tim sighs. “What is the point?”

“He can't fall in love by just looking at her.”

“Why not? I've done it.”

“You have?”

Tim doesn't quite meet his eyes when he says, “Yeah, I have.”

“How?”

“How?” Tim draws out the one-word question and tilts his head.

“Yeah, how did you fall in love just by looking at her?”

“I just did. I liked Abby after one phone call. Falling in love fast has always been what I do. Why are you asking me this?”

Tony just shrugs and goes back to watching Rose talking to her fiancé. There's not enough time to explain to Tim how this movie has always made him feel weird.

~~o0o~~

His apartment door slams open and his hands are too busy unhooking Sasha's bra to lock the door back up.

Sasha manages to take her hand out of his hair long enough to reach down and push the door close and snap the lock close but soon enough the hands are back.

There's a white blouse and black turtleneck on his hallway floor and he trips over Sasha's boots as soon as she takes them off.

"You're incredible."

"So you've said."

"We wouldn't have been able to solve the case without you."

“Yeah, you would have.” She smirks as she pushes him down on his bed. “It just would have taken longer.”

~~o0o~~

“So, that was great.”

“Oh, you like pillow talk?”

“You don't?”

“Not really. It is usually too sappy for me.”

“So you don’t even talk after you have sex with someone?”

“Me and Scott would talk sports. One time even work because he needed advice on how to handle a case.”

“He works at NCIS?”

“Oh fuck no, he’s a lawyer, some FBI agent got arrested for some low-level crime and he didn’t know how to deal with the other agents involved. He needed me to tell him how to handle them.”

“And did you?”

“Yep. One of the guys on the case was a sorta friend of mine. So I just told Scott to treat Langer like me, except I also recommend he didn't try to sleep with Langer.”

“Why not?”

“From my knowledge, Langer is straight, I don't really know though 'cause I swear he was flirting with one of the lab techs the other day.”

“Didn't you say he was FBI?”

“I forget you aren't actually on the team and don’t know everything I know. Langer was first NCIS ‒ with Gibbs ‒ became FBI and then transferred a couple months ago. I think the Scott thing happened like 3 or 4 years ago. I stopped sleeping with him just before I started dating Jeanne, so yeah, I think that timeframe is right.”

“You know, this counts as pillowtalk.”

“No, it doesn't, Sasha.”

“Yeah it does. Pilliowtalk is an intimate conversation after sex. We just had sex and you just talked about your personal life, which is intimate for you.”

“I talk about my personal life.”

“But not really anything that happened in the past. It's all today Tim did this, Abby found this, Ziva treated me like this. It's not bad, Tony. I just have a psych degree. I notice these things.”

“I have got to stop sleeping with doctors.”

“At least you aren’t dating me.”

“Yeah, there is that and even if I was, I doubt I would've blown up because of it.”

“What!?”

“I have got to start remembering you don't know these things. I don’t think I’m meant to talk about it with someone that wasn't involved, but a quick summary? Dated someone. Her father was dangerous. My car exploded. I wasn't in it. We broke up.”

“Was the explosion the reason for the break-up?”

“You could say that. Really, I can't—”

“I know.”

“Thanks.”

~~o0o~~

It's about a month into him and Sasha sleeping together that she phones him at work. He is in the break room, which is at least away from Ziva’s ears.

“Hey, Abigail invited us out for dinner tonight. Tim will also be there.”
Tony thinks it's very logical that his next thought is that it must be a double date. “I thought we weren’t dating.”

Sasha sounds confused when she says, “We aren’t.”

“I’m busy, sorry.”

“I didn’t say when.”

“We have a case.”

“Then how come it was Abby that invited me?”

“We aren’t dating, Sash.”

“I know.”

“This seems like a double date.”

“It isn’t. Tony, are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“It’s not a date?”

“No.”

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow night, 7.”

“I’ll come.”

“Okay. I'll talk to you later.” She hangs up.

~~o0o~~

The first thing Abby says when he sits down is “I realized after I invited you and Sasha that Ziva hadn’t been invited and I felt so bad that I just had to ask her to come.Turns out it's her and Roy’s anniversary, so she's busy.”

Sasha says. “If you wanted her to come we could have done this another day.”

“We’re on call the next two weeks plus with Gibbs, it's so unpredictable.”

“Sash, don’t forget you don't usually leave work until 9,” Tony reminds her.

