This is my first NCIS story, having started watching it a few months ago.
To avoid confusion, "Anthony" refers to Senior and "Tony" refers to Junior.
BUT HEART WHICH MAKES US
It was all the fault of the strawberries. Or so he thought at first.
One of the interns had brought in six huge bowls of strawberries and all the team had indulged.
"In ancient times, strawberries were revered for their aphrodisiacal qualities. The seeds were supposed to represent fertility," observed McGee.
"Which is why I devour them with reckless abandon. The fruit of the gods! Mmm!" Tony gazed at the largest strawberry fondly before devouring it with gusto.
"You're ever hopeful, Tony," commented McGee, grinning.
Tony stuck out his tongue. However, it was all just an act. He had no desire to be attractive to the opposite sex, because the lady he loved had gone…
Nothing had been the same since Ziva had left. He had tried to fill the void in his life by working all hours, he had watched every film in his collection till he knew the dialogue practically by heart, he had even let Ducky counsel him – but, nothing had really worked. Nobody could replace Ziva in his life. And, try as he might, he just couldn't stop loving her.
Perhaps it was because of sad thoughts that he over-indulged. So, when Tony awoke the following morning with pain in his lower stomach, he gave himself a metaphorical Gibbs head-slap. He'd had it before, when he'd over-eaten fruit – especially berries. They might have all their celebrated health benefits, he mused, but they were a swine on the gastrics. He ought to have remembered.
"Serves you right, DiNozzo," he admonished himself out loud. " You tried too hard. Michael Weatherly needn't worry just yet."
He took an Extra Strong mint from the tube on his bedside table; sucking these usually had the desired effect. He lay back down in bed. The indigestion would clear in an hour or so.
But, it didn't. The pain wouldn't go away. And it seemed to be spreading; by early afternoon, it reached from his lower stomach to up to just below his rib-cage.
This isn't normal, Tony thought. I'd usually feel better by now. Maybe those strawberries were sprayed with something.
He stayed in all day, rather suspecting he had some kind of virus, which was confirmed in his mind when he was sick violently several times during the evening. As he lay on his bed, having cleaned himself up after barfing for the third time, his cell 'phone rang. He picked it up. If it was someone to whom he didn't want to speak, he would leave it. But, when he saw Abby's face appear on the screen, he decided to answer. He wouldn't mind – indeed, he would quite like – to have a chat with her.
"Hello, Abbs."
"Hi, Tony! How're you doing?"
"Well – not too great."
"Ohh?"
"I've had chronic stomach ache all day – and now I've been throwing up half the evening. Thought at first it must be the strawberries – now I think I may have some sort of virus."
"Poor Tony," said Abby, genuinely sympathetic. She always was, and Tony felt comforted. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yes…Abbs, please can you not tell anyone at work?"
"Okay….why not?"
"I'll get it in the head from Gibbs for over-stuffing my face – and McGee'll probably use the aphrodisiac strawberry plot in his next novel. Please, Abbs?" pleaded Tony.
"No, of course I won't," replied Abby, kindly. "Do you still feel poorly?"
"Not quite as crook as I did."
"Well, my mum always used to say – you'll feel better for being sick."
"Well, with what I just regurgitated of the contents of my stomach – I sure hope so," Tony grimaced.
" I really hope you'll feel better soon, Tony. Let me know if you need anything."
"I will. Thanks."
"Take care."
Bless you, Abbs, Tony thought as he hung up. I'm real glad it was you who rang.
He managed to wash up and get himself ready for bed. He took three paracetamol before settling down for the night.
Tony slept fitfully and woke up in the morning feeling slightly better. He managed to stagger out to the nearest pharmacy to buy some Gaviscon liquid. The pharmacist had asked him about his symptoms, confirming that the pain wasn't on his right side. It wasn't till Tony was walking home that he realised the significance of that question; but, his mind ruled it out. He remembered a boy in his dormitory at his boarding school who had had appendicitis, and his scar had been low down on the right side of his stomach. His own pain was all over. Clearly, it was something different. Some kind of ghastly bug.
"A love-bug," Tony tried to reassure himself hopefully. "At least it wasn't sent in an envelope this time."
