Now Can I Shoot?: Tony Dinozzo X Timothy McGee

A New Beginning

Thank you all for being so patient with me. I've been juggling school, as of late. Had the case of 'writers' block.' Please enjoy this story. Makin two more chaps and then that's the end. (The smut is cummin 😉)

Opening the front door, Parker greeted me. Leaning down to pick him up, he gives a long meow as I lift him up. "Hun? I'm home," I greeted. Tim appeared from around the corner. His eyes wide and happy to see me. "Hey, Tony," his arms opened. Embracing him with my free arm. "So, how's everyone doing at NCIS?" Timothy pulled away. "Everyone's fine. They all miss you, but They are in no rush to have you skip your health," I said. "I'm aware of my condition. I would still like to go back at some point," his head down. "Don't rush your health, they understand," I said. Parker meowing in my arms.

Sitting on the couch. Parker circles and collapses onto my lap and sleeps on my rested arm. His purring, vibrating my arm. Couldn't help but smile at his almost smiling face. "He's gotten close to you since he's moved in," Tim pointed out. "Last time he did this to me, my arm fell asleep," I kept staring at him. "I can take him if you want," he goes to reach for him. "No he's mine," I pout. McGee chuckled. Looking down at Parker, I form a hilarious idea. "I don't know who's cuter? Parker or You?" I ask. Eyeing McGee from the side, his face pink and looking down. Wrapping my arm around him, bringing him closer to me. His head against my chest. His hair is soft between my fingertips. Feeling my eyelids fall, I give in and fall asleep.

A cold chill wakes me. McGee and Parker sleep soundly against me. Picking up Parker, I place him as gently onto McGee's lap without waking either of them. Only a subtle meow comes from Parker. Shifting my arm away, I lay McGee down onto the couch. He shifted, but remained asleep. Looking out the window, the sun is completely down. "Damn!" I whispered aloud. "Slept in too long," I silently sighed. Looking back at the Sleepy squad; Parker snuggled with Tim.

Looking at myself in the mirror, my hair was a mess and my eyes slightly bloodshot. My tiredness still lingered. I fix the bed and change into my pjs. I like McGee staring at me as I dress. The way his face turns pink and his shiny, sweaty forehead. I snicker at the thought of it.

The living room now darker, I could barely see Timmy. His outline is somewhat visible. Tim laying on his back and Parker lying on his chest. I slide my hands underneath him. I struggle under his weight. At least he's gained more weight. Leaning Tim's body into mine so Parker doesn't fall.

Tim laying there on the bed. The look of peace and comfort was written on his face. A smile crept upon my face. I slump into bed. McGee facing away from me. I gently wrap my arm around his waist. I pull him in closer to me. His body is warm against mine. Goodnight, McGee.

The room brighter, my alarm blaring. I feel around for my phone, but knock over something and hear a crash. I hissed as the crash sounded like my lamp. "Shit!" I whispered. I look to check on Tim. He's awake already. I rub my eyes and look at the mess I've made. Ceramic shards and whatever's left remains scattered on the floor. Pinching the bridge of my nose—"what a wake up call," I chortle to myself. Flinging myself out of bed, I go to pick up shots of ceramic. The door opens. Tim's eyes are full of concern. My eyes mirror his. "What happened?!" He asked, almost breathing heavily. "Went for my phone, but found the lamp," I laugh. "You alright?" McGee asked. His concern made my lips curl into a smirk. "I'm fine, hun," raising my hand. "Can't say the same for this lamp," I joked. "Let me go get a trash can," he rushed. Pushing the pieces in a group, I look around for a broom or bucket I can use to put these in. Scanning the room—I find an office trash can in the corner of my room. "Heh, I never use it. Might as well," I shrug. As I stand up, I watch my step, careful not to step on a loose piece. Grabbing the trash bin, my eyes never leaving the floor as I take another step. As I near my bed, I go to my original scooping spot. "AAH!" a sharp pain shot through my foot. The pain was almost like sending needles through each one of my nerves. Sitting on the bed, hoisting my foot up on my leg. A shard of at least an inch of ceramic stuck in my foot. The more I looked at my bleeding and gaping wound, the more pain I felt. Hissing in pain and holding my foot. I'm resisting the urge to yank the damn thing out! The door opened from behind me. "Sorry, had issues finding your tras-" He stopped. I placed my foot down slowly, hoping he didn't see. "Did you step on a piece?" he asked, his footsteps trodding closer. "It's fine, I got it," I said nonchalantly. His eyes looked down toward my foot, and his eyes widened. "Where's your first aid kit?" he asked with a serious tone. "It's in the guest bathroom," I said. Looking down at my foot, blood begins to drip down onto the floor from the shard. "Hoo, boy," I sighed. Returning with the first aid kit. I go to take it from his hands. "I'll take care of it," he knelt down. "You don't have to. Go do McGee things," I joked, the pain fluttering again. I can feel the shard deep within the tissue. "No, I'll take care of it," he said as he pulled out the blue latex gloves. Putting on the gloves, as he slid it on, he slapped the wrist glove against his skin. "Okay, was that really necessary?" I joked. "This is gonna hurt a little," as he got out the tweezers. I closed my eyes. Slowly, he wiggled the shard. "Ah-hah," I breathed. I wince at the thought of the glass coming out. "And...got it," he said. Feeling warm liquid ran down my foot. Tim put a warm-wet gauze over it to stop the bleeding. He held it there and put pressure. "Relax your foot, Tony," he urged. Putting petroleum jelly onto a new gauze. Bandaging my foot. My foot is still throbbing and stinging in pain, but at least it's out. McGee took off the gloves and dropped them into the trash can. "Well," I sighed. "Good morning," I smirked. Tim shakes his head and a small smirk forms. "What?" I laugh. "You need to be careful. I don't want you hurting yourself," his tone now concerned. "I could say the same for you," I retorted. McGee kneels off the floor and kisses me on the forehead. "Just be careful," he twitches a smile. I return a smile, "no promises." Tim rolled his eyes and formed a small smile.

