Tony walks slowly back to the house, the garland of wilting flowers in one hand. As he crosses a small bridge he pauses for a moment and then drapes the flowers over a post by the path before moving on slowly once more.
A few moments later, the girl emerges from her hiding place in the bushes by the post and carefully picks up the flowers. She gazes after him thoughtfully before grinning and running back towards her uncle and aunt's cottage.
Cassie is on the reception desk when Tony returns and she smiles at him – cautiously, because up to now it has seemed that friendliness offends him,
"Good afternoon, Mr DiNozzo," she says politely.
"Hi," says Tony.
Cassie hides her surprise: this is the most he has engaged with her since his arrival.
"Can I get you anything?" she asks, "Would you like me to book you a table in the restaurant?" She would like to point out that all the meals are included in the charge for his stay and also to point out that, so far, he has hardly eaten anything. It seems, however that dining in the restaurant is a step too far and a spasm of something unidentifiable crosses his face.
"No," he says, and then apparently digging deep for politeness adds, "Thank you."
"We do room service," Cassie offers tentatively. She knows he knows this, but she almost feels motherly towards this … she doesn't know how to put a word to his air of vulnerability and sadness.
"No," Tony shakes his head and then stops. He has automatically and instinctively turned the offer down, but he suddenly realises that he is hungry for the first time in days … weeks. "Actually, do you have pizza?" He frowns a little as he thinks that pizza might be too common for this upmarket establishment.
Cassie feels that she would drive into town herself to get pizza for this poor soul but, fortunately, the sacrifice is not needed, "Oh yes," she says happily, "Chef loves to make pizza but …" she leans forward in a confidential manner, "… he doesn't get asked for it often. What sort would you like?"
Tony is about to ask for his usual sausage, pepperoni and extra cheese but his stomach lurches at the thought. He decides not to explore the reasons for that reaction – like much that he is not examining too closely at the moment.
Cassie senses his indecision, "Chef makes a lovely Four Seasons pizza," she suggests.
"Pizza Quattro Stagioni," says Tony.
"Excuse me?"
"That's Four Seasons pizza in Italian," explains Tony. And he smiles, a somewhat tentative rusty smile but it inadvertently completes his conquest of Cassie. "That would be fine," he says.
"With a side salad?" says Cassie hopefully. Somehow, she feels that healthy eating would be good for this man.
"Sure," says Tony briefly. In truth, he is suddenly tired of the subject which has begun to feel like fussing, and he won't mind if Chef isn't able to produce his lovely pizza.
Cassie has been working on reception for years and is accustomed to picking up the vibes from guests. She realises that the brief moment of accord has ended, and she simply promises that it will be with him in 30 minutes.
He nods and moves away to the elevator. Cassie watches him go and thinks that he walks like someone 30 years older than his actual age.
NCISNCIS
Cassie would deny any accusation of fussing but the next day she makes a point of asking the room staff if the occupier of suite 6 ate the meal delivered to his room. She tries to be cheered by the report that he'd eaten half of the pizza and some of the salad.
The next two days are bright and sunny and Tony once again lurks indoors. He has found a favourite place in the library, tucked in a corner but with a clear exit path and where he can see but not be easily seen. He has no particular sense of being in danger but the habits of securing an exit route are strong and, initially, he picked that spot almost without realising what he had done.
The corner spot has the advantage of having a view of the terrace and he occasionally spots the girl standing on the edge looking at a loss. He wonders why she doesn't come inside and why she doesn't seem to associate with children of the other guests. He frowns at that thought and also wonders why he never sees her with an adult. He remembers when Senior left him behind in the hotel in Hawaii and considers the possibility that she too has been left behind but he dismisses that thought: he can't imagine that Cassie wouldn't have noticed a stray child. The apparent mystery teases the edges of his investigative brain and he isn't sure whether to welcome this as a good sign or not.
The third day also dawns bright and clear but the corner spot in the library does not look inviting and so Tony decides to venture out. He still walks slower than he would wish, and he finds his feet taking him to the lake once more where he lowers himself gingerly to the ground and settles to looking across the water. Today, however, the sun dances off the surface, there are birds singing and the ducks seem less intent on swimming past but keep bobbing down in search of whatever it is that ducks seek underwater. It is not long before he becomes aware that he has company; he turns his head in the direction of the girl and manages a nod of greeting.
The girl nods back and then bends to her task. Tony notes that she is once again trying to make a flower chain and finds a smile trying to break through.
As before, a mutual contentment seems to grow around the two: apparently each lost in their own world but actually aware of the other's presence. They have been in place for an hour or so when Tony decides he is getting stiff sitting on the ground and begins to worry about getting up again. He stirs tentatively and gasps in pain as his muscles protest.
The girl's head whips around at the noise but she doesn't move immediately. Tony breathes through the pain and tries once more to get up: he gets halfway but then tumbles back to the ground. She is on her feet immediately but before she can move, she thinks she hears some rustling in the undergrowth: she hesitates in case adult help is on its way but when the noise ceases, she runs towards him.
She places a tentative hand on his arm and wonders what to do. She sees his face creased in pain, puts her hand to it gently and then says,
"Wait here! I'll get help."
Part of him wants her to stay, he finds that he doesn't want to be alone. Part of her wants to stay so that he is not alone. The moment of reluctance passes and she speeds away on light feet. She runs to find Uncle Mark who she knows is supervising practice on the putting green behind the house.
"Uncle Mark! Uncle Mark!" she calls.
A middle-aged man and woman in matching golf sweaters and caps look up in annoyance as they fluff what were already going to be poor shots.