It's not that he didn't want to be here, he does. He likes the fact that the people he cares about all enjoy talking to each other. He likes how Abby and Sasha can follow each other's tangents, going from new finding DNA techniques to some British band's new song being in sports to where to get the newest heels. He likes how Sasha doesn't get annoyed by Tim's one-track mind forcing him to follow through on previous conversations. He fucking loves how all three of them laugh at his jokes and give their own unique sarcastic comment in return. The thing is, he doesn't like how none of that calms his heartbeat, how even with Sasha's reassurances and Tim and Abby being like they always are, Tony still thinks this could be a double date.

The last time he was on a double date was high school and that ended badly ‒ like involved vomit bad.

The evening is nice and about halfway through Tony’s knee stops shaking and his laughter is less faked.

He goes back to Sasha’s apartment with her and his world doesn’t collapse.

~~o0o~~

Tony wakes up and instead of finding a warm body beside him, he smells something burning, hears a plate crashing and then a swear just loud enough that he can hear it from the bedroom.

He shoves on his boxers and heads into the kitchen in order to investigate the damage.

Sasha is standing over a broken plate, leaning forward just enough to be able to move eggs in the pan with a spatula. A chuckle leaves his mouth at the sight.

"Didn't know sleeping with you would come with breakfast."

"Who said any was for you?" He's pretty sure she would've finished the question with a glare if she wasn't too busy watching where her feet were going.

"Where's your brush and pan?" If Sasha's making breakfast, he can at least make sure she doesn't injure herself this early in the morning.

"Cupboard in the hall, first door on the right."

By the time he's cleaned up the broken ceramic, making sure all the small pieces have been disposed of, Sasha has moved the plate of slightly burned eggs and bacon to the island next to the plate of nearly black toast. At least the strawberries she also set out would be completely edible.

They're sitting across from one another, Sasha's mouth full of eggs when he makes the decision to finally ask her. "What's the deal with breakfast?"

She rolls her eyes and her mouth is still full when she asks "Are you freaking out again?" At least her words sound enough like them so Tony guesses what she asks.

"No. I'm just wondering." Because really, he isn't freaking out. Not yet anyway. He really fucking hopes she doesn't say what he's expecting because then he's going to have to hightail out of here and he doesn't know where his pants are.

He watches her swallow her eggs. "Really? Your body language says different."

Damn, he really has to stop sleeping with doctors ‒ brain or medical doctors.

"It's just, you've never made breakfast before and the day after we have a double date—"

"Thought it wasn't a double date."

"The day after whatever it was, you make breakfast."

"Anthony, I've made breakfast before."

"No, you haven't. We just go to Dunkin and grab something before work. You have never made me breakfast before."

"I like to cook. I made myself breakfast and you just happen to be here. You're my friend, Tony, I'm allowed to feed you."

"But—"

"It wasn't a date. We're the same as always ‒ just friends with benefits. I made breakfast and you're going to enjoy my hard work."

And Tony nods. It wasn't a date. He needs that to sink in. It wasn't a date. If it was a date, it would've been a double date and as much as Tim and Abby care for each other, Tony knows they're never going to date again. No double date, no date, no freakout necessary. Sasha tilts her head at him and he takes a breath and lets it go. He starts eating his cooling breakfast.

After they're done and Sasha pretends the toast was in fact good, Tony regains the ability to speak. "You said you like to cook."

"Yeah, my mum taught me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Anthony, I'm sure. I made the best bangers and mash in my whole family." Tony doesn't know what that is, but the last time he asked Sasha about British delicacies he instantly regretted it ‒ why is there a holiday based around eating meat that's stuffed in a sheep's stomach lining anyways?

"Your family is either full of terrible cooks, or Brits are more polite than I thought."

"I am an excellent cook."

"Sasha, the only thing you didn't burn was the fruit, even the coffee wasn't mixed right."

Sasha tries to glare, but her lips tug up. "No one else in my family makes bangers and mash."

He smiles back at her. He can enjoy breakfasts with friends. He can go to dinners with friends. It's going to be okay if the things that have connotations of relationship happen to him. He's not going to freak out just because he's suddenly doing the things that are typical of a relationship with his friend.

~~o0o~~

He freaks out.

Later after breakfast, Tony makes his excuses and goes back to his own apartment.

He's jittery and nothing seems to hold his attention for longer than a second. The DVD case of the Godfather that is lying open on his coffee table, not appealing despite him having watched the movie at least a dozen times. The case file he has stashed in one of the bedroom drawers that he really shouldn't have taken home but did, not as fascinating as it was the other day. He even takes a look into his kitchen to see if cooking might spark his attention: turns out he really needs to go to the store.

