Enjoy!
Chapter One
Slow days were never good. It would be more appropriate to term them as waiting for the body to be found days, because that's really what they were. Sometimes they had these long stretches where they were able to solve several cold cases and could finish all of their paper work before the next murder called them out of the office. Other times it started out as a slow day and then 15 minutes in the day they were running to the elevator eager to begin their work even if the circumstances were never pleasant.
It was great when a slow day occurred on the brink of the weekend, when most of the paperwork had been completed the day before and they were on the last leg of the bureaucratic necessity.
Friday night, and this one he wouldn't spend out in the muggy heat trying to solve a murder. Of course he had no plans tonight, what with his job being forever unpredictable. Tony was like the A-Team, he dropped everything when the call came in. This was a dry spell anyway; he would hit it off with someone another time, another day. Besides the dungeon dweller, their master of forensics, might rescue him from the boredom and bring him along on the not-a-date she would have with McGee. So a weekend night with nothing penciled in, he could work it.
Their esteemed leader and former marine (but still a hardass) was up in MTAC speaking with Director Vance; it was the closest thing they had to free time. There wasn't much paperwork left for them to sort through from their last case and trying to reopen a cold case on Friday was unreasonable when and no one would think about the details of the case until Monday.
Consequently, the small team was doing busy work, finishing anything and everything as to occupy their time. But with Gibbs gone, one could only guess whether or not the senior field agent Anthony DiNozzo was actually working. There were more paper balls in the McGeek's trashcan and each successive one that Tony threw had the pernicious techy cringing. The fact that it annoyed the probie agent did nothing to dissuade Tony from continuing his tiny game of basketball, and it might've made the game more enjoyable knowing the other agent was not amused with his antics.
The phone rang on Tony's desk and he jumped in the chair. The only female member of the team, Officer Ziva David, looked up from her computer and cocked her brow, chuckling to herself in the now broken silence of the bullpen. He wouldn't go as juvenile as to stick his tongue out at her but he did glare before picking up the ringing phone.
"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo." He said, plastering on his patented charm and smile, making sure to give the caller that extra special attention.
"Anthony, my boy." Tony's face fell. His right eye twitched. His fingers clenched tight on the telephone cord. He didn't dare glance up.
Ziva and Tim looked up from their computer screens, eager to eavesdrop on their friend. It was the lack of a grin on their normally jovial teammate that caused them to pause. Something grave must have happened for the sudden change. The two leaned closer, intent on listening into the otherwise private conversation.
The distressingly familiar voice on the other end of the phone continued. "Oh, Anthony." He chuckled. "You should know by now that you cannot hide from me. I will always find you, wherever you are. Because, my son, you are mine."
Tony slammed the phone down onto its cradle and backed away. He glared at the machine as if he could set it on fire by will alone. When that failed he rubbed his eyes, daring the day to be a dream and for him to wake up at him with his alarm blaring or Gibbs calling and saying there was a dead sailor or marine found somewhere.
Only he knew he wasn't dreaming- his father had finally located him.
He resisted the urge to drag his hands through his hair and pulled himself back to the desk, ignoring the phone. His fingers drummed on desk's surface. There was so much he had to do now, too much.
"That was…?" Ziva inquired.
Tony's head shot up, realizing that his father had managed to call him at the office and he worked with a crack team of investigators.
"My super." Tony lied, saying the first thing that came to mind. "He called to say that there was a leak in the apartment above mine."
"Oh." McGee said, disappointed. Ziva too, sat back dejectedly.
"Tell the boss I'm taking a lunch break." Tony called out to the two others, throwing his bag over his shoulder and heading for the elevator.
Tim nodded from his computer. Ziva waved him off, pretending to be deeply engrossed on her computer, only to eye him as he stood idly while waiting for the elevator.
He briefly considered his father's actions but when they were unpredictable as always he gave up the futile attempt at understanding his motivation.
Eleven in the morning on a beautiful Friday morning, nothing lasted, eventually everything was gone.