Whatever it was, though, was making him feel as weak as water. He just had no energy at all. He felt able to sit and watch tv, and he selected some old episodes of Hart to Hart. Tony had always found Robert Wagner a strong, reassuring presence on screen, and he felt somewhat better for watching him. The train of thought led him to his father, Anthony DiNozzo Senior, "the real Tony DiNozzo", as he had introduced himself to Gibbs when they had first met. Tony smiled, despite himself. He recalled his father and stepmother were leaving for their holiday to Europe in ten days' time: flying out to England before boarding the Queen Mary, then cruising around the Mediterranean. I really hope they have a wonderful time, he mused, sincerely. They deserve to.
Later that evening, Tony texted Abby again. In spite of really not feeling himself, he had wanted to try to go to work the next day, Monday. He had spent all weekend at home and he was getting a little stir-crazy. And, though he was loathe to admit it, he preferred to be out of his apartment and his time occupied, rather than sitting alone, thinking of Ziva.…but then he thought, he should really take the day off. If he had had a bug, it was only fair on the others. And, truth to tell, he dreaded facing Gibbs and McGee. He could only begin to imagine how long he would be subject to comments, asides and references to strawberries. McGeek has probably already researched umpteen Wikipedia entries and images of strawberries which I will magically find on my computer screen when I return, Tony mused. No, don't give him the satisfaction! So, to save his blushes and pride, he asked Abby to pass on the message to Gibbs that he wouldn't be in work tomorrow, maybe not Tuesday either, and would contact him later.
It was fortunate he did, for on Monday morning, Tony woke feeling frighteningly worse.
The stabbing, acute pain in his stomach had returned – with a vengeance. It had brought with it some kind of fever, almost as if he were beginning flu. Throughout the day, he alternated between his body burning up and shaking with cold. He tried to get up but had to go back to bed as he was sick violently again, several times. And, worst of all, the pain had returned, far, far, more intense than before. When it came, he was almost bent double in agony and had to hold on to something. He could never quite understand why he didn't call a doctor; but he was too feverish to think clearly. He was an NCIS Federal Agent and a strong young man; he should cope. And, deep down, he still didn't want to admit that there was anything seriously wrong with him.
His sleep that night was punctuated with frightening dreams; when he awoke, he had to roll over as the pain in his right side was so bad that he couldn't sleep on it. He screamed in agony.
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Abby woke up at seven o'clock on Tuesday morning. Almost at once, she remembered Tony. She thought she would give him a quick ring before leaving for work.
She got up, showered and dressed with her usual favourite music prominent in the background, then went into the kitchen to have breakfast. Breakfast accompanied by coffee, her first coffee of very many of the day – or was it coffee accompanied by breakfast, as Ducky once said. "If someone were ever to invent a Caf-Pow machine, Abigail, I don't doubt for one moment that he would make his fortune solely from its sales in Washington."
She had decided it was going to be a "Mismatch Monday" again – even though it was actually Tuesday. One sock red-and-navy-blue-striped, the other with black-and-white-chevrons. She remembered a few years before, the case when the chaffeur of Prince Sayif Ibn Alwaan had been killed by a bomb, Gibbs had come down to the lab. and found her underneath the Prince's car, her feet sticking out, and had made his usual dry comments. But, she hugged herself to think of it, she LOVED it when Gibbs took notice of her…
Abby did her hair and make-up then, when satisfied, went out into the hallway to pick up her rucksack. Remembering her resolution, she opened up her cell 'phone to dial Tony's number but, as she did so, she caught sight of her watch. It was still only twenty past eight.
I'll do it later. He may be having a lie-in.
No, ring him now.
Tony lay on his bed, contorted and almost crying in pain. He held a hot water bottle to his right side. Instinct told him that this was no ordinary gastric disorder, no normal digestive attack; something was seriously wrong with him. The thought filled him with fear, which made him feel ashamed as he was a federal agent, he shouldn't be afraid about anything, which only made him feel even worse and he would, undoubtedly, have fainted if his cell 'phone hadn't suddenly rung.
