A/N: A note about the timeline, since someone asked. I'm going to say it's set now-ish, but AU from about the beginning of season 6. I don't have Somalia and The Rift on my mind, is what I'm saying. I guess that's the most important thing to know.
Time to meet daddy, yes? And just a reminder, I wrote this before Wagner came on board so it's a slightly different relationship and character. Also, there's a lot of talking between Tony and his dad, and the Tony/Tony thing makes that totally confusing to read. So Daddy D is referred to as Anthony.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
Tony beat Mia to the hospital, but waited around in the hall until she arrived. He needed this time now to pump himself up, to reassure himself that he could handle the situation. The guy in that bed is a weak, old man, he reminded himself. And you're a proper grown up now, with a life that makes you happy and friends you love. You're happy with the choices you've made, and Dad can't take that away from you.
"Okay," he sighed quietly to himself, nodding as if it would help get the pep talk through his head. He loosened his tie from his suddenly tight throat, and shot a winning smile at a nurse who passed with a concerned expression. Nothing to see here, move along.
Mia came down the hall after he'd managed to get the knot in his stomach loose, and her tense expression made him think that she'd probably join him in the bathroom to throw up. He gave her a smile of solidarity, and she seemed to roll her eyes at herself.
"I appreciate this, Tony," she said. "He's up the hall and to the right. Room 314."
"You're not coming in?" he asked, feeling panic rise again.
Mia shook her head. "No, you go. I'll be around when you're done."
For a second, Tony had the overwhelming urge to turn and leave the hospital. He didn't want to go in alone and deal with the guy and his issues. But it would be a dick move and utterly childish, and just add more fuel to the bonfire that was their relationship. So he just nodded and headed down the hall to room 314.
He paused outside the door and looked through the glass at a guy he hadn't seen in at least 10 years. He felt a pang in his chest when he realized how old his dad looked, how thin and weak he seemed compared with the image Tony had in his mind. For just a moment, had to wonder if he had actually been like this all along and Tony had just been too young or bitter to notice.
Anthony looked over when Tony opened the door, and the momentary blank look on his face before realization sank in was enough to make the back of Tony's eyes burn. He cleared his throat and shut the door.
"Hey, Dad," he said, pleased beyond belief that his tone remained strong and even.
"Junior!" Anthony greeted, and held out a hand. "Thanks for coming."
Tony shook the offered hand and pretended not to notice how weak and cold his dad's grip was. "How are you feeling?"
"Like crap," Anthony replied, blunt as ever. "But I bet I look like a million bucks."
Tony smirked. "In this economy?"
Anthony laughed and gestured at the chair beside his bed. "Have a seat, kid. You met Mia and Josie?"
Tony pulled the seat closer and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, I did. Mia's sweet."
"I treated her like crap," Anthony told him, having the grace to look remorseful.
Tony nodded. "Yeah, I got that feeling." Some things never changed.
Anthony grimaced. "She's divorcing me."
"How many does that make?"
"Four," Anthony replied. "Not including your mother. I've been busy the last few years."
Tony nodded, relaxing now that he knew what the tone of their relationship would be, at least for today. Anthony was in one of his more candid and self-aware moods, which suited Tony just fine. This was the side of his dad he dealt with the best, the side he got along with and could have a constructive conversation with. The side that enjoyed it when Tony made jokes, even at his expense, and lobbed them right back at him. This was the Anthony that Tony would have a beer with, if only he wasn't an alcoholic.
"Josie was a surprise," Tony told him, wanting to get that conversation out of the way first.
Anthony chuckled. "You're telling me. She's beautiful, though."
Tony nodded and hesitated before his next question. He had a feeling he already knew the answer, and it would raise a whole lot of issues he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with. And yet, he couldn't help himself. "Are there others?"
Again, Anthony had the grace to look shamed. "Two girls. Lina and Clare."
Though it was the answer he'd been expecting, Tony still felt like a truck had hit him. He swallowed and tried to block the emotional response out for a while, knowing that Anthony would respond to yelling with louder yelling and name-calling.
"Wow," he managed.
"I should have told you," Anthony said, eyes full of apology that Tony couldn't quite accept.
"Yeah, that would have been nice," he said, obviously.
"You'll probably meet them tonight," Anthony told him, making Tony's stomach churn. "Lina's driving down from New York, picking Clare up along the way."
Tony frowned as he put the pieces together. "Driving down? They're of driving age?" Anthony cut his eyes away with guilt, and Tony sighed hard. "Jesus, Dad. How old are they?"
Anthony swallowed. "I think…Lina's 20-something."