His father had kept abreast of him and called him out of the blue every two years, the cycle had moved him from Baltimore to NCIS and then strangely it had stopped. When he had reached the two year mark here, every day he waited for his phone to ring and his father to be on the other end of the line, prompting Tony to pull the disappearing act again. After the third year a small part of him considered his father had abandoned the search for him and he had dropped his guard. Growing comfortable in his position at NCIS, where he was regarded as a reliable, if offbeat, special agent under the guidance of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
He needed to leave before his father arrived to collect him as he always would. At least the man had the decency to warn Tony ahead of time. The elder DiNozzo genuinely enjoyed the game of cat and mouse.
The drive to his apartment was remarkable in its characterlessness; the car was quiet, he obeyed the speed limit signs, and pulled to a complete stop at every stop sign. All in all he followed every rule of the road down to the letter. This was not an overwhelmingly conscious decision.
In fact, the road was the furthest thing from his mind. He wasn't actively watching every sign, but he obeyed them meticulously. There were plans; tickets needed to be ordered and clothes had to be packed. Plans he hadn't bothered with for several years. The plans were never written down or listed incase his father found them. He needed to escape, soon.
At his apartment, the devastation of the phone call came crashing down. Before the phone call, NCIS had been the one place where he thought he would be undetectable, invisible to his obsessive father. He hadn't anticipated his father calling years later, shattering Tony's idyllic little world.
Tony sighed, glancing around his apartment. All those years, eight to be exact, and he had more collected clothes, DVDs, and electronics than he usually dealt with before his abrupt departure. Some things had to be left behind. There wasn't enough room in his suitcase for everything.
Pulling a big suitcase from the back of his closet, the same one he had used during his transfer from Baltimore to Norfolk, Tony mulled over what he could pack.
He wouldn't bring all of his most expensive suits or clothes, only a select few. He appraised each suit carefully, laying the ones that were deemed either multipurpose or expertly tailored on the bed. Other articles of clothing like shirts, shorts, jeans, and slacks, were chosen with the same expert eye. He immediately discarded any clothing that displayed NCIS, bold or not. He couldn't afford to explain the acronym or why he possessed such a shirt to anyone, the wrong person could alert his father; DiNozzo Sr. had more connections across the country than Tony had contacts in his phone. Only one shirt from the past made it into the suitcase, the one from when he worked for the Baltimore PD, it was more comfortable than anything else he owned, and its sentimental value far outweighed anything else.
Tony carefully folded each item into one of the extremely large suitcases, the suits were delicately hung (he could handle a few wrinkles).
Casting a melancholic glance around the apartment, Tony took in his now past life. A time memorialized in a variety pictures hanging on the walls of his apartment. He brushed his fingers over the frame of one of the many photographs decorating the bedroom's walls.
The number of sentimental possessions he had acquired over the years while working at NCIS was nearly three times the amount he normally gathered before his father called him and he was forced to quickly relocate. There were more pictures than anything else.
Tony took in each photo in his bedroom, knowing there were more in the front hall. There were photos on the walls and tables, some in the hall way and while the personal ones in were in his bedroom, all the friendships formed over the years chronicled in a seemingly unending stream of pictures. There were shots of the team at crime scenes, candid photos of them doing what they did best. Some of his favorites were just pictures of the team hanging out on the weekends together as a group, including Abby, the bouncing gothic forensic scientist.
One of the smaller framed photos caught his eye and he picked it off the wall, tracing the smooth glass. It was an old picture of Gibbs and him laughing together after a tough game of basketball against Ziva and Tim. Tony had just used his old Baltimore PD shirt to wipe the sweat away, his forehead still glistening though. He had only thrown an arm over Gibbs' shoulder in a loose manly hug, the marine's shirt resting on his shoulder (they had played shirts and skins, and they were skins). It was a rare moment Abby had caught on camera, a candid shot of the two grinning like fools with the triumph of a hard fought victory in their smiles. He couldn't stop his own grin, remembering the fun night afterwards, Ziva and Tim had to pay that night, though they didn't party hard (not like his days at the frat house) and he learned that Ziva had a tendency to butcher idioms worse than usual when she was drinking. No more correcting Ziva he remembered. Tony threw the picture to the ground, grinding the glass under his heel angrily. Instead of comforting him, the thought had further soured his mood, doing little to assuage the turmoil boiling inside.
