Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.
A/N: This tale has one, maybe two more chapters left in it. I enjoyed it enough, though, that I'm definitely considering writing more in this 'verse.
Rule Four
The best way to keep a secret? Keep it to yourself.
Second best? Tell one other person, if you must.
There is no third best.
Chapter Seven: When Worlds Collide
The table had been cleared of dishes – the dishes themselves placed on the floor outside the suite's door, awaiting pickup by the hotel staff – but now sported the receiving end of the surveillance equipment they'd brought along. The task of getting it ready out of the way, Tony took a moment to settle himself. He stood at the window, holding its thick drape aside, and looked out on the sunset. Probie's plan is a good one, if we can pull it off. But, as often as he kept repeating it to himself, he couldn't stop the worrying, nor could he keep that whip of guilt for having been the cause, however indirect, of his father's current predicament from lashing up out of the darkness. It'll work. McGee might not know the hows and whys on what I do, but he's been asking smarter questions than those sadistic bastards back at the institute did. Hope he and Ziva don't run into anything nasty… Ziva and McGee had just stepped out a few minutes earlier, their mission twofold: Bring back coffee and do a little on-the-ground reconnaissance of Macaluso's house, which stood only a handful of blocks from their hotel.
Gibbs was also standing, leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching his agent. He could tell, simply from the stiff way Tony was standing, that he was thinking over – or perhaps over-thinking – the situation at hand. "DiNozzo."
Tony tore his gaze away from the dying rays of sunlight on the city and allowed the drape to fall closed once more. "Yeah, Boss?" He turned around and met Gibbs' eyes. He was suddenly struck by the realization that, aside from Gema, there was probably no one on earth he knew as well as he did the blue-eyed, silver-haired man standing across the room. Tony could read reassurance in the relaxed way Gibbs was leaning on the counter, confidence in the set of the older man's shoulders, encouragement from the not-quite-a-smile on his face, and a faint question lingering around his eyes. It all added up to something far more eloquent than mere words. It said, Calm down. It said, Everything is gonna turn out okay on this. And it said, I trust you to get it right. The question was probably the easiest bit to de-code. If I think you can handle this, why don't you?
Some of the tension Tony was feeling drained away. "Yeah, I know," he said, then strode over to the couch. "There wasn't anything I could've done to stop this, except maybe speak on Mike Macaluso's behalf when his parole hearing came up, but he wasn't ready to be let loose, not yet. It was just bad luck that had him killed in that fight, and Carlo's just trying to find someone to blame. I know it's not my fault, but I can't help but feel guilty about it."
Though his back was to Gibbs, the older man knew his second well enough to easily picture the expression on his face. Without line-of-sight, he knew silence wasn't an option. "Can't imagine Gema showing up has helped matters much."
Unseen by Gibbs, a tiny smile flashed on Tony's face. He let out a little huff of what might have passed for amusement, had he not still been extraordinarily tense. "Actually, I don't mind that Gema showed up. If she hadn't, this would be going down in an entirely different way – and who's to say that way would be any better?" He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "You guys finding out about the psychic crap?" his head shook a little and the hand on his neck dropped. His shoulders hitched up once. "Isn't the end-of-the-world scenario I'd been fearing."
"We know you too well, Tony," Gibbs admitted, his voice quiet, yet still laced through with a tendril of all the trust and fondness and friendship every member of the team had for the SFA. "Don't figure there's much you could admit to that would ever change the fact that we – all of us – have your six."
Ziva and Tim walked side-by-side, looking like nothing so much as a couple out for an evening stroll as they wound through Portoferraio. Their route was, by design, somewhat meandering, but designed to take them past the Macaluso residence both coming and going. Conversation was, also by design, kept to topics well away from Tony, NCIS, and their real purpose for being in Italy.
Their first walk-by of the house revealed what they'd already known – it was a Victorian-style home, very well-cared for, but not exactly what either of them had pictured as the base of operations for anything Mafia-related. The second walk-by had Ziva's sharp eyes picking out some of the modifications to the modest dwelling. Steel doors, reinforced glass in the windows. Tim spotted the numerous unobtrusive security cameras. The fading daylight, coupled with open drapes, revealed at least three people other than Tony's father within the house: Two men, one Macaluso himself, and a very beautiful blonde woman that appeared to be around Ziva's age.