Desperate for human contact, he reached to his bedside table for the 'phone. The movement made him cry out but he managed to press the answer button before it stopped ringing, only just registering Abby's number on the screen.
"Tony, how are…Tony?" Abby's voice of gentle enquiry changed to one of profound concern as she heard her co-worker groan in agony.
"Abbs – please – can you – come over? Something's – really wrong…." Tony's voice was nothing like Abby had ever heard before and it shocked her. But her voice was calm as she replied, "Don't worry. I'll be right there. Try and keep as quiet as you can till I come."
Breathing hard, Tony managed to switch his 'phone off. It slid out of his hand and dropped on the floor.
Abby had jumped into her car and driven as fast as she could to Tony's apartment. As she banged on the door, the thought crossed her mind that Tony might not be able to reach the door to answer. She was relieved – if that was the word – when she heard footsteps dragging across the carpet and the door being unlocked.
One look at Tony told Abby all she needed to know. He was on his knees, groaning in agony. Shocked, Abby gave Tony her arms and managed to help him up on to the sofa. Abby was extremely worried – but she didn't let it show in her face. Calmly, she said,
"Tony, you need to go to hospital."
Just getting into Abby's car had Tony screaming in pain. Abby was only thankful that the journey to the hospital was only two miles. She remembered praying as she drove. It seemed her prayers were answered when they managed to get a space in the hospital car park only a few yards away from the entrance of the emergency department. She helped Tony out of the car and he leaned on her so heavily that she had to brace herself.
When they arrived at the door, Tony staggered in, holding on to the wall for support. He collapsed on to a chair, almost bent double in unbearable pain.
Everything then seemed to happen so quickly. Doctors and nurses rushing around him, putting him to bed, they were touching him and he cried out because it hurt so much….Bright lights flashed in his head, on and off, on and off, voices, snatches of, sounds, sharp pain, where was he, colours, sounds, voices – pain, pain, PAIN, please, make it stop….When he opened his eyes, somewhere amid the haze, he saw Abby's concerned face, asking him something, and he managed to answer….Then he was being wheeled away, into a brightly-lit room, a rubber mask was held over his face and he heard someone say, "Count to ten"…. He drifted away into the blessed, comforting darkness where there was no pain.
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Abby opened her cell 'phone. She flicked through her contacts until she found the one for which she was seeking. She could still hear Tony's voice in her head, so weak, and so disturbingly different from his normal, confident, teasing tones. She wanted to do all she could to help him.
"Tony…Tony, is there anyone you want me to call for you?"
"My dad," Tony whimpered. "I want my dad."
CHAPTER TWO
Voices…high voices. Creaking…a hissing. Try to open your eyes….heavy….can't. But he was aware that the acute pain in his right side had been replaced by a gnawing soreness. He drifted back into sleep.
Abby waited in the small room off the corridor. She knew she had done practically all she could to help Tony, but there was just one more thing. After some time, she noticed someone coming along the corridor towards her. Her face relaxed when she saw who it was.
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He had read somewhere that when you come round after being unconscious, the hearing is the first sense to come back. Through the haze, someone was softly saying his name. He was aware of someone else in the room, close by him. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He realised his middle was bandaged and there was an IV line attached to his arm. And it was only now that he recognised the voice.
Anthony DiNozzo Senior looked down on him with concern. He had been reading quietly in the chair beside the bed since arriving but, on seeing Tony awaken, he had risen and sat close to him on the bed.
"Dad…." Tony whispered. Weakly, he held out his hand. Senior reached out, took Tony's hand and squeezed it tightly, stroking it gently with his thumb.
"It's all right, son, you're in hospital," he said gently. "They took out your appendix. You'll be fine now."
Gradually the events of the day came back to Tony, and of the last few days.…In a voice he scarcely recognised as his own, he whimpered,
"I hurt."
"I know, I know," Anthony soothed. "But you'll soon feel better."
"Will you stay with me?" Tony whispered.
"I'll stay with you."
Comforted, Tony closed his eyes. As he drifted back into blessed sleep, he felt his father's hand on his head, stroking his hair gently.
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The door of the recovery room opened. Abby looked up.
Tony's father stood there, his eyes full of gratitude. He opened his arms to Abby and she went into them. They hugged tightly, holding each other close. Neither spoke.
