Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS...or anything having to do with NCIS...or anything at all, so don't sue me. I'm broke.
A/N: Thanks to everybody who reviewed, or added this story to their alerts and favorites. Somebody asked me how often I'd update this story, so I thought I'd share that with everybody. I'll update at least once a week, perhaps even twice a week, depending on life (I do have a pretty busy schedule between work and school and familial obligations). I have no set schedule for updating, so don't expect a chapter every Friday or Sunday.
Also, this is another very depressing chapter. Not all chapters will be depressing, but as you can tell from the beginning, a lot of them will be. It's a very sad story...If you want something happy and fluffy, this is not what you're looking for.
Chapter Three
Bad Memories
That night, sitting on his couch with a late night infomercial playing on the TV instead of one of his usual movies, Tony stared at the blank wall across the apartment. He couldn't sleep. There was too much on his mind. Would he wake up in the morning? Would there be a morning for him? A tomorrow? A next week? It was impossible to tell when his time would be up, and it was unsettling. There was a chance he could live for years, though it was doubtful he'd live a decade. There was also a chance he could die in the next second. It wasn't fair.
Thoughts of his imminent doom sparked thoughts of his mother. His beautiful mother. The day she died was burned into his mind like a fire ripping through his brain, and try as he might, there was no way he could get rid of the memory.
Things had been different then. A lot different. They'd been a happy family. His father would come home from the office at a decent hour and kiss his wife on the cheek before ruffling a young Tony's hair. He'd bring presents home for him after business trips and spend time with him during weekends. They'd go fishing in the pond on the back portion of their land, and his mother would meet them out on the back porch at lunch time with sandwiches and fresh squeezed lemonade. She'd cook the fish they brought in for dinner, and they'd spend the meal talking about life and simple things.
He remembered knowing that something was wrong that morning when he'd gotten out of bed, but his eight year old mind couldn't process what exactly it was. He'd descended the stairs in his plaid flannel pajamas to find his mother singing while she made French toast in the kitchen. He'd hugged her before climbing up into his usual chair and waiting for his dad to come downstairs and the meal to be served.
He was a momma's boy. He did everything she asked of him, and did what he knew would make her happy. She wasn't happy when he misbehaved, so he always used his best manners and spoke like the little gentleman that he was. He wanted to be the best son he possibly could be, and it always made her smile that beautiful smile she saved just for him.
They sat at the piano after breakfast. She had corrected the position of his hands and helped him with the keys. She'd complimented each of his tries, even when he made a mistake and had to start over. He loved the piano just because it was their special time together. After the piano she would take him to school, and they wouldn't see each other again until that afternoon, when he would have to do his homework, and she would busy herself with one of her sewing projects before dad got home and took all of her attention away from him. At bedtime both of his parents would tuck him into bed and tell him a story before his father whisked her away from him to their own bedroom and Tony was left alone to sleep.
It was how life went on a typical day, and Tony thought he was the luckiest boy in the world, with the best parents in the world, and the greatest life in the world. That was back before everything changed, though.
Saturdays he usually went fishing with his dad. That morning was no different. They'd waved goodbye to his mother, who stood on the porch as they headed down the trail in their matching fishing vests and poles. His gut was still churning with unease as the morning passed, but he tried to ignore it. Today was a good day. Today was a great day. They caught more fish than ever before.
His mother wasn't waiting on the porch with their lunch when they came up the trail at noon, but Tony wasn't worried. Sometimes she waited for them to come inside and they would help her carry the plates to the small table on the porch. Tony hurried ahead of his dad, his little line of fish displayed happily in his small hands and a smile on his face. He raced through the doors with more excitement than he'd ever felt before, eager to show his mom his prize, forgetting for the moment the bad feeling he'd woken up with.
It all came back the moment he stepped into the kitchen, and he froze. She was laying on the kitchen floor, in front of the sink. His young brain had been unable to comprehend what he was seeing then, and he approached her with slow steps, part of him knowing she wasn't sleeping, and the other part wondering why she was sleeping on the kitchen floor.
He put his fish in the sink, where he always put his fish, before kneeling down beside her. Her face looked peaceful, like she was just sleeping, but her skin was cold, and gray compared to her white summer dress. He shoved on her shoulder, hoping it would wake her up, but she didn't move, and fear curled in his stomach.
Senior arrived only a few minutes after he did, and the moment he joined them in the room his line of fish slipped from his hand to the tiled floor. For a brief second, Tony considered telling his father that the fish had fallen to the floor, its sickening wet thud against the tile reverberating through his brain, but then his father had crossed the room and was kneeling beside his wife, pulling her to his chest and cradling her against his body.
It was the first and the only time Tony had ever seen his father cry, and it scared him. What was going on? What had happened to his mother? They needed to do something, to call somebody. Who could fix this? The doctor? Tony suggested it, and his father looked up at him as if just realizing that he existed and was there watching them. It was like a switch had flipped in Senior's brain, and everything changed. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, gently laid his wife back on the floor, and stood up, instructing Tony to go to his room while he handled things.
Tony remembered how days had passed before they'd known what had happened to his mother, and it was a torturous two days. His father barely came out of his study, and extended family arrived. His aunt was nice- his mother's sister-in-law- but she wasn't his mother, and he rebuffed her kindness. He wanted his mother to come home, to come back. They had taken her away to fix her, so why hadn't she come back yet? Was she at the hospital getting better? His aunt and uncle refused to answer his questions, and the look they shared between them whenever Tony brought it up only made him angry. She was his mother! Why wasn't anybody telling him anything?
He was sitting on his bed, in his big bedroom, when his father came in on that second day. He'd never seen his father look so awkward, like he had no idea how to act around his son. Senior had sat beside him on the bed and patted his arm before explaining to him that his mother wasn't coming home. At the time he'd been too young to understand the words his father used explaining what had happened- if you'd asked him afterwards he would have told you that her brain exploded- but he did understand what dead meant. She was gone, and she wasn't coming back.
Everything had changed in his life after that. His father buried himself in his work, and Tony was lucky if he ever got to see him. When the extended family had left after the funeral, a nanny had come in to care for him. Whenever he mentioned his mother, he was scolded and told not to dwell on the past. When his father caught him crying, he was called weak and told DiNozzo's don't cry. He'd tried his best after that, masking his sadness with a bright smile and a jovial attitude that became natural to him after so long.
Coming out of the memory, Tony sat up and ran a hand down his face. With a bitter laugh, he realized that at least he wouldn't be like his mother. Having no children meant that they wouldn't find him dead on the floor when his time came. Nobody would have to suffer through what he and his father had because of his death.