The picture and dark wood frame had been a gift from Abby. Along with a handwritten note exclaiming that it was the happiest she had ever seen him. Even in the darkest of times, he would smile whenever he saw the picture. It provided a brief respite from the death and danger of his job, reminding him of who he was fighting alongside, who they really were when the stress of the job caused tensions to run high. His life wasn't perfect, but it was his- or it had been his.
Tony took the time to clean up the broken glass, salvaging the slightly scratched picture. He briefly considered holding onto this keepsake of his life at NCIS. Before he could think twice and question the decision, he folded the photo and slipped it into his wallet.
The broken frame and glass he tossed into the trash can. Unless someone intimately knew the placement and number of pictures it wouldn't they wouldn't know any were missing.
The other pictures in the apartment he left waiting for his father's temper and if DiNozzo Sr. had Tony's work number than he undoubtedly knew who he worked with. DiNozzo Sr. was no fool; he wouldn't pursue Tony's colleagues at NCIS in a vain hope for information. Attacking a federal agent would only raise questions and impede the elder Dinozzo's relentless search. Besides, Tony trusted that his team could handle anything his father might throw at them.
Tony's cell phone rang in his back pocket, but he ignored it.
Instead, he was busy switching out cards and various other forms of identification, trading out Anthony Dinozzo for his alias Sean Pierce. Arrangements were already in place for the moniker; there was an offshore bank account and he had his college diploma secretly registered under the other name.
He reserved a seat on various flights, three of them under the name of Anthony Dinozzo and two under his alias Sean Pierce. It was expensive but it would leave enough initial confusion for Tony to make an effective escape.
Tony then packed up his personal laptop computer.
The last thing he did before leaving his home for seven years was retrieve an envelope from a lockbox, carrying five thousand dollars in foreign bills and in small denominations, enough to sustain him until it was safe to withdraw from Sean Pierce's account without risk of exposure.
Tony dragged the suitcase out to his car and took one last solemn walk in the apartment. His apartment appeared normal, occupied. Tony could walk in and keep living here: there were still his mountains of DVDs, clothes hanging up in his closet and folded neatly in his drawers, rows and rows of pictures hanging on the walls, and food in his fridge.
It had taken less than two hours to pack up his life and abandon it.
Tony drove back to NCIS with the suitcase in the trunk. The trip had taken longer than an actual lunch and the team would undoubtedly notice if he didn't return with food. So he drove through a hamburger joint and ordered everyone's favorites.
When he arrived at work with food in hand, two faces brightened. Popping up from behind their computers, Ziva and McGee graciously accepted the bags of food. Taking the first bites, the two teammates mumbled 'thank you'. He left the last fast food bag on Gibb's desk.
The group talked together during lunch, occasionally mentioning an old case or cracking a joke.
Gibbs came down from MTAC a few minutes after Tony came back from lunch. He glanced across at Tony when he saw the paper bag, already knowing that the mountain of meat would never have come from Ziva, and McGee had yet to remember correctly how he liked his burgers.
Tony efficiently worked through the day, uncharacteristically morose. He half-heartedly laughed at McGee's jokes and rolled his eyes at Ziva's frustrated mutterings at her computer, threatening it within an inch of its nonexistent life as if that would somehow make it listen to her.
"Hey Tony." McGee said, stepping up from behind the desk with his backpack in hand. Ready to leave for the night.
"Hmm?" The senior agent casually asked, leaning back in his office chair, his hands behind his head. His green eyes strayed away to that ceiling, refusing to look the slightly younger man in the face.
"You've been quiet today Tony. You all right?" Tony cocked his head to the side, giving the younger man his patented DiNozzo grin.
The Italian jumped up, hands thrown to his face in shock and indignation. "You want to talk to me about feelings, McProbie? Did you turn into a chick?"
"Never mind, Tony. Enjoy your date tonight, or your hand." The other agent grumbled; muttering the last part to himself, conscious of an old gunnery sergeant's ears behind him.
Officer David left shortly after McGee and his awkward attempt at a conversation. She did not try to repeat the experience herself, even if concern was evident on her face when she lingered in front of his desk.
