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kissmeprobieTitle: Haunting
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jack_infinitude
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee
Prompt: dread
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash.
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS.
A/N Part of my Missing Series.
McGee can remember being happy, once. He had a feeling that he had been happy as lately as yesterday, but it's impossible to even imagine what that had been like. One part of his brain not half-asleep is still buzzing with anger and indignation, while another is still trying to put together what had just happened.
He's certainly not happy anymore, because happiness had meant coming home to someone. Happiness had meant waking up on rainy Sunday mornings just to spend the day in bed. Happiness had meant having all that with Tony at his side.
Now he only has unhappiness: coming home to an empty apartment, waking up alone, and no Tony to share it with him.
He's not surprised to find that his apartment door has been left unlocked; it's the kind of careless thing DiNozzo would do. He can also feel a subtle change in the air as he walks in; the atmosphere is different, deficient, as if there is less to weigh it down. He locks the door behind him, and makes a sweep of his apartment.
The DVDs that had been stacked up under the window are gone. The toothbrush and other assorted items from the bathroom are missing as well; they had been there for only a few weeks, so that loss doesn't hit as hard as it should. McGee isn't worried about that; he knows that he's tired and numb and still in shock from the fight. It'll hurt like hell come morning.
He can tell that DiNozzo had been in a rush to pack. He's left things behind -- some shirts, a book, his eyeglass case sans glasses, a few jazz CDs scattered by the computer. Tim collects it all and puts it in a pile on the bed. Tony will be coming by for them later, he's sure.
By the time an hour has passed, he's collected an impressive heap of trinkets that DiNozzo left behind in his hurry, and there's only the closet left to search. He takes a deep breathe, and flings it open.
The dimensions of the recess haven't changed a bit, he's certain, but it looks smaller and darker with only his clothes hanging there. Absurdly, he remembers the gradual migration of his shirts and slacks; he had been moving them continuously to his drawers over the course of a month as Tony ported what must have been half his wardrobe into Tim's home. That had been in -- February. The Diaspora, Tony had joked.
He shakes off the memory because it isn't important anymore. It had been cute to remember when Tony was here, but now he's gone and Tim needs to relearn how to live alone.
Timothy's next set of actions might have puzzled someone unfamiliar with the male psyche. There are no errant breaths on McGee's part, no trembling lower lip. He simply checks the closet for whatever Tony might have left behind (the results are the older man's favorite pair of running shoes) and puts them on the bed with the rest of the keepsakes.
He then fetches a collapsible cardboard box from under his bed, stands it up, and arranges the trinkets inside it to his satisfaction before taping the lid down. He stencils Tony's name on the side with a black marker, and sets it on the kitchen counter. Then he finds his broom and starts sweeping the floor.
The fact that it is now three in the morning does nothing to deter him from spending the next three hours cleaning the apartment. The floors are swept and mopped, the rug is vacuumed and every other flat surface is dusted and polished with extreme prejudice. It ends up kicking up a lot of dust, and Tim briefly wishes that he had thought to tie something over his face. He had been better about that lately, but Tony had been reminding him --
A vicious dust cloud comes up and sets him to coughing. He's certain that it's the filth that makes his eyes burn.
His last act is to strip the sheets off their -- no, his bed. Just his bed, even if only that morning, Tony had woken him with kisses and a proper breakfast, and that they had been moving together on these sheets the night before.
The sheets go in the laundry. He resolves to wash them soon.
A quick check of the time reveals it to be a quarter to six. Tim knows that there's no point in trying to go to bed; he just sets the coffee-maker to brewing and takes a fast shower. A change of clothes and a shave later, and he's as good as new and raring to go so long as one doesn't look at his eyes.
McGee pours the coffee into a travel cup, and notes with irritation that he accidentally made enough for two people. The rest of the carafe goes down the sink.
He takes one last look around before he leaves; his eyes fall on the box of keepsakes still sitting on the counter. After a brief consideration, he decides to leave it. Tony can come along and get it himself for all Tim cares.
He makes it all the way to his car before it hits him for real, that Tony won't be coming home with him anymore. Everything they had shared, what little they had been able to build together -- gone in the name of professionalism and propriety, for the sake of Tony's arbitrary decision making. All of it smashed to bits.
Tim doesn't want to think of Tony as a liar, not after rainy Sundays and drunken letters. For all the strangeness and the sadness and the too few smiles, they had been able to create something good. They had been happy together, he's sure of it.
Well. Now he is unhappy. Now he has an empty apartment, no one to wake up with. Tony has cut himself out and away. McGee can only imagine the wall he's going to be coming up against.
By the time he's in the elevator, he has a migraine pounding in his skull. Before the doors open, he fixes a smile on his face. No one can know that something is wrong. Regardless of what's happened between them, he doesn't want Tony to be fired over this.
He walks into the bullpen, says hello and good morning and how is everyone today? Then he sits down at his desk, and thinks: it's over. It really is over.
