Warnings: spoilers for all sorts of episodes, some from seasons 6 and 7
Summary: Tony wants to find a new team and all of NCIS is talking about it.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or it's characters. Good thing, too—I'd lose Abby; Caf-Pow is not available where I live.
The art of spreading rumors may be compared to the art of pin-making. There is usually some truth, which I call the wire; as this passes from hand to hand, one gives it a polish, another a point, others make and put on the head, and at last the pin is completed.
PART 1: Monday
"Good work, people." Gibbs strode into the bullpen. "You can leave as soon as your paperwork is on my desk. Take tomorrow off—I've cleared it with Vance."
Relieved sighs came from the three agents surrounding him. The previous Friday afternoon, a former petty officer convicted of aggravated assault and armed robbery had escaped a prison transport van. Since he was considered armed and extremely dangerous, they'd worked the case without a break. It had taken them three days to track him down to his second cousin's hunting camp in West Virginia. Former P. O. Klymer had barricaded himself in the cabin with an assortment of rifles. After a five-hour standoff, a phone call with his mother and some inspired words from Gibbs had ended the day peacefully. Now, it was Monday night and the NCIS agents returned to headquarters cold, tired, and ready to go home.
At 7:30, Ziva and Tim put their reports on Gibbs' desk and prepared to leave for the day.
"Are you done already?" Tony stopped typing in surprise.
"Yes, and you would be too, if you had not played a game of basketball with the trash can and some old reports instead of working." Ziva put on her coat.
"That was only for a few minutes. You couldn't possibly be finished now."
"Well, Tony, as you continually remind us, you are the senior field agent and as such, you have extra paperwork." Tim smirked as he turned off his computer. "You have the responsibility to fill out a report about the actions of your junior and probationary agents. I believe you weren't completely satisfied with the attention we paid to your directions at the scene of the escape and wanted to note that in your report."
"Yes, after he began quoting that movie again, we moved out of earshot and did not hear him give us directions." Ziva's expression matched Tim's.
"Oh, come on. You know that Tommy Lee Jones as Marshal Samuel Gerard in The Fugitive is classic. I have to use it." Tony shifted in his chair. "'All right, listen up, people. Our fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes. Average foot speed over…'"
"Enough!" Ziva slapped her hand down on his desk. "If I never hear those words again, you will die a happy man."
"Don't you mean 'I'll die a happy man'"?
"Exactly." Ziva pulled out a paper clip and started playing with it.
"As much as I would love to see which of the eighteen ways Ziva would use that paperclip, I'd like to go home and sleep. Good night." Tim started for the elevator.
"Wait for me, Tim. I am finished here."
"See you Wednesday, Boss." Tim and Ziva passed Gibbs as they walked to the elevator. "Good night, Gibbs."
"Aren't you done with your paperwork yet, DiNozzo?" Gibbs sat at his desk and picked up Ziva's report.
"Not yet, boss, could I finish it up later? I have this thing in my throat…" Tony coughed a bit dramatically.
"No. I could give you a pass on the Klymer paperwork but you didn't finish the report from the Dillon case last week. Legal needs it ASAP." They worked in silence on their papers until Gibbs' desk phone rang. "Gibbs. Yeah, I'll be down." He hung up the phone and left for the forensic lab, nodding to Thurman Atteberry, the night janitor, as he headed for the elevator.
"Hey, Thurman, how are you doing tonight?" Tony liked the older man. Thurman reminded him of a football coach he'd been trained by in school.
"Can't complain. I've got a good job and wonderful wife. Can you believe that Helen made me lasagne for dinner, even after she'd been on her feet for the entire day? That woman spoils me, she does. You need to find someone like that, Tony, someone who'll take care of you." Tony started to reply, but began coughing and was unable to continue. "And I'd say you need her now the way you sound."
"Helen is a one of a kind, Thurman. Maybe if you'd had a couple of daughters instead of those boys of yours I'd have a chance of finding someone like her." This was a standing joke between them. Chuckling, the janitor moved on to empty the garbage at the next workstation and Tony resumed work on his report.
The ring of a cell phone interrupted Tony's typing. "Hey, Andrea, how are you doing?" He paused listening. "Thanks for returning my call. I was hoping you could help me. I need to find a new team."
Hidden in the shadows of the bullpen, Thurman stopped working in shock. "Yeah, I know, I've been with them for a long time, but I need a change." He listened. "I'm sure. So, do you know if they have any places open with Metro? I've worked with some of you in homicide; maybe you could put in a good word for me." His face brightened. "You think there's an opening? Check for me, will you? Thanks. Yeah, drinks are on me next time." Tony ended the conversation. An hour later, his paperwork was finished and he left for home to enjoy a late dinner and a movie. After this weekend, he was in a Harrison Ford kind of mood; maybe he should watch Air Force One.