After a few minutes, Anthony released her gently. He looked directly at her.
"Abby – thank-you for helping my boy."
"Is Tony all right?" Abby asked, very concerned.
Senior nodded. "I think so. He's sleeping now. He's quite tired, of course – it takes it out of you. But he'll be fine."
Abby sighed in relief. "That's so good. I was so worried. I'd never seen Tony like that before."
"No – but, you clearly did a great job. One of the nurses said how cool you were."
Abby laughed shortly. "Did she really? I mean – I didn't feel like it!"
Anthony put his hand on her shoulders. "Sweetheart, you go now. I can take care of things here."
Abby looked at the clock on the wall. It said almost half past two. In all the drama, she had completely lost track of the time. "I think I'll go into work."
"Have you told them what's happened to Junior? Gibbs and the others?"
"No – I didn't tell them. They I knew I'd taken Tony to hospital – but, I didn't think it was right to tell them what was wrong with him before you came."
Anthony looked at her gratefully. "Well – you can now. You can tell Gibbs from me that you deserve a pay-rise."
"I'd love to!" Then, realising what she had said, blushing slightly, Abby added,
"I'll – wait to hear from you then."
Senior nodded. He smiled warmly, leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.
"Thank-you, Abigail."
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Tony was dreaming – but, he wasn't asleep soundly. His mind flashed with images, of operations, surgical instruments, scrubs…He was lying on his bed, feverish and shivery. Something dwindled slowly, smaller and smaller, till it was smaller than a pinpoint. Then slowly it swelled, like a joint of meat, until it was larger than anything could be. Operations, surgical instruments, scrubs…He was lying on his bed, again, screaming in pain – then he was in Abby's car, bright red, hurting his eyes, spinning like a bumper car…There were more bright lights, flashing on and off, on and off. His head was spinning, he was spinning, round and round on the operating table, he felt dizzy…dizzy…..The dizziness in his head was transferring itself to his stomach, churning, churning, SICKNESS…..Waking with a jolt, he felt the bile rise in his throat; he retched hard but couldn't sit up – Then, someone moved towards him; Anthony put his strong arms around him and lifted him up – just in time. Tony threw up violently all over his father.
Two nurses had come in and cleaned Tony up. In spite of the awkward situation, holding up his sick son with one arm, his father had managed to attract the attention of one of them as she had walked past. They had swiftly got to work and had called the duty doctor. The second nurse had offered to have Anthony's jacket cleaned, and he had thanked her with a charming smile. The doctor thought Tony might have a touch of PONV – post-operative nausea and vomiting. He said they would keep an eye on him.
"I'm sorry…" Tony apologised weakly. The nurses had gone and father and son were once more alone together.
"There's nothing to be sorry for. It was only my jacket. That pretty young girl will clean it for me." Senior smiled fondly – not his usual cheeky grin, which Tony had inherited – but a warm, caring smile. Tony was touched.
"Is Abby still here?" he asked.
"No; I told her to go home."
"She was wonderful, Dad. She was so cool and calm. Not her usual dotty self."
Anthony smiled. "I gave her a kiss."
"Where are you staying tonight?" Tony asked.
"Staying?" echoed Senior. "Well – I hadn't really thought about it." It was true. Getting to Tony had been his priority.
"You must stay at my place. The keys are in my jacket."
Senior hesitated. "I don't want to be any trouble – "
Tony shook his head. "Dad – please. You must be tired."
"Are you sure?"
Tony nodded. "You've been so kind to come." He couldn't say any more. He could only but think of the times in the past when he had been so reluctant for his father to stay at his apartment. How could he have been so rotten?
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Abby arrived at work around three o'clock. Everyone crowded around her to ask about Tony.
"Yes, he had appendicitis. Yes, he's had an operation. Yes, his dad's with him. Yes, he's going to be all right."
Gibbs, full of concern, asked her if she wanted to take the rest of the day off, but she said no, she'd feel steadier working. McGee followed her down into the lab.
"Are you all right, Abbs?"
Abby breathed in hard. "Y – e – e – s – s. I am now. Though it was real scary to see Tony like that, so ill. He was screaming."