Around six o'clock Gibbs stood from his desk, pressing a hand against his lower back in an attempt to alleviate the pressure that had built up over the day. Most of the other members of NCIS had left the building, making it eerily quiet on that early Friday night.
"Good Night Din…" The gunnery sergeant paused, finally getting a good look at his senior agent and seeing the dark eyes and faraway look, something was clearly haunting him.
"DiNozzo, talk." He ordered the normally chatty senior agent, pulling Tony out of the self-induced stupor. Tony reluctantly looked away from the computer screen and up to his boss. Gibbs' piercing blue eyes studying him.
"Yes, Boss?" Tony innocently asked, offhandedly beaming. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head.
Gibbs considered the saccharine grin, instinctively seeing through its disarming nature. "What's going on Tony?"
Tony sighed, thinking quickly. "Just a Friday night and nothing to do." He chuckled, hoping Gibbs would believe him. If he couldn't convince Gibbs to leave him be than his plans were doomed.
"Then call Abby." Gibbs grunted, grabbing his sidearm and holstering it, he left the office.
Once the elevators doors shut Tony set to work clearing out his desk. He removed Gibbs' many medals, placing them on top of the former marine's desk. Anything that could be disposed of was thrown into the trashcan: including miscellaneous business cards, restaurant take out menus, and his old prank supplies. His latest prank discarded, the head slap it would have earned went away with it too. Part of him would miss the head slaps and the lingering dizzy effect some of them had when Gibbs was particularly unimpressed with his antics- Tony grinned, remembering the good times. A list of contacts was emailed to McGee, consisting of lesser known sources that were often his reason for suddenly breaking a case.
Tony folded his jacket over his arm and his badge and service weapon he held in his other hand. He stepped away from the desk, surveying the damage from the past fifteen minutes; the top was pristine and clear of any personal belongings. Nothing tied him down here now. There was no putting it off any longer. He had to face the proverbial music- and resign from his post at NCIS.
The first step on the stairs was a momentous struggle. It was a threshold, the first step out of his beloved life. Here, at this step, he could still turn back. He could stay and he would face his father. But, it would put his team at risk.
And that wasn't a bet he was willing to take.
Tony shook his head, forcing out a tenuous smile, no matter the grim circumstances. The metal railing was a lifeline and he used it to help pull his unwilling body up the stairs.
He would move onto another life and forget the one he had here. He would keep everyone safe by staying away from his deranged and resourceful father. He had done it before and he would do it again. He had chosen this life when he ran away from his father for the first time so many years ago.
Sighing, Tony raised a hand and knocked on the director's door. His secretary was long gone, just like most everyone else in the building.
"Yes?" The director called.
Tony opened the door, shrugging into his charismatic playboy persona. The slip wasn't as seamless and effortless as usual.
"Director Vance." Tony said, walking into the office.
The evening news played in the background, the sound muted, while Vance worked.
"Agent DiNozzo, I thought you would've left by now seeing as it is Friday night and…" Vance looked at the clock, "half past six."
"I'm leaving. Sir." Tony confessed, inwardly choking on the words coming out of his mouth. He pushed forward, reminding himself that this was the best option. The team would stay safe. It required only one sacrifice- one monumental sacrifice- that abandon his life and disappear.
Wordlessly, he laid the badge and handgun down on Director Vance's desk; the light thump was the only noise in the office.
The director glanced between the badge and the special agent, looking for indecision, distress, something to explain why the happy go lucky senior special agent decided to abruptly quit his job. DiNozzo was the same though, all smiles and charm, a taciturn fratboy. Vance wouldn't say he was thrilled with the resignation, in fact he was puzzled by it, but there was no reason to call it into question. So he nodded, pulling the badge and weapon closer, dismissing the former agent.
Nodding and grinning, Tony slipped out the door- a smile plastered to his face.
There was no going back now.
For those of who don't know, shirts and skins is a way to differentiate between two teams by having one team play with their shirts on (the shirts) and the other play with no shirts on (the skins), if a female is playing on then she will inevitably be on the shirts team.
Updated May 20, 2013