Feast Your Eyes: So, with your help, I reached a decision regarding the length of time Tony's spawn has been on the planet: Thirteen years since her birth in 1993, making this story set in the beginning of season four and onward.
I really appreciate the feedback and help. You have no idea. If only I had you guys the year I was struggling to pick a college...
Rhapsody In You
Chapter Two: Paralyzed
Arms and legs in between
Caught inside a stupid dream
Look for her, but cannot see
I give up! I give up!
There's no time to believe
The only way to cope is to realize...
-Paralyzed, Rock Kills Kid, Are You Nervous
Tony sneezed and wiped his nose with his Armani sleeve. "Whew! Excuse me! My bullshit allergy's acting up."
Rodney's brown eyes flared. "You think this is some kind of joke?" he snarled, rising to his feet, though his ankle restraints threw a wrench in his plans.
"If you were anymore full of crap your eyes would be brown. Oh, wait! Never mind."
"DiNozzo...Tony, come on! Do you really think I have time to play games with you?"
"Actually, I don't. These are your last moments, Rod. Do you really wanna spend them playing pin the teenager on Tony?"
Rodney lowered his head and scrubbed his eyes, his fists knocking off the droplets of sweat that had formed on his brows. "Look man," he said more to his palms. "I know, I know it's wrong for me to spring this on you."
"You think?"
"Carly...she was just a kid, you know? Naïve on a good day and stupid on a bad one. I mean, she actually thought...she actually thought you two would start an insta-family when you found out she was pregnant," he laughed humorlessly. "Like I said, naïve."
"You don't honestly expect me to believe this."
"Honestly, no, I don't, but you're that kid's only hope. You're your kid's only hope."
"I distinctively remember you opening up a can of whup ass when you found out about your sister and I. You would've loved to ruin my life with a 'baby makes three' spiel."
"I was protecting my sister. At the end of the day, she and her kid were all that mattered."
The special agent cleared his throat. His green eyes darted like a cornered Rabbit, already combing for avenues of escape. "She told me it was some other guy's. Some kid she met..."
Rodney looked genuinely surprised. "She talked to you?"
"Some of the girls were gossiping, it got back to me," he shrugged. "I confronted her, she told me...she lied," he closed his eyes briefly. He re-opened them slowly, like a water bird fishing around a pond trying to pretend it wasn't there, that it was a rock or stick or a dribble of water. With a quick joggle of his head, he laughed and smacked the table. "She lied! Why'd she do that?"
"Because she had no idea what she was doing," Rodney gave a short laugh. "Never did. All she wanted to do was protect you."
"While we're quoting romance novels, are you gonna tell me she sacrificed herself on the altar that is my love?"
He shrugged. "If she did, she never told me. You were the first person to notice she was alive and she gave you what she thought would keep you around. You didn't lie about the man you were, I'll give you that. She just got caught up and when she finally figured you out, she rolled with the punches and moved on. Like I said, stupid and naïve."
"Not stupid, trusting and courageous. She was a great girl."
"For all the good it did Joplin."
"Joplin," he chuckled, reaching for the picture.
The light above them suddenly flickered and for a brief moment, it managed to illuminate the concrete box and the teenage girl in the photo.
It was strange, seeing himself in someone else. An instinctive flame of pride ignited inside of him and he smiled. As if ashamed of his spontaneous act of humanity, Tony downed the glass of water the guard had brought in a single violent swirl, the liquid's hard aftertaste burning his throat.
"I just have to check with Dana about this."
"Who?"
"Dana, as in DNA, one of the few women I know that doesn't lie."
"All you have to do is look at her!"
"Ever heard of casting?"
"And if she's yours?"
"I'll figure it out when the time comes."
"Well you'd better start soon. That kid's been through a lot. She doesn't need anybody else building her up and cutting her down."
"Sorry Agent DiNozzo, but visiting hours are over," the guard announced, poking his head in.
"Don't screw this up, DiNozzo."
He flung his jacket over his shoulder and slipped on his shades as he silently headed for the door. He paused short of opening it. "Did Joplin ever tell you why her mother left?"
Rodney shook his head. "Not for my lack of trying. Kid plays it close to the vest. She got that from you."