McGee put his hand on her shoulder and patted it. "Well, you obviously did a grand job." Abby didn't answer. "What is it, Abbs?"
"You know, it's really weird. When Tony was being taken into the theatre, I asked him if there was anyone he wanted me to call. I thought he'd ask me to call Gibbs or Ducky, even – but he didn't. He asked for his dad."
McGee raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's progress."
"Yet – in an odd sort of way, I was glad," Abby continued. "I mean – after all the problems Tony had in the past with his dad – when he was sick, he was the one he wanted."
"It can only be a good thing."
Senior arrived at the apartment around eight o'clock. He unlocked the door and entered, pulling in his case behind him. Shutting the front door, he dropped his hat and coat on the chair. On a sudden, unrelated thought, he scanned the living room for the goldfish bowl. It was in its usual place and, flitting around inside it, was a rather cross-looking goldfish. Smiling despite himself, Anthony sprinkled in some fish food.
His mind was full of Tony – but, the nurse at the hospital had promised they would call him if there was any change in his condition, so his mind was eased somewhat.
He pushed his case into Tony's bedroom. On the bedside table, he noticed two drums of paracetamol, one empty, a bottle of Gaviscon, a half-drunk glass of water and several tubes of mints. The bed was a mess, the pillows awry, the sheets crumpled, as if someone had risen from it very quickly, urgently –
My poor boy, he thought. Still – I'm here with him now.
He plumped the pillows, smoothed the sheets and tucked in the covers. He was just about to open his case when he noticed a small, uneven lump under the bed clothes, by the wall. Puzzled, he slipped his hand under and withdrew it.
When he saw what was in his son's bed, Senior smiled.
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Tony was sitting up in bed when he arrived back at the hospital the next morning, a little more colour in his cheeks. His eyes lit up when he saw his father, and he smiled happily. Anthony was touched.
They talked about a few things, nothing in particular, then Tony asked,
"Did you sleep all right?"
"Yes, I did! Your bed's very comfortable. I've slept in it before, though." At Christmas – of course, Tony remembered. Senior hesitated a moment; then added, casually,
"I was glad to see you've still got Nicholas."
Tony started. Then, realising he'd been found out, he admitted,
"Yes, well – he's been sleeping with me." Then he added, somewhat sheepishly, "Teddy bears are always kind to you."
His father smiled. "I won't tell anyone at work."
"Did you settle in all right?"
"Yes – thanks. I made a few 'phone calls and sent a couple of e-mails. I put my case and things in your room. If it's all right with you, I'll sleep in your bed for the time being."
"How long are you staying?"
"How long am I staying?" Anthony echoed. He looked slightly surprised. "For as long as I'm needed. I'm here to take care of things till you're better."
Tony frowned. "But - what about your vacation?"
"I've postponed it. Venice'll still be there next year. You're more important, Tony."
Tony would reflect later that, if he hadn't felt so weak, he wouldn't have reacted the way he did. But he knew how much that cruise had meant to his father and he was sacrificing it for him….Tears spilled over and he started to cry uncontrollably. He made to cover his face with his hands but then realised he couldn't properly because of the IV line, which seemed to make it worse, and his side hurt… "Oh, Junior…" Dimly, he was aware of his father moving across the room and putting his arms around him. Tony hid his face in his father's chest and gave way. Anthony stroked his son's head and rocked him gently. "Sshh….sshh.…"
Gradually, Tony's crying eased and he was quieter. Anthony put both his hands on the top of Tony's head and kissed him gently. He released his hold on his son carefully and sat down on the bed next to Tony, holding his hand.
The release seemed to have done Tony good. He was breathing more easily and was calmer. After a few minutes, he gave a very weak half-laugh.
"What's the matter?"
"I was thinking..…if Ziva could see me now."
"She was sorry to hear you were sick."
"Yes…Hey, how did she know?"
"She got sent an e-mail."
Tony raised his eyebrows. "Oh. I wonder who sent that."
"I wonder." Senior smiled. Then, more quietly, he added,
"I've only truly loved two women in my life. The first was your mother. We were both very young when we met. But I never found anyone to match up to her – until Linda. Now, at our stage in the game, it's a different kind of love. But it's just as strong."
