Title: Father Confessor
Character(s): Tony DiNozzo Jr.
Pairing(s): N/A
Genre(s): Gen
Episode(s): 2x22 "SWAK", 7x12 "Flesh and Blood"
Crossover(s): N/A
Word Count: 1,282
Summary: Recovering in hospital after his bout with Pneumonic Plague, Tony attempts to tell Senior about his brush with death.
AN: Written for Session 5, Round 1 of the NCIS Last Fiction-Writer Standing competition. Many thanks to Scousemuz1k for the beta!
The prompt given was:
1. Missing Scene: Was there a scene on an episode that you wished was different? Did the end of an episode leave you wanting more? Write a tag or a missing scene, for an episode. For spoiler reasons you may only use episodes 1-5 of season 8. Anyone using an episode after "Dead Air" will be made to re-write their story (in other words, you may use any episode from seaosn 1-7 and only the first 5 episodes from season 8). Word count may not exceed 1500.
A/N: For some reason, this site won't allow me to use the "strike" function to show crossed-out text. So instead I've put those sections in bold with the HTML tags around them, so you can tell they're meant to be crossed out. Just another one of those weird things this site does. It previewed fine but after I save it, the effect was gone. Go figure.
May 17, 2005
Hi Dad,
Funny how everything seems to happen in May.
Thought for sure you'd call me when I didn't show up at the cemetery this year. Well, maybe you did? I haven't been home for a few days, and they confiscated my cell phone.
I had a really good excuse, though. I'm in hospital.
I almost died last week.
Ok, I guess I'd better explain that.
A letter showed up in the squad room, no specific addressee. It had red lipstick on the seal though. So, naturally, I figured it had to be for me. Hey, don't laugh. It's not like McNerd would get a love letter from anyone. Kate doesn't swing that way. And Gibbs... well. I don't even wanna go there.
I've had a few really hot dates lately. There's this one in particular, Christie. She's a Redskins cheerleader. Strawberry blonde. She's really sexy, legs a mile long, and she has those big, pouty lips... and I figured it was maybe from her. Smelled like her perfume, too. I couldn't wait to get it open.
That was my first mistake.
Second mistake was breathing. White powder everywhere. All over my Zegna suit. At first I thought it was Anthrax; turned out to be Plague. Not much better.
They burned every piece of clothing I had. Everything. I could cry. I only just bought that Dolce&Gabbana shirt three weeks ago; finally used that gift certificate you sent at Christmas. Well, it's gone. Sorry, Dad.
That's what I get for violating protocol, I suppose. If I'd played it by the book, I would've let McGee give the letter to Gibbs, and he would've sent it straight downstairs to Abby's lab for analysis. She would've put it in her little glass box and x-rayed it, seen the stuff inside, and neutralized it. End of story.
Instead of that, they had to evacuate the entire floor. The four of us ended up down in autopsy, with Ducky taking blood samples and Gibbs pacing around like a caged animal. Next thing I know, Kate and I are being shuffled off to Bethesda like a couple of lab rats. It would've been just me, but she had a cold, so they made her come too, as a precaution. Boy, was she thrilled about that. I tried to cheer her up, but she's got no sense of humor at all.
Remember when I broke my leg in that football game at Ohio State? Well, turns out the doc we had is the very same guy who ploughed into me back then. Didn't even get a penalty! Roughing the passer. That's 15 yards. Might've made all the difference, put us into field goal range. We could've won that game instead of tieing it.
You'll never guess what his name is, Dad: Commander Brad Pitt. Seriously. For some reason Kate got all pissy when she found out we knew each other. (Doesn't take much to get her pissy, come to think of it.)
So Dr. Pitt tells me I have Plague, and then Kate informs me she has it too. At this point I'm really feeling fantastic. Not only have I exposed myself to a potentially lethal illness, I'm also thinking I've given it to my partner.
They had us in this airtight contraption in the middle of an empty room, with something like 6 beds in it. It was like being in a sci-fi movie. I told Kate I felt like Travolta in "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble." That pissed her off, too.
No idea why she hates it when I talk about movies. But she does, and I just can't help myself. I know it bugs her, but I can't resist pushing her buttons. strike Sometimes I feel bad and I wish I could stop doing it. /strike She's like the annoying sister I never had. It's so much fun to tease her, 'cos it's so easy.
Kinda reminds me of you and Mom.
(Oh yeah, we also had a really cute nurse, Lt. Emma Ingham. I got her number. As soon as they let me out of here, I'm gonna call her. She appreciates my extensive film knowledge, even if Kate doesn't.)
Anyway, next thing I knew, I started coughing up blood. Things got a little fuzzy after that. I couldn't think clearly. Ducky says that's the lack of oxygen, it fogs up your brain – whatever. All the voices were kind of hollow and far away, like I was in a tunnel or something.
I got scared, Dad. Can't believe I'm admitting that to you. It's stupid.
I've been in life-threatening situations before. There was that time in Baltimore, when my gun jammed. And before that, in Philly, I took a bullet in that drug bust, remember?
But this was different. Just lying there, gasping for each breath. Coughing. Waiting. Hoping I wouldn't choke on my own spit. Not knowing if the next time I breathed in I'd be sucking a bunch of liquid into my lungs instead of air.
Let's see - do I suffocate, or do I drown? Not much of a choice. And way too much time to think about it.
I found out later that Kate wasn't really sick. She lied. She wanted to stay with me, so I wouldn't feel like I was going through this alone. And I don't know why, but they let her get away with it for quite awhile.
That woman is insane. She could've gotten sick for real.
But I love her for it.
Just so you know, even though I wasn't there on Saturday, I was still thinking about Mom. I was wondering... if I died, would I see her? And that sort of took some of the fear away, if only for a moment.
I'm feeling much better now, but they're still keeping me here for one more day, for observation. I'm going stir-crazy! The TV in my room isn't working, and the team's working 24/7 surveillance on two guys suspected of belonging to Al Jihad, so I can't even call and talk to anyone. Ducky says I have to take at least 2 weeks of sick leave before he'll let me back on the active duty roster. What the hell am I gonna do at home for 2 whole weeks?
strike Hey, Dad...maybe you could come down and keep me company for a day or two? /strike
Tony DiNozzo Jr. awoke from a deep sleep, pen still in hand, writing pad perched precariously on his knee, in danger of falling to the floor. He pulled himself up in his hospital bed and read over what he'd written so far.
What the hell am I doing?
In disgust, he tore off the pages, crumpling them in a wad and tossing them across the room into the garbage, for a perfect set shot.
I've still got it! he smiled to himself with satisfaction.
So what if he'd missed their annual pilgrimage to his mother's grave? She would understand. He'd go by himself, when he was well again, and have some private time with her.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Precious oxygen. It felt so good to inhale a large lungful of air again.
There was no need for Senior to hear about any of this. He probably wouldn't care, anyway.
Would he?