Appearing to get into an intense discussion regarding the architecture of the house across the street from Macaluso's, Ziva planted a tiny camera on the side of a street-light, aimed at the Macaluso front door. Winding the 'discussion' to a 'natural' halt, they moved on.
Under the cover of full twilight – the one time of day when human visual acuity was at its lowest – they strolled around the block and hit paydirt. The house which abutted Macaluso's back yard was vacant, a sign indicating it was for sale. The pair, Ziva in the lead, slipped into the shadows and made their way around to the garden behind the house. Tall hedgerows formed the fence surrounding the vacant home, rather than the more common stone walls, which Tim chalked up to one more piece of good luck on their part. Huddled in the shadow provided by the bushes, they pushed aside some leafy branches and checked out the Macaluso residence once more.
"More security cameras," Tim whispered. "Can't tell if they're wireless or closed-circuit, though."
"Are they infra-red, McGee?" Ziva asked, her voice just as low as her partner's. She was more interested in determining whether or not there were any more people present.
He retrieved his binoculars from the inner pocket of his jacket and spent several minutes peering through them. "No," was his eventual reply. "And I don't see any motion-sensors to trigger lights, either."
More open drapes revealed the back of the house to be quiet and dark. Thus far, only the blonde, Macaluso, and the unnamed man they'd spotted through the front of the house seemed to be home. Ziva rummaged around in the 'purse' she had been carrying and withdrew two dime-sized bits of electronica. While she slipped through the hedge and followed the thick shadows it cast around the perimeter of Macaluso's yard, to where it met up with a rock wall that she followed closer to the house, Tim retrieved another tiny camera and scanned the yard he was in for a good place to put it. He grinned when he noticed the tree. The tree was slightly off-center, but tall enough the camera could be placed where it could easily see over the hedge.
It took a little more effort than he was used to employing to jump high enough to grab hold of the lowest limbs of it, but he managed. I think I need to send my personal trainer a bonus. I couldn't have done this even two years ago, not without all his help! He swung himself onto the branch and set to securing the camera in a good spot.
Meanwhile, Ziva stuck to the shadows and crept slowly around Macaluso's yard. The landscaping was probably more beautiful in daylight, but it suited her just fine in the diminishing grey light that heralds nightfall – it provided more than adequate cover for her actions. She managed to get right up to the house itself. The first microphone was pressed into place in the corner of a window which looked in on the kitchen. She then slipped around the side of the house and made her way around to the lit windows of Macaluso's living room. Taking care to keep out of sight, the last microphone found itself pressed into a low corner of the lit window. She then carefully retraced her steps back to the hedgerow.
McGee was just lowering himself from the tree as she reappeared through the hedge. They wasted no time congratulating themselves, however. Ziva scooped up the 'purse' and the pair – keeping an eye out to make sure they were neither spotted nor followed – hurried back to the coffee shop down the street from their hotel.
Coffee in hand, they returned to the suite to find Gibbs monitoring the gear they'd just set up. The living area of the suite had been cleared of furniture, everything pushed against the walls. Tony was on his knees, a stick of chalk in hand, drawing on the wood floor. "Everything alright?" he asked, not looking up from his task.
"Yes," Ziva replied. "The cameras and microphones are up and running." She left McGee to hover over Gibbs shoulder and walked a little closer to see what Tony was doing.
"Good," Tony replied, adding to his 'artwork'.
A thin ring, approximately eight or nine feet across, drawn with the salt they'd gotten in Palermo marked a very visible boundary between Tony and the rest of the room. There were four small triangles chalked onto the floor already; Ziva's inner compass told her were situated precisely at the points of north, south, east, and west. She stood nearest the one on the east point, and moving the image in her mind so that she was mentally standing at the south, the triangles for west and north were point-down, those for east and south were point-up. The ones for east and north were further differentiated by having a horizontal line bisecting them, making them appear somewhat like a letter 'A' with an additional line connecting the 'feet' of the letter.
She glanced over to Gibbs and McGee. Tim had sat at the table and was currently working on getting his laptop up and running. Gibbs was wearing the surveillance headphones on one ear and listening intently to whatever might be coming through. Returning to watching Tony, she found he'd finished what he was doing and was looking down on the chalk design with his forehead furrowed.