Tony inclined his head questioningly.
"I married the two ladies I truly loved," Anthony continued. "And so should you."
Tony gave a weak half-laugh; almost immediately, he winced. "And what makes you think I want to marry Ziva?" The word slipped out, almost before he realised what he had said.
"I can see it in your eyes." Anthony looked directly at his son, and Tony realised his father was quite serious. "Don't let her go, Junior."
Contemplating that thought in his still partly-anaesthetised mind, Tony dozed off to sleep. When he awoke, his father was sitting back in his chair, reading his book. Screwing up his eyes, Tony made out the title: F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and Damned. From his school days, he seemed to remember the lead character was called Anthony….how appropriate….words. Words, words, music, spinning round in his head….he felt dizzy. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes till the sensation passed. When he opened them again, he saw his father lean towards him; he must have heard him.
"How're you feeling?"
Tony blinked. "I've got that Chicken Fat song going round in my head." He motioned.
"Which song is that?"
"The one on the Apple iPhone 5 advert. You know – 'Go, you chicken fat, go away; go, you chicken fat, go.' "
Senior put down his book. He looked interested.
"D'you know the origins of that song?"
"No?"
"It was the official song from President Kennedy's Council on Physical Fitness. When JFK became President, he declared that the nation didn't do enough exercise. 'We look instead of play. We ride instead of walk. Our existence deprives us of the minimum of physical activity essential for healthy living.' The song was used in exercise programs across the country. The original record's about six-and-a half minutes long. It was sung by an actor called Robert Preston."
Tony raised his eyebrows. "I never knew that."
"I used to be able to keep up with it," his father smiled. "We'll have to get you on to it when you're better." Anthony stopped a moment. He seemed to be gazing into the past. "There was something about President Kennedy. He seemed to represent a new, better world, of great hope – not just for young people but for all mankind. He was something special. You had to be living then to really appreciate it. When I hear his speeches even now, they set my spine tingling." Senior stopped. " I remember exactly what I was doing on Friday 22nd November 1963. Your mother and I were engaged at the time. I was on my way to meet her – and the news came through on the car radio. Not longer after, we heard he'd died. We just couldn't believe it. It was dreadful. Fifty years later, I remember it just as clearly. What they said about the world standing still was true." Senior paused. "There's never been a President quite like him since."
Tony listened, riveted. The charisma of JFK had never ceased to fascinate him and it was wonderful to hear of it first-hand from someone who had actually been around at the time. But there was a second reason. It opened another window into his father's earlier life – and his character.
"What are you going to do while you're here?" he asked.
"Oh…I'll find plenty," Senior replied. "Carry on watching my way through your film collection. The Towering Inferno…The Great Escape…The Magnificent Seven.."
"Each for about the thirty-ninth time!"
"Oh, I meant to ask you – is there a shop here?" Senior asked.
"In the lobby, I think. Why?"
"I didn't have time to buy my Washington Post this morning. I like to keep up with things here."
"People-watching," Tony stated.
Anthony smiled. "How did you guess?"
Tony returned the smile. "Oh, it wasn't too hard."
Anthony found the hospital shop without a problem. He bought the Post, one other newspaper, plus three magazines, including one on films, and a large bag of mints. He made his way back up the elevator and walked along the corridor.
The room was quiet. Anthony pushed opened the door and stepped inside. At what he saw, his heart melted.
Tony was sound asleep, his head resting to one side on the pillow. Lying there, bandaged, in his hospital gown, dark shadows beneath his eyes, he looked vulnerable and suddenly much younger. A rush of paternal love swept over Anthony. He reached down, pushed a lock of hair from his son's forehead, smoothed it back and stroked his forehead gently.
Somewhere, more than thirty years ago, a small boy of seven lay in bed, awake and afraid….then, his father came into his room, sat on his bed, soothed him and stroked his hair gently.
Anthony sat back down at his son's bedside and reopened his book. He knew he had not always been there for Tony when he was younger; but, he was here for him now. He would be here, watching over him while he slept, and he would be here for him when he awoke later on.