Hobbling my way to the kitchen—I'll make something small and simple. Cereal. I grab the Silly Serpents cereal from the cabinet. Before I could grab a bowl, McGee helped grab a bowl for me. "I could've done it," I suggested. "I don't mind helping you, Tony," he said. "Is it because I'm a foot short?" I asked. Timothy laughed as he poured the milk and cereal. "We're the same height," he chortled. "I have bandages on my foot that make me taller," I retorted. "On one side," he added. "That's one side taller," I retorted back. McGee shakes his head as he drinks his coffee.

I asked Gibbs if I could work on paperwork at home. He agreed, but only for one more day. By then, my foot should be healed by tomorrow. He lets me get away with a lot. I've pranked him too much to count.

"I called Gibbs," Tim started. I turned to look at him. "I'll be heading back to work starting tomorrow," Tim put his phone into his pocket. "I'm going in tomorrow as well. We could carpool," I suggested. "Just this once. Then I'm driving myself," he suggested back. "Fair enough," I threw my hands up.

It feels really slow today. As if the world has slowed down. Typing away at the computer, even the words felt slow just by appearing onto the screen. "I should eat something," I said to no one. As I open the door—a big gust of air pushes in my direction. The smell of beef filled my nose. "Oh my god," I said aloud. Almost drooling as I spoke. Taking a step into the kitchen—Tim hums to himself as he shifts around meat in a pan. "Whatcha cookin?" My back leaned against my pantry. Tim makes eye contact with me. His eyes get shinier the more I look at them. "My mom's special recipe," he said. "Smells delicious!" Stepping closer to him. His hair still smelled of his shampoo. Like sleeping next to a tree. I chortled to myself. "Why don't you go sit down and I'll serve this up," he motioned. "Do you need any help?" I asked. Tim looks down at my foot. "I don't think that's a good idea; but you can clean off the table," he suggested handing over a rag. "Alright, fair point," taking the rag, I slightly limp to the table. My foot definitely feels better, but I still feel that sharp pain every once and a while. "Table's all clean," I announce. Tim walked over to me with a dish in hand and placed it in front of me. "Mmm," I said, rubbing my hands together. I started inserting the food into my mouth, the flavor that instantly filled my mouth was extraordinary. "Oh my god!" I moaned. McGee looked at me. "This is good! Where'd you learn to cook like this?" I ask. "I told you, it's my mother's recipe," Tim laughed. "She's a good woman," I said with a mouthful. Tim chortled.

Taking in my last bite. I begin scraping the sauce from the meat and scooping it into my mouth. Getting up from the chair to rinse off my plate. "That was really good, Timmy," I repeated. "Thanks," Tim said. "It wasn't 100% her recipe; since you didn't have all the right ingredients," he said. "I could've ran by the store to get some," I offered. Tim smiled. "That would involve telling you the recipe," he laughed. "Even just a small ingredient?" I asked. "Every recipe ingredient is secret," he defended. "Does her recipe have a name?" I asked. "I don't think she ever created one. It was just 'Mom's recipe,' " rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll just call it McGee Mystery," a smirk crept upon my lips. "Sure," he returned my smirk.

Typing a couple more words onto the page. I sent off the document to Gibbs. Putting my hands on my head and releasing a deep sigh. "I'm finally done," my fingers throbbing from the non stop typing. Getting up to stretch; the sun was now setting. My foot was no longer throbbing. Walking to the bathroom, I remove the bandages, the blood-soaked through half of it. Leaning my foot over the tub, I glimpse at my wound. The slit is now a maroon red and is now scabbing over. Tapping it to reveal any pain that may still be there. No. Just a rock hard scab. I don't want to risk it bleeding again. Bandaging it up again with petroleum jelly as a spread. Slowly—I swing my foot back over to the ground and begin to hobble again. Just until I feel I won't break the scab open.

Limping my way to the living room—Parker greets me at my feet with a meow. Sitting down on the couch, Parker rubs against my leg. I picked him up and put him on my lap. Spinning around in a circle and plopped himself onto my lap. Tim is in the kitchen cleaning his dishes. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" I asked. "I'm sure, Tony," he started, "you rest that foot," he said. I look back down at Parker—his purring almost vibrating the fabric on my sweatpants.

Tim sits next to me. I wrap my arm around him to bring him closer. He leans in and lays his head onto my chest. Playing with his hair and petting Parker at the same time. I couldn't be any happier.