A day later, Officer Ziva David sauntered into work drenched in the afterglow of a glorious weekend. Her expression was serene, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a mischievous grin, her wide brown eyes two beacons of brilliant light.
She glanced at her co-worker, the one she loved like the socially retarded younger brother she was grateful she never had—denial wasn't just a river—and fired up her sarcasm arsenal.
"So, how was your weekend?" Ziva asked, her voice sizzling with glee as she settled in behind her desk and turned on her computer.
She frowned at having run into a wall of silence.
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo wasn't exactly known for being tight-lipped.
Tight assed? Maybe. Tight lipped? Not so much.
She cleared her throat and tried again. "Tony! Your weekend! How was it?"
Fail.
Ziva David never failed. Mossad trained her, after all.
Groaning, she pulled herself up from her chair and made a beeline for Tony DiNozzo's disheveled desk.
Elbows on his cold faux wood desk, cheeks in his palms, Tony clutched handfuls of his immaculate brown hair and tugged. He was staring at the manila folder stretched out before him—like a mirror—slowly shaking his head.
Ziva's concern bubbled and threatened to boil over, but Tony, who had a sixth sense when it came to genuine human emotion, snapped out of his bout of—whatever it was—and closed the file.
Flipping on a 2000-watt grin, he grabbed the folder and stuffed it in an open drawer. "So, you and Mystery Man seal the deal?"
Ziva frowned, scrutinizing him with an investigator's eye.
"From the pep in your step, I'd give it...oh, two thumbs up?"
"You!" She pointed at him, her eyes two mind probing slits. "Something is beefy here and it is you."
Tony leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head for pillows. "Did we have McGee hack into the shower room security cameras again?" Cocking his head to the side, he smirked. "Do I detect a note of homicidal rage in your peepers?"
"You know what?" she growled, ringing her perfectly manicured hands. "Forget it." With a final 'humph', she returned to her desk and dove into the state of overwhelm described as her inbox.
"You asked how my weekend was."
Her head shot up.
He sounded like a...normal co-worker. Professional? Courteous? Mature? Something was wrong indeed.
"I did," her reply was tentative.
"My former best friend received a death sentence."
"The one who, as you so eloquently put it, 'beat your ass like a piñata'?"
"That'd be the one."
"That good then?" it was out of her mouth before she could think. "That was bitchy, even for me. Tony, I'm..."
"Sorry?" he finished for her and shrugged. "We weren't exactly Jay and Silent Bob, Zee-vah."
"No, silence is not one of your few virtues."
"...I knew it was gonna end the way it did. So did he. Doesn't make it any easier for the people he left behind, though."
She was at his desk, a comforting hand on his shoulder before she knew it—and he didn't push it away.
"It is often very...difficult to lose a friend, the quality of the relationship notwithstanding."
"It's not what I'm losing, but what I could be gaining."
"I do not understand."
He held onto her eyes for a moment before leaning down and pulling open the drawer. He slid the file in her direction, keeping his gaze straight ahead.
She flipped through the file, but thirteen-year-old Joplin Sullivan and her history with Child Protective Services boar no significance to Ziva.
"She's my daughter," he said more to his desk, his voice low and smooth. "At least she could be. I don't know what to believe anymore."
"How?"
"They don't have sex education in Israel?"
"Apparently they do not have any in America either. Were you not indoctrinated in the benefits of contraceptives?" She sighed at his narrowed eyes. "What does this have to do with your frat brother?"
"She's his niece. Her mother's his little sister. Carly was a freshman, I was a senior...last frat party before graduation...things happened."
"I always feared the prospect of teenage DiNozzos traipsing the globe."
"Well imagine how I feel about the prospect of a teenage DiNozzo traipsing around my apartment. And a girl...going through puberty...eww!" he grimaced and tilted his head toward the ceiling.
"Children are gifts, Tony."
"I was a good boy this year, Santa," he whined. "Bestow this gift upon another like...Mia Farrow or Angelina Jolie...they like the progenies of other progenitors"
"What are you gonna do?"
