AN: pure fluff …
Tony DiNozzo shifts carefully in the armchair as he repositions the bundle in his arms. When, he wonders, did six pounds twelve ounces become such a burden? A weight, he corrects himself, never a burden. He smiles as he reaches out and runs a gentle finger across the sandy hair on his son's head.
The nurse had ushered him and baby into this empty room a few minutes before,
"Father and baby bonding time," she had announced briskly before pointing to the chair and then putting the new-born into his arms.
Tony had smiled nervously but been too scared of Nurse Cynthia to protest.
"Mommy needs her rest," Nurse Cynthia had said pointedly. Tony wasn't sure whether the glare had been directed at him for being the father or at the baby for taking 24 hours to arrive. It was his first moment of solidarity with his son against female disapproval and he had instinctively held the baby a bit closer in case he was alarmed at the tone of voice. Nurse Cynthia's eyes had softened as she smiled at the gesture,
"You'll do," she'd said, patting him gently on the shoulder before leaving.
"So," says Tony, a bit embarrassed to be speaking to a sleeping baby but, hey, he's DiNozzo. Nobody expects him to be quiet. "So, I'll do. Latest in a long line of ringing endorsements. Don't worry, I usually do better than people expect, we'll get by. And your mom, well, she's the real deal. And once she gets over being tired, she'll be fine. And being in pain for 24 hours, not able to see her feet for 3 months and having to pee constantly? She won't hold that against you, she's real forgiving. Has to be really, we're DiNozzos. And I got her some flowers from you, that'll help. Women love flowers."
He runs a finger over the baby's nose and admires the little ears.
"Wonder what colour your hair will be," he says, "and your eyes? They're grey at the moment but that'll change."
His friends and co-workers, would he thinks, find something else to do if they heard him talking about infant hair and eye colour. In recent months his interest in movies has decreased as baby development became all absorbing and he couldn't help but share his new found knowledge. Agents with young children had begun to avoid him unless they had a spare hour to spend discussing latest theories about genetics, cribs or the benefits of playing music to babies in the womb. McGee had once thrown up when Tony began to discuss diaper contents in baby's first week of life but, Tony had pointed out defensively, they had been on board a boat at the time.
"I've got some great movies lined up for you," confides Tony, "Finding Nemo, Dumbo, Muppets, Top Gun. Just kidding, Top Gun'll have to wait a while but your Mom likes it."
The baby stirs and a small hand wriggles its way out of the pale blue blanket. Tony grasps the hand and admires the long fingers,
"Perhaps you'll play piano," he says, "or be a computer geek. With those fingers you'll be able to type like the wind. You'll be better than your old man at that," he pauses and runs a finger over the dimples where knuckles will show one day, "at least, I hope so. Sons should be better than their fathers."
Footsteps sound in the corridor outside and Tony hears voices in conversation but, for the moment at least, he and his son are cocooned together away from the demands of the world. As directed, they are bonding.
"What about sport?" he says, "Doctor said you're quite long. Might mean you'll be tall. Do you fancy basketball? I could show you some moves. Perhaps you'll be taller than me. I won't mind if you are."
There's a loud bang outside the door and someone mutters in annoyance at having dropped something. Tony tenses both at the possible threat and the chance of the baby waking up. He feels confident dealing with a sleeping baby but he's more nervous about one who's awake. He looks at the door but nobody comes in to disturb them and then he looks down at his son and sees that his eyes, still grey, are open.
"Hey," he says, "you're awake!"
He hopes McGee hasn't planted a bug anywhere but somehow he feels the need to talk to this small scrap of humanity even if the words aren't profound. He's learned that communication is important and he wants to begin this relationship right.
"I'm your daddy," he says, "and I've been waiting a long time to meet you."
The baby yawns.
"And I guess you've been waiting a long time to meet me. Wait got a bit tiring, did it?" and Tony shakes the little hand with a laugh to show he isn't cross.
Showing a complete lack of interest, the baby's eyes close again and he goes back to sleep.
