It was funny how it was the little things that often hurt the most.
And tonight he wasn't thinking about the reason his right arm was in a sling. No, it was something smaller than that. But sometimes little betrayals were more painful than the big ones.
What did it matter to him if she'd invited McGee to dinner? Sure it had stung his pride a little when she'd told him. McGeek? Really? He supposed that if you didn't know many people in town, then there were worse people to spend time with than Tim McGee.
And okay, yes it did come a surprise that she'd invited the Autopsy Gremlin along too. She must've over catered or something. That being said, Jimmy Palmer was a good kid who probably didn't get out much so the break in his routine would probably have been welcomed.
Maybe it was a ruse. Maybe she'd wanted to test a new poison? Nah, if she'd been doing that she would have invited him for sure.
Whatever the reason, the invitation of those two wasn't worth loosing sleep over.
But Abby…
It had really hurt to return to the office and find that his favourite Goth had been invited. Abby! Who for all intents and purposes despised Ziva and what she stood for. To hear her extol Ziva's culinary talents - that really bit deep into his self-confidence.
The knowing glances between the three workmates sharing something he apparently had been so deliberately excluded from, suddenly made the squad room an uncomfortable place to be.
But nothing could prepare him for the Coup de Grace, the ultimate little betrayal.
"Cholent, Slow cooked beef with potatoes and beans… it wasn't bad."
The metaphorical rug was suddenly ripped out from under Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo to reveal nothing but a familiar black emotional hole beneath it.
What was he expected to do, grin and laugh it off like so many other times? Or perhaps he could whore himself out that little bit more – try that little bit harder for acceptance from his team? His friends? His boss?
A lump formed in his throat. She said she'd cook him Italian… a guilty conscience perhaps. What was she really offering it for? A pity f…ocaccia?
As the stark reality of the situation settled in, the idea of spending any time with one or all of them that evening made him feel quite ill. Or maybe it was just the local anaesthetic wearing off. What ever the cause, his heart just wasn't in it anymore. There were only so many smiles you could wear before the façade cracked.
Swallowing back the bile that threatened to take his voice and what little dignity he had left, Tony fashioned one last regretful, self deprecating wry grin and stood up from his desk.
"I'll have to take a rain check Ziva." He said simply, turning his light off with his good hand and bending down for his pack.
Perplexed, Ziva cocked her head to one side and frowned at her co-worker. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw McGee and Abby sharing a similar look.
"Are you okay Tony?" Ziva queried.
He swallowed hard once more, trying to bite back the words and emotions he really wanted to say. No! he wanted to say, no, I'm not okay. He wanted to tell them how belittled he felt, how foolish, how much it hurt to be excluded like that… but no matter how he ran it through his mind there was no way to say it without sounding like an eight year old who was jealous that he hadn't been invited to the cool kids party. So, like so many times before, he said nothing at all other than what people wanted to hear.
"Yeah, I'm fine… I've just lost my appetite that's all. G'night"
Without waiting, Tony walked over to the elevator just in time to duck inside before the door closed. It was a blessed relief that he hadn't had to stand and wait for it to arrive with four sets of eyes boring into the back of him, or worse, some well meaning person – probably Abby – racing over to try draw him out.
Tomorrow he would be back as he ever was, the Pierrot like mask fixed firmly in place, the buffoon, the joker, the fool. The light-hearted banter would return and nobody would remember tonight's' Tony DiNozzo. Nobody but Tony himself – he never forgot.
It was odd how it was the little betrayals that always hurt the most.
This ficlet has been bugging me to be written ever since I saw the season 3 episode Boxed In. I have always loved this episode, but without fail that last minute always creates a rather embarrassingly visceral reaction in me at a fundamental level. I have always found it truly one of the cruellest moments in all eight seasons of NCIS, and my hat goes off to the acting chops of Mr Michael Weatherly for catching that gut wrenching feeling of intense hurt trying to hide behind a mask of indifference.
Reviews, comments, suggestions always welcomed!