"CPS shipped her off to some reform academy in Utah right after the FBI placed her in their care." Tony lifted his fingers in air quotes. "According to her file 'The minor child Joplin Sullivan is a troubled teen struggling with severe behavioral issues. It is recommended she be sent to a therapeutic and education environment removed from her current familial situation."
"I guess being a tote case is genetic."
"Basket case! American slang and colloquialisms: learn them. They're your friends."
"Ziva! DiNozzo. Cuddle on your own time. Dead Marine. Grab your gear."
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs watched his senior field agent over the plastic lid of his ever present coffee cup. Tony remained rooted to his chair and Ziva's hand still rested on his shoulder. Gibbs frowned and tossed his now empty cup in the wastebasket by his desk.
"Did I stutter?"
"No!" Ziva shot to attention, dropping her hands to her sides.
"Course not, Boss."
"Something wrong?"
"Yes!"
"Good, Boss."
Gibbs furrowed his arched brows. "Well, which is it then?" he snapped, though his tone was less impatient than usual.
"Tell him," Ziva commanded through gritted teeth, nudging his arm.
Tony shot her a glare and against his better judgment, he released the cause of his not so internal anguish. "I may need to take a few personal days." He shifted his weight, right to left, like an overworked pendulum. "I think I...reproduced."
Two evenings later, Gibbs stood at his senior field agent's door, with his packed duffle bag in his right hand, two round trip tickets to McCarran International Airport in his left.
"Boss?"
"Are you just gonna stand there or are we gonna get the hell outta dodge?"
Tony rubbed his cheek. He wasn't in the mood. Not that he'd let it show—too much—he valued his life and joining Rodney Sullivan in the igneous flames of hell didn't sound like a plan.
"Look, Gibbs, I don't need..." he was interrupted by the sting of Gibb's hand thwacking the back of his head. "Boss..."
"If I wanted to hear a debate I would've tuned in to C-Span. Shut up, grab your gear, and get the molasses outta your ass."
A staring contest ensued and naturally, Tony was annihilated. Grabbing the handle of his suitcase, he locked up his ultimate bachelor pad and ran off toward Gibbs who was already turning the Dodge Charger's ignition.
Cedar Breaks Academy
Parowan, Utah
Two Hours from Las Vegas, Nevada.
Cedar Break's Academy's purpose was to establish a therapeutic and educational environment emphasizing and promoting family reunification plus the dignity and importance of each individual girl—to give students the tools needed to become a person of character before returning home to their families.
At least, that's what the brochures said.
He read all of them during the two-hour drive.
When Gibbs drove it was best to focus on anything but the road. Driving was like a moving version of pinball for Tony's supervisor. He had to bump a few things and ring a few bells before winning anything. Speeding tickets were nothing to him. Tony imagined the Sierra Club cited him for the destruction of the Carolinian forest.
Tony had gone to the bathroom before heading up to the director's office. When he came off the elevator, Gibbs was sitting in one of the plush visitor's chairs, flipping through a magazine Tony figured he kept in his back pocket for a rainy day.
The older man didn't look up when Tony walked past him and straight to the receptionist's desk.
In fact, he didn't pry at all. Gibbs just offered his support and a few mind awaking head slaps. No questions, no strings.
"May I help you?" the receptionist asked warmly.
Tony would've flirted with her if she weren't four days older than dirt. "Anthony DiNozzo. I'm here for the director. She told..."
A buzzer chimed. "Forgive me," the receptionist smiled, picking up the phone. "I'll send him on in." She looked up at Tony. "She'll see you now."
Without a word, Gibbs stood and followed Tony into the office.
"I'm Andrea Parsons," the woman stepped around a handsome wooden desk and offered her hand. It was slippery with sweat.
"Special Agent DiNozzo, my boss Special Agent Gibbs. I'm here about..."
"Joplin Sullivan," the woman sighed and cleared her throat.
"Problem?" Gibbs asked.
"May I interest you in some coffee?"
"Sure, you can just leave the answers I flew a couple thousand miles to get on the side with the sugar."
Gibbs just smiled.
Andrea cleared her throat for the second time and eased back into her chair, folding her hands in her lap. "It seems we have a problem, Special Agent DiNozzo. Joplin, she's run away."