As he's reorganising his bookshelf ‒ putting the novels in alphabetical order rather than what looks nice to the eye, he comes up with the most brilliant plan. Well, not brilliant, but pretty damn good and the best he's going to be able to come up with in the state he's in.

He haphazardly shoves the rest of the books in some sort of order ‒ he'll deal with it next time this happens, which seems to be happening a lot more recently to him.

Tony does a weird sort of walk/jog/run to grab his jacket from where it's hanging in the closet and takes his phone out of his pocket.

Tony DiNozzo: wanna come over?

Tim McGee: Why?

Tony DiNozzo: stop being so suspicious and just come over

Tony still hasn't got a second step to his great plan by the time his buzzer goes. He lets Tim up and stares into his living room, trying to figure out a sane way to explain his sudden desperation for wanting to see Tim.

The Godfather is out because last time they watched it together, Tim convinced him to watch the third one as well and then had the balls to argue that it was the best in the trilogy. There were two apology muffins given out the next day.

He spies his very sparse record collection just as there's a knock on his door.

It's in between listening to a Betty Smith album and Tim raving about some guy making a deal with the devil to be able to play that Tony asks him.

It's just, he needs someone else to confirm it wasn’t a double date.

Tim smiles when Tony asks if he’s dating Abby. “Haven't been for years.”

“But—”

“We’re friends who care for each other, that’s it.”

“So last night, it wasn’t a double date?”

“No. Wait, are you and Sasha dating?”

“No!” And Tim smiles.

“It wasn’t a double date, Tony.”

Tim looks so honest that Tony lets him continue talking about jazz.

~~o0o~~

Ziva comes into the bullpen with a bright smile and an even brighter hat on.

"Anniversary weekend go well?"

To most people's eyes, it would look like Ziva ignored him, but when she turns to take off her jacket in such a way he can see a faint mark on her neck. It's barely covered by her neckline.

"Ah, Roy a monster then?"

"Maybe."

This thing he has ‒ had ‒ with Ziva would never have worked. He knows this now. When he first met her he was grieving Kate and wasn't all that up for anything. There was flirting and innuendos and more tension between them than he had with any of his exes. But then Ziva came in one day and instead of talking about some one night stand, she mentioned someone and became, for lack of a better word, shy. After using some of his best interrogation techniques ‒ i.e. annoying the suspect until they plan to kill him ‒ she told him about her boyfriend. It was Tim that had caught the enamoured look in her eyes but Tony that had teased her.

Maybe his life would be easier if it had worked out with Ziva.

~~o0o~~

“You remember the other week at the restaurant, or rather before that, when I told you about dinner and you kept asking about it being a date?”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about this.”

“Maybe you did, this is the first time I've mentioned it.”

“It was a silent agreement.”

“Do you remember?”

“Yeah, Sasha, I remember.”

“Okay, so I thought about why you sounded scared and I made a couple calls to some of my old uni friends and one of one said something interesting. So can you answer some questions I have?”

“Why?”

“Because, Tony, it might tell you why you were scared.”

“Why I'm fucked up, you mean.”

“No, because you are not fucked up.”

He takes a few minutes to think it over. “Sure I'll answer them.”

She asks if he has had any relationships? How he felt. He says yes and that he liked them because of course he did ‒ excluding high school and college, he liked his relationships. The two that he's had. Sasha also asks about dates and if he was uncomfortable and of course he says yes, to both.

“I think you might be aromantic.”

“I don't know what that is, Ms I-have-a-psych-degree.”

“You don't feel romantic attraction.”

“Like wanting to go on dates?”

“And get married et cetera.”

“I was engaged.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, and I really loved her.” There's also the whole Jeanne thing, but that deserves its own separate category.

“Oh.”

“There's something wrong with me. I can't even be this strange thing. Fuck.”

“I don't know everything, Tony, but I know no matter what, you aren't strange or have something wrong with you. Maybe you can look it up or something. I bet there's some blog somewhere with some more information.”

“What if I get accused of murder again and they have to take my computer, Tim will see it and then he'll think I'm even more strange. Or a freak. Fuck, Last month I freakouted on him in the elevator because of something like this. Fuck, I can't. People already treat me differently because of all the times I've messed up, I can't also add this to the list.”

“It's not messed up, Tony.” She puts her arms around his shoulder. “And if you're that worried about someone from NCIS finding out about your search history ‒ and it's at this point I would just suggest deleting it, but both Abigail and Timothy are too talented for their own good ‒ so use my laptop. It's in my bag, so you can use it whenever.”