During the pregnancy Tony had sometimes wondered whether he would find the baby interesting when it was born. His experience with babies was limited and he'd thought he might only get involved with his child when he, or she, could operate the remote control on the TV or wanted to borrow the car. It wasn't that he didn't intend to love the child but he'd thought perhaps it would only be interesting when it got out of diapers or when (in Tony's unspoken thoughts) it got less blobby.
Now Tony laughs - quietly because babies need their rest and he doesn't want to incur the wrath of Nurse Cynthia. But still, he laughs at the thought that he might not find his child interesting. He is already entranced by the myriad expressions that flit across the infant face; at how he looks impossibly old one moment and babyish the next; at the perfection of a tiny mouth and delicate feet. With a shock, he realises he is in love with this baby and, with another shock, that he is on the brink of tears.
"Damn hormones," he says, as he brushes the wetness away from his eyes.
The unguarded gesture jerks the baby and the eyes open again.
"Sorry," he whispers but the baby doesn't cry and his eyes remain open.
Tony is very glad that there is no crying. He knows already that his son's wails cut straight through him and, at the moment, he can't imagine ever being able to ignore them.
"Hey," says Tony, "would you like to know your name?"
The baby doesn't yawn so Tony takes this as assent.
"Well, DiNozzo, of course. We're all DiNozzos: you, me and Mommy. But we chose a couple of names just for you. You're going to be Gregory. That's your Mommy's dad's name. And one of my favourite actors. But we're calling you Gregory after your grandfather. 'Cos he's a good man."
Gregory's eyes stay open so Tony continues,
"You've got another granddad," he says, "my dad. His name's Anthony. So's mine but you'll be calling me Daddy. You'll be the only person in the world calling me Daddy and I'm glad it's you. I hope you'll be glad too."
Tony pauses as he wonders if a nurse ever pushed Senior into a hospital room and ordered him to bond with his new-born son. He guesses not. He tries to picture a younger Senior sitting patiently nursing a young baby but the image blurs. Handing out cigars, boasting about a beautiful wife, thinking about when he could go back to work: yes, Tony can imagine all that but this sitting quietly getting to know his new son … no, somehow Tony doesn't think that happened.
"My Boss, Gibbs," says Tony in a confidential tone, "told me a story once about when he was a boy. He was making a model aeroplane. Don't worry, you'll find out what they are one day. Perhaps we'll take you on one, but not yet. Anyway, Gibbs was making this model and he said his Dad helped him and talked to him at the same time. I think that's what fathers and sons are meant to do. Not make model aeroplanes … but we can if that's what you want to do. I mean we should do things together. And we should talk."
The little arm waves again and still no tears.
"And we will talk, I promise," Tony imagines McGee rolling his eyes and saying, 'of course, you'll talk. You never stop'. "We'll talk about the important things," said Tony, "and I promise I'll listen."
He bends his head and rubs his forehead gently against his son's.
"So your other name is going to be Jethro," he says, "that's my Boss's name. You'll be Jethro because he's a good man but mostly because it will remind me that I promise to talk to you and to listen to you. But I might not tell him that 'cos talking's not his strong point. He's more into … well, gestures and glares. So Gregory Jethro DiNozzo, welcome to the world."
Gregory looks a bit underwhelmed by his name but he seems to like looking at his father's face and he doesn't close his eyes.
"I don't know what colour your eyes will be," says Tony, "I don't know if you're going to be blond or dark, tall or short. Don't know if you're going to like sports or movies. Don't know if you're going to like pizza or how you'll like your eggs. I don't know anything about you except the important things – you're my son and I love you."
Gregory sighs, wriggles and falls asleep.
"Hey," says Tony softly, "do you know how many women would have died to hear me make a declaration like that? Well, actually, not many but still, none of them would have gone to sleep!"
There's no reply but Tony can be patient when he needs to be. There's all the time in the world for his son to talk to him and, in the meantime, he's content to sit and wait and, looking at Gregory, begin to learn all that the baby books hadn't told him. And perhaps, he thinks, he'll buy Nurse Cynthia some flowers.
AN: the characters aren't mine and I'll leave you to imagine who Gregory's mother is.