Author:
jack_infinitudeFandom: NCIS
Characters: Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee
Prompt: dread
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash.
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS.
A/N Part of my Missing Series.
McGee can remember being happy, once. He had a feeling that he had been happy as lately as yesterday, but it's impossible to even imagine what that had been like. One part of his brain not half-asleep is still buzzing with anger and indignation, while another is still trying to put together what had just happened.
He's certainly not happy anymore, because happiness had meant coming home to someone. Happiness had meant waking up on rainy Sunday mornings just to spend the day in bed. Happiness had meant having all that with Tony at his side.
Now he only has unhappiness: coming home to an empty apartment, waking up alone, and no Tony to share it with him.
He's not surprised to find that his apartment door has been left unlocked; it's the kind of careless thing DiNozzo would do. He can also feel a subtle change in the air as he walks in; the atmosphere is different, deficient, as if there is less to weigh it down. He locks the door behind him, and makes a sweep of his apartment.
The DVDs that had been stacked up under the window are gone. The toothbrush and other assorted items from the bathroom are missing as well; they had been there for only a few weeks, so that loss doesn't hit as hard as it should. McGee isn't worried about that; he knows that he's tired and numb and still in shock from the fight. It'll hurt like hell come morning.
He can tell that DiNozzo had been in a rush to pack. He's left things behind -- some shirts, a book, his eyeglass case sans glasses, a few jazz CDs scattered by the computer. Tim collects it all and puts it in a pile on the bed. Tony will be coming by for them later, he's sure.
By the time an hour has passed, he's collected an impressive heap of trinkets that DiNozzo left behind in his hurry, and there's only the closet left to search. He takes a deep breathe, and flings it open.
The dimensions of the recess haven't changed a bit, he's certain, but it looks smaller and darker with only his clothes hanging there. Absurdly, he remembers the gradual migration of his shirts and slacks; he had been moving them continuously to his drawers over the course of a month as Tony ported what must have been half his wardrobe into Tim's home. That had been in -- February. The Diaspora, Tony had joked.
He shakes off the memory because it isn't important anymore. It had been cute to remember when Tony was here, but now he's gone and Tim needs to relearn how to live alone.
Timothy's next set of actions might have puzzled someone unfamiliar with the male psyche. There are no errant breaths on McGee's part, no trembling lower lip. He simply checks the closet for whatever Tony might have left behind (the results are the older man's favorite pair of running shoes) and puts them on the bed with the rest of the keepsakes.
He then fetches a collapsible cardboard box from under his bed, stands it up, and arranges the trinkets inside it to his satisfaction before taping the lid down. He stencils Tony's name on the side with a black marker, and sets it on the kitchen counter. Then he finds his broom and starts sweeping the floor.
The fact that it is now three in the morning does nothing to deter him from spending the next three hours cleaning the apartment. The floors are swept and mopped, the rug is vacuumed and every other flat surface is dusted and polished with extreme prejudice. It ends up kicking up a lot of dust, and Tim briefly wishes that he had thought to tie something over his face. He had been better about that lately, but Tony had been reminding him --
A vicious dust cloud comes up and sets him to coughing. He's certain that it's the filth that makes his eyes burn.
His last act is to strip the sheets off their -- no, his bed. Just his bed, even if only that morning, Tony had woken him with kisses and a proper breakfast, and that they had been moving together on these sheets the night before.
The sheets go in the laundry. He resolves to wash them soon.
A quick check of the time reveals it to be a quarter to six. Tim knows that there's no point in trying to go to bed; he just sets the coffee-maker to brewing and takes a fast shower. A change of clothes and a shave later, and he's as good as new and raring to go so long as one doesn't look at his eyes.
McGee pours the coffee into a travel cup, and notes with irritation that he accidentally made enough for two people. The rest of the carafe goes down the sink.
He takes one last look around before he leaves; his eyes fall on the box of keepsakes still sitting on the counter. After a brief consideration, he decides to leave it. Tony can come along and get it himself for all Tim cares.
He makes it all the way to his car before it hits him for real, that Tony won't be coming home with him anymore. Everything they had shared, what little they had been able to build together -- gone in the name of professionalism and propriety, for the sake of Tony's arbitrary decision making. All of it smashed to bits.
Tim doesn't want to think of Tony as a liar, not after rainy Sundays and drunken letters. For all the strangeness and the sadness and the too few smiles, they had been able to create something good. They had been happy together, he's sure of it.
Well. Now he is unhappy. Now he has an empty apartment, no one to wake up with. Tony has cut himself out and away. McGee can only imagine the wall he's going to be coming up against.
By the time he's in the elevator, he has a migraine pounding in his skull. Before the doors open, he fixes a smile on his face. No one can know that something is wrong. Regardless of what's happened between them, he doesn't want Tony to be fired over this.
He walks into the bullpen, says hello and good morning and how is everyone today? Then he sits down at his desk, and thinks: it's over. It really is over.
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