“I don't want stuff to change.”

“It wouldn't be changed, you would just have a name for it.”

“When people find it out, stuff will change.”

“Don't tell people then.”

“But.”

“You don't have to tell people, Tony, no one's making you.”

They sit in silence for a while.

"Anthony, I can hear your worrying, it's not a big deal. If you're not fully bi, it doesn't matter."

"It does." Sasha opens her mouth to presumably give another reassurance. "It does to me. If you're right, I'm not normal, I'm even more of a hassle than I already am." He'll be proving anyone who's said he's just obsessed with getting laid by a different woman each week right. The feeling of not only being an outsider but also of his feelings for Jeanne and Wendy not being true doesn't gel right with him. He loved both of them. He really did love them. He had (at least eventually) loved them and enjoyed his relationships with them. He can't be this thing ‒ Aromantic ‒ if he did like his relationship with them ‒ at least he doesn't think he can be.

Sasha nods at him and her eyes become softer. "Okay, it matters then, but Anthony, it won't do well to worry right now. Get some sleep, look it up more in the morning if you really need to know."

Tony gives her a small smile and promises he'll do just that. She doesn't believe him ‒ he can tell by the way she starts to talk, but instead just shakes her head ‒ but she leaves him be. Sasha turns over onto her side and curls up, she'll end up star-fished soon but she always falls asleep like this. Tony at first thought it was weird how she didn't cuddle up to the warm body next to her, but now he just knows it's one of Sasha's little quirks.

He waits until Sasha's breath evens out and then he waits some more until she gives off a slight snore just to be sure and climbs out of her bed.

Making sure to not hit that one really creaky floorboard in her hallway, Tony makes his way into the living room. He peers through the darkness to try and find Sasha's bag. He spots it in the gap between the couch and the coffee table. Grabbing the bag, he sits down on the leather couch and takes Sasha's laptop out of her bag. Instead of putting it on his lap, he sets the laptop on the coffetable (apparently Tim’s rants about laptops overheating have fully seeped into his brain).

He googles Aromantic

The things right in front of him, the slew of different facts staring at, the words glowing from the computer are all confusing to him. It says he shouldn't like sex, but he does.

He reads more and more. He finds out all about Asexuality ‒ which he didn't know existed until now ‒ before he learns anything about being Aromantic.

There's different types. His brain hurts. His eyes are sore, but he keeps reading.

Some of the things apply to him and he's so glad that someone somewhere has felt the same.

He finds Demiromantic.

It means to feel romantic attraction after creating a deep bond with someone.

That's how it was with Wendy and Jeanne. A part of his body feels settled.

It says that not every deep bond created means wanting to date the person. That's how it is with Sasha and Ziva and Abby.

Other people don't like dates, but love sex.

Other people find someone and end up liking certain things they previously hadn't and get married.

Other people get sick at the thought of some stranger asking them on a date.

He's like other people. He grins way too wide at the blue screen of the laptop.

~~o0o~~

Tony looks over at Sasha. She's sitting on the couch cross-legged and shoving popcorn in her face. He wishes that for once he didn't despise going on dates so much. That the woman next to him ‒ the woman that is so interesting and funny and smart ‒ could be one of the women who he learns to tolerate dates with.

~~o0o~~

“Dr. Groundwater, I didn't know you were coming in today.”

Tony looks up at Ziva’s voice and sees Sasha standing at the entrance of the bullpen with her lab coat folded on her arms.

~~o0o~~

She has to go back to the UK.

~~o0o~~

He's fucked up another relationship.

With Jeanne he had to start talking to her and it wasn't like he didn't know how to flirt. He did and he is great at it ‒ the true fucking master, if he says so himself. And he was attracted to her, he remembers the first time Jenny had shown him her photo, how beautiful she looked.

And then when he first met her, he turned his charm way up. If she was a normal girl ‒ not someone he had to be with ‒ he would've flirted all night and then took her back to his place. And that's how he acted ‒ had to act ‒ because every time he thought of what Jenny was asking him to do ‒ date her, woo her, be in a goddamn relationship ‒ he started to feel sick.

The plan wasn't for a couple of weeks, it was for months ‒ months where Tony had to get her to trust him, to get her to fall in love with him. He barely did relationships as it was.

The longest before Jeanne was Wendy, but that had ended horribly. In between those six years it was week-long relationships which included a lot of sex, but no second dates.