Uncle Mark looks both irritated and surprised; his niece is usually well behaved around the guests.
"The man! The man … he's ill," she cries.
"A guest?" asks Mark. He says this loudly so that the middle-aged man and woman will understand the cause of the disruption to their pleasure.
The girl nods frantically.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," Mark says to his pupils, "Why not go back to practising shorter putts? About two inches should be all right," he adds in an inaudible undertone.
Mark seizes his niece's hand and allows her to pull him where she wants to go. He gasps when he sees Mr DiNozzo, the guest his wife has taken an interest in. As they draw near, Tony manages to sit up, his face is pale and sweaty, and his hands are trembling.
"Mr DiNozzo!" says Mark, "What happened? Are you OK?"
"Of course he's not OK, Uncle Mark," snaps the girl, "He fainted!"
Tony looks offended by this, "DiNozzos don't pass out," he protests, "I was just a little dizzy …"
"Sir?" asked Mark, "Do I need to get a doctor?"
Tony looks even more offended at this, "A doctor? No, I'm fine … or I will be. I guess I shouldn't have sat on the ground so long. I stiffened up a bit."
"More than a bit, I'd say," said Mark but he thinks any danger is past. The man's colour is returning and the snarkiness is probably a good sign too. "Felicity, wait here. I'm going to get the golf cart and bring it down."
"There's no need," says Tony, "I can …"
"With respect, Sir," says Mark firmly, "I don't think you can. It's no trouble and …"
"It means that he doesn't have to go back and teach the Horrors how to putt," puts in Felicity.
Mark rolls his eyes at this but, to Tony's surprise, he doesn't protest. "I won't be long and the Hopgoods will be fine on their own for a while. Will you be OK?"
Tony opens his mouth to reassure him but closes it when he realises that the question is directed to the girl. She nods seriously and sits down next to Tony with the air of a guard dog. Tony finds the smile trying to break through again.
"So," he says when they are alone, "Felicity, eh?"
Felicity looks discontented, "Hah! I think it was a joke."
"Excuse me?"
"Felicity means …"
"Happiness, joy," supplies Tony who likes to think that his word power is greater than some people might think.
"Exactly," says the girl moodily.
"You'll have to explain," says Tony. He had thought that his investigative powers were returning but he finds they are unequal to this situation.
"I don't think parents should be allowed to name their children," she says, "Or perhaps not permanently. They should give temporary names and then when you're older, you can choose what you want to be called."
"How old?" Felicity frowns so Tony goes on, "How old do you think you should be when you get to choose your permanent name?"
"12," comes the firm answer.
"Ah. And how old are you?"
"12," comes the somewhat unsurprising response.
"If I'd chosen a new name when I was 12," says Tony thoughtfully, "I'd have probably gone for Clint … or Basil …"
"Why?"
"I liked Clint Eastwood … and I had a thing for Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes."
"You don't look like a Clint. Basil might be OK."
Tony is a little shaken at the thought that he might look like a Basil but decides to ignore this in favour of finding out why Felicity dislikes her name so much, "I think Felicity is a pretty name," he offers but receives something of a glare in return, "I'm sure your parents thought about it a lot," he continues, "Perhaps it was because you arriving made them so happy?"
"I don't think so," says Felicity, "My Dad wasn't around and my Mom …" she trails off, "But I don't think it's fair … how did your parents choose your name?"
Tony winces, "Ah, well they just called me after my Dad. But why don't you like Felicity?"
"It's a burden," she replies, "With happy as a name, that's what people expect you to be. And when you're not they tease you. It's not fair."
Tony thinks about asking her if she is unhappy, but he doesn't because somehow, he knows the answer. Felicity does not have the air of a joyful child. "I think you have to stick to your name," he says, "'cos what you like when you're one age you might not like ten years on. I'm kinda glad I didn't get to change my name when I was 12. Clint DiNozzo doesn't sound right, does it?"
"What is your first name?"
"Anthony although most people call me Tony."
Felicity's measuring gaze has something of pity in it and Tony suspects that she thinks Clint DiNozzo has a better ring than Anthony. "Who calls you Anthony?" she asks.
Tony's face softens at the thought of one person at least who calls him by his full name, "A friend," he says, "A good friend." His face hardens a little, however, at the amount of fussing a certain medical person is capable of. "What do you want to be called?" he asks in a bid to distract himself from memories of being fussed over.
Felicity doesn't have to think about this and a rapt expression dawns on her face,
"Cornelia … or … Violetta … or Sch- Scheherazade."
"Wow, you've given this some thought."
Further discussion about names comes to a halt as Mark returns with the golf buggy which he parks as close to Tony as possible. He helps Tony get to his feet and Tony is grateful for silence, a strong arm, lack of fuss … and a golf buggy to take him the short distance back to the house.
Felicity runs alongside, ready and eager to run any necessary errands but it seems that Mark has alerted his wife and the in-house doctor who are waiting at the door. Tony thinks about brushing them off but doesn't – partly because he knows this would be foolish and partly because he sees the anxiety on Felicity's face.
Mark extends his arm for Tony to hold on to as he climbs down from the buggy and Tony is annoyed to realise how much he needs it. He knows he is fading fast but he manages a smile for Felicity,
"Thanks, Flick."
Felicity stops bouncing, "Flick?"
But Tony is being shepherded into the house and doesn't hear.
"Flick?" she says again to her aunt who is watching the progress.
"Yes, Dear," says Cassie, "It's a nickname."
"A nickname?" breathes Felicity, "I've got a nickname?" and she wanders away in a dream.