Tony's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"Must be 21," Anthony continued, pretending not to notice Tony's shock. "Just about to graduate from NYU. Clare's a junior in high school."
Tony felt blood flood his cheeks and the fight rising to the back of his throat. He'd expected more kids—the guy had been married five times, after all—but adult kids? He rubbed his face as he took some deep breaths, determined not to let this visit end in a screaming match.
"Three sisters you never told me about," he finally said, his voice barely wavering.
"When was the last time you took one of my calls?" Anthony asked defensively.
"When was the last time you made one?" Tony hit back.
Once again, Anthony looked guilty, and Tony began to wonder what the hell had happened to the quick-tempered, argumentative asshole he'd grown up with. Twenty years ago, Anthony would have launched into the kind of self-serving, arrogant tirade that would put today's reality TV stars to shame. Tony could only assume that he'd been sober for much longer than he'd been in hospital.
"I didn't know about Lina until she was three," Anthony admitted. "Fiona, her mom, just showed up with her one day. I didn't believe she was mine at first, but…well, you'll know when you see her. Then I fell for Fiona again and got married, and then along came Clare."
"Did they know about me?" Tony asked, hating how needy it sounded.
Anthony nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "They always wanted to meet you."
Tony made a face that conveyed exactly his thoughts. I would have liked that.
Anthony cleared his throat and changed the subject, having reached his limit of candour for the time being. "Work's good?"
Tony shook his head slightly at the predictability of this relationship. When Anthony was uncomfortable, he changed the subject. When Tony was uncomfortable, he made a joke. Either way, they were both masters at deflecting the real issue.
"Yeah, Dad. It's good."
"You still with the Navy people?"
"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Tony spelt out. "Yeah, I am."
"You've been there a while," Anthony said, displaying an awareness that Tony wasn't expecting.
"About ten years."
"I saw you in the paper a couple of years back," Anthony said. "Something about a terrorist you guys'd caught.
Tony couldn't immediately remember the case, not that the particulars mattered right now. "Yeah? How'd I look?"
"Not bad," Anthony nodded. "But you were standing next to an old guy in a sports coat, which could have given you an advantage."
Tony let him have the laugh. This was another thing they did. Anger, anger, joke, clean slate, repeat.
He looked around the room at the various machines that he'd gotten familiar with over his years in law enforcement. Monitors for heart rate, blood pressure, temperature. Anthony wasn't using the oxygen tubes, but there were at least a dozen wires feeding from the palm-sized monitor hanging around his neck under his hospital gown to attach to patches around his torso. Tony had been wired up like that a couple of times in the past, and he knew how intensely uncomfortable it was. He glanced at the heart rate monitor and was surprised by how low it was.
"A heart attack, Dad?" he said, bringing the conversation around to the reason they were both there.
Anthony shrugged. "It crept up on me."
Tony gave him a look of disbelief. "How many packs a day are you getting through these days?"
"None at the moment," Anthony replied with a scowl. "They won't let me smoke in here. I'm dyin' anyway, you know? Let me have a damn cigarette!" He paused. "Are you still smoking?"
Tony couldn't help rolling his eyes. "I gave up pot when I joined the force. As for cigarettes, I never started. That one time you caught me was the first time I tried it. I told you that."
"I didn't believe you," Anthony admitted, as if Tony wasn't completely aware of the fact.
"You never believed me," Tony felt the need to point out. I was right and you were wrong.
Anthony spread his hands in defence. "You inherited my gift of the gab! You'd be able to talk your way out of murder even if you had the guy's blood on your hands and the weapon in your car."
Tony almost laughed. "You know, that's happened to me before. Twice. And I couldn't talk my way out of it at all. Needed forensics to clear me."
"You must've been having an off day," Anthony said dismissively, then changed his tone completely. "They reckon I might not have long. Heart failure. The damn thing's not doing its job anymore. It's getting lazy on me."
"I'm sorry, Dad," Tony said quietly, and this time, he was pretty sure he meant it.
Anthony ran his hands over the blankets, smoothing out the creases as he forced his next words out. "I wanted to see you. I've been doing a lot of thinking since I've been sober, and I know I owe you some apologies."
Tony leant back a little, putting some self-preserving distance between them at the beginning of what he sensed was going to be a hard conversation. "How long have you been sober?"
"Little over six years now," Anthony said with the ghost of a smile.
Tony nodded with encouragement. "That's really good news, Dad. Congratulations."
Anthony shot him a self-deprecating smile. "It's been a hell of a thing to beat. They make you do these new agey classes where they want you to get in touch with your feelings and crap like that."
Tony chuckled. "Yeah, no one likes getting in touch with their feelings and crap."