There was Scott whom he met just after what happened to Kate, but that was just long-term fuckbuddies ‒ the only significant conversations they had were the standard 'don’t tell anyone about this' and also about where the Wizards currently were in the standings.

He probably has deep-seated issues ‒ does have ‒ if in those six years Scott was the closest thing to a normal relationship he had and all they had was sex for eight months. Scott had gotten transferred to San Diego so at least them stopping their thing hadn't been Tony's fault.

He supposes this isn't really his fault either. It's no one's fault, just one of those terrible things the universe does for some reason.

He's been spending too much time with Abby if he's blaming getting hurt on the universe.

It's just, Sasha felt stable, he liked her and didn't mind that he didn't like her like that. He thinks he could start to love her if she stayed but she's not staying. Back home to Scotland for her and back to an empty apartment for him. It's not a breakup, but he desperately wants a beer at MacAllans.

Sasha was normal. Not ‘normal’ normal ‒ the normal Tony has created in his head, the one his father showed him, that growing up on Long Island and in boarding schools showed him – but just normal.

They started talking because of work ‒ normal. They had sex – normal. They went out with mutual friends ‒ normal. Tony having a freakout over one meet-up with friends ‒ not normal. Sasha having to tell him what he is ‒ not normal.

She was smart and funny and hot and would have made a brilliant girlfriend. They get on in and out of bed and have common interests. He wishes he could love her. He wishes she could stay in DC.

It would be great if Sasha was the one he ended up with. If this demiromantic thing would allow him to fall in love faster or get a ‘stronger bond’ or whatever with her, if his brain had clicked right and said fall in love with this one. It would've been great if all that happened, but now there's no point.

He supposes he should be grateful that this thing made Sasha stay just a friend, a friend he will be thankful for and care about forever, but a friend nonetheless. Without it, maybe he would be grieving a girlfriend right now, maybe his heart would be torn to shreds like after Wendy and Jeanne.

Sasha has been his best relationship in a long time and maybe it's not weird to be heartbroken over losing a friend.

~~o0o~~

It's a couple of days after he watches Sasha get on a plane and leave.

There's a post-it stuck on his computer screen.

It has ‘You're perfect’ written on it in neat cursive. It reminds him of one of the cliché movies he watched back in high school.

Looks like he has a secret admirer.

It's most likely someone that walks past his desk. He just had to lose Sasha and now he has to deal with this. Fuck.

His hands start to feel numb. It better not be Taylor.

He looks around the bullpen.

Ziva? No, she has Ray.

Gibbs? No, he wouldn't use post-its to say stuff like that.

Tim? No ‒ actually, it seems like something that would be up his alley. It wouldn't be Tim, though.

Tony turns in his seat to face the man. It's not Tim, but seeing him wrinkle his nose at whatever is on his computer makes Tony realise Tim being the one behind the note doesn't make him want to throw up.

Maybe the internet was wrong and those websites were lying. He has to be broken, there's no way he can like Tim.

He's going through the past couple of months in his mind and he knows the signs.

He remembers one day finding Jeanne smile the brightest thing of his date, and how that morning where they were both rushing to not be late for work she had spilled coffee all over her shirt and instead of getting pissed at herself she had laughed so hard, Tony had worried she couldn't breathe, she had just said ‘I never liked this shirt anyway’ and Tony had the thought that maybe she was the one. It was fleeting, though, because then she asked if he could drop her off on the way to the university and he remembered he was a lie to her even if she wasn't that to him.

He knows the signs of liking someone, the clammy hands, fast beating of heart, wanting to spend all day with them. Well, more accurately he knows the difference between those signs being for someone he wants to date or wants to befriend. He also thought Tim was the latter.

He can't describe the difference, but he can tell. The point is he likes Tim, apparently. His probie. The team’s McGeek. And honestly, he doesn't know what's more shocking – that he likes Tim or that he's only starting liking Tim now.

The website had said that sometimes romantic feelings may develop over years into a friendship, but Tony's always developed feelings for his ex-girlfriends within six months of knowing them. He's known Tim for about 5 years. He knows Tim more than he knew any of his exes. He trusts him more than any of them as well.

Hell, despite all their differences, Tim's probably the one he trusts the most on the team – which is actually more strange than liking him. He has always thought that he trusted Gibbs the most, but after he had his little freakout in the elevator and Tim never told anyone, they seem closer.

And oh fuck, he likes Tim McGee. The post-it gets scrunched up in his hand.