Anthony grinned wider. "God damn hippies," he joked, and Tony shook his head. "Anyway, they got me thinking, and I realized that my relationship with you…it's my biggest regret."
Tony took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Anthony's eyes. After all this time, he thought he'd want to hear this, to understand why Anthony had been the man he was. So why were his hands beginning to shake with fear?
"After your mom died," Anthony said, pausing to clear his throat, "I know I failed you. I couldn't bring myself to try to make the situation better for you. I was in my own pain, and…Jesus, you never gave me a reason to stop what I was doing. You just took everything I said. I pushed you and pushed you, and you just kept taking it." He shook his head in disbelief at his own behavior. "I always thought that made you weak, and I convinced myself that if you took it, that meant you deserved it.
"But that's not true at all. You were actually stronger. Much stronger than me." He shot a look of what looked suspiciously like admiration at Tony's ashen face. "Always have been. I know now that you took it because it helped me cope with losing her." He chuckled with pride. "You were always that kid. You always stood up for your friends, and took the punishment to spare them. Always the one to see the bigger picture. Always knew how to handle me, and everyone else. You're a damn good kid, Tony."
Tony sat in silence, listening to the words but barely processing them. All he could think during this most heartfelt acknowledgement and apology was that he was only hearing it because the asshole thought he was dying.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make myself be who you needed," he said, looking at Tony with serious eyes that Tony actually began to believe. "You were a kid who needed a father, and I'm sorry I screwed it up. And I know that doesn't make up for it. Maybe it doesn't even make up for a day of it. But I regret what I did to you. And I want you to know that I appreciate the way you looked after me in those years after Beth died." He reached over to touch Tony's arm. "I had it good with you, kid. Never knew how much."
Though he tried to stop them from falling, tried to make them disappear, a tear fell anyway and Tony angrily wiped it away.
"Do you forgive me?" Anthony asked haltingly.
Tony would have liked to. Forgiving meant forgetting, and forgetting meant moving on and not worrying about it anymore. But he just couldn't. Right now, it was beyond him. He shook his head slowly.
"No, I don't," he said, meeting Anthony's eyes again. "But I appreciate you telling me that. I have to work on the forgiveness part."
Anthony nodded, but the bitterness and anger Tony had been expecting was expecting to see in his eyes wasn't there. There was only resignation. "I get it."
"I'm not trying to hurt you," Tony felt the need to explain, but Anthony just shook his head.
"I know, Tony. You don't have a malicious bone in your body."
Well past the limit of what he could cope with now, Tony had to make a joke. "I know a lot of women who would say otherwise."
His dad chuckled, but then pointed a stern finger. "You gotta stop that stuff."
Tony nodded, having come to that conclusion about halfway through his 'relationship' with Jeanne Benoit. "I have."
"I'm not saying you should follow my example…"
Tony chuckled and shook his head. "Your example is too much like a soap opera."
Anthony eyed him. "You're not married, are you?"
He rolled his eyes. "I probably would have told you."
"Really?"
Tony shrugged. "Okay, maybe not. Valid point."
"Time's a-wastin'," Anthony said, as if imparting one of the secrets of the universe.
Without warning, Ziva popped into Tony's head. She was in his life every day, and he had to wonder if continually stopping himself from touching her, from kissing her, from telling her he loved her was a waste of his life. Maybe it was. "I know."
"You're going to run out of oats to sew soon," Anthony said, drawing a look of utter disgust out of his son and making himself laugh.
"Clearly not," Tony replied. "What are you, 70 now? And you have a four-month-old daughter to a 35-year-old wife. I think my oats are fine."
"You going to call Nonna?" Anthony asked, changing the subject again.
Tony sighed, already preparing himself for that conversation. "Yeah. I'll call Rose and Louisa first," he said, referring to his aunts. "Do they know about your kids?"
Anthony pursed his lips together, looking guilty. "Nope."
Tony looked back at him with a look of disappointment he'd learnt from studying at the feet of Gibbs. "Nonna is going to kick your ass."
Anthony nodded. "Yep."
"You're terrified, aren't you?" Tony guessed.
"Yep."
"That's why you're getting me to call them."
Anthony shrugged like it was obvious. "They like you a lot more than they like me." At Tony's continued look of disapproval, Anthony gave in. "I know, okay? I'm a son of a bitch."
Tony raised an eyebrow as he thought of the mother in question, and Anthony backtracked quickly.
"Let me think of another way of saying that."
"I would," Tony advised.
There are other kids? Well, if Daddy D has been married to younger women as many times as we've been led to believe (at least three times but probably more), I can't quite believe that there wouldn't be at least one more DiNozzo kid out there somewhere.