Centered precisely within the circle of salt, white chalk markings stood out in stark relief against the dark wood of the floor. A seven-pointed star, with one point aiming directly at the upside-down 'A' triangle at due north, stretched across the center of a pair of concentric chalk circles that were about four feet across. The tips of the star blended with the inner ring. Did he draw this freehand? Ziva wondered, then squelched her own surprise – Tony did, after all, do the vast majority of their crime-scene sketches freehand. Granted, a crime-scene sketch wasn't much more than stick-figure schematical diagramming, but she could easily see the confident accuracy portrayed in Tony's sketches reflected in the precise design now before her.
Between the inner chalk ring and the outer was a sentence, printed painstakingly in Italian, which repeated three times. Sangue delmio sangue, per gli dèi dei miei antenati, io vi comando diquesto posto. Ziva mentally translated it without thinking. Blood of my blood, by the gods of my ancestors, I command you to this place. She saw some of the lines fade from Tony's forehead as he nodded to himself. "Update?" he called out, obviously directed at Gibbs and McGee.
Tim spoke first. "Surveillance is up and running as it should. I spotted a security system at Macaluso's place – I'm currently seeing if I can access it. Should know for sure in a few minutes, Tony."
"Macaluso's girlfriend apparently doesn't speak Italian, neither does his Chief of Security," Gibbs said, not looking away from the monitors in front of him. "He and the girl are heading out for a party shortly."
"Have to love it when the universe lines up and things go your way for a change," Tony muttered. Louder, he said, "Sounds like a good time to start, then. Let me know when they leave." Gibbs nodded in reply.
Tony's eyes fell on Ziva. "Give me a hand?" he asked quietly.
"What do you need?"
"Hand me the stuff off the coffee table as I ask for it," he replied. "First up, I need that glass of wine." Ziva carefully worked her way around the salt circle to where the coffee table now rested against the wall. Tony continued talking, but his tone was enough to tell her that he was doing so as much for his own benefit as hers. "Wine is for Jupiter, the King of the Gods." She handed him the plastic cup, filled halfway with red wine that was only a shade off from being the color of arterial blood. He sat the cup within the 'arm' of the star that was just to the right of the one which pointed north. "Next, organic – pure – spelt wheat for Ceres," Ziva handed him one of the little ceramic bowls mounded with a handful of grain, "ruler of, among other things, agriculture." The bowl was sat within the 'arm' that was next, clockwise, to the one containing the wine. "Now the water," Ziva handed over the dish she assumed to be the same one Tony had used earlier that evening, still full of clear water. "For Neptune, ruler of oceans, seas, rivers, lakes, and all else that is water." It was placed in the same spot on the next 'arm' of the star.
After a moment too long of silence, Ziva asked, "What next?"
Tony gave himself a little shake and pointed to the flickering candle in its makeshift holder. "The candle, for Vesta, ruler of hearth and home." Ziva handed it over and it joined the other items within the lines of the chalk design. "For Pluto, the coin. Ruler of riches and the Underworld." The medallion had already been separated from its gaudy mounting. Again, it was placed neatly within the 'arms' of the star. There were now two empty arms contained in the design.
"What next?" Ziva repeated.
Tony glanced up at her, his face mostly blank, but with the smallest of smiles lingering around the corners of his mouth and eyes. He didn't look away as his hand went to his shoulder-holster, and withdrew his Sig. He sat it in the middle of the 'arm' next to the one containing the golden coin reproduction. "For Juno, Queen of the Gods, protector of family and community."
There was now only one empty 'arm' remaining in the star's design. "What goes in the last one, Tony?"
"Nothing," he replied, climbing to his feet. His eyes shifted to look at his handiwork one more time. "That space is mine."
"Then why does nothing go there?" Ziva felt a bit of irrational frustration surface with the thought that Tony might believe himself to be 'nothing'.
"We stand next to, but ever separate from, the Gods." Tony's voice had the tone that told Ziva he was quoting from something, but couldn't determine precisely who or what. Tony took no notice of her reaction and continued, "It stands empty as a reminder of that."
Before Ziva could reply, Gibbs and Tim spoke up. "Macaluso and the girl just left," came from the former and, "I'm in!" came from the latter.
"Anyone but the security guard left in the house, McGee?" Tony asked, nimbly stepping over the design on the floor to join the other men at the table.
"Not that I can see. There aren't as many cameras inside, though."
Ziva joined her team and situated herself where she could see both the surveillance monitor and McGee's screen. The images showed the still-unnamed man – who was tall, muscular, and somewhere between Tony and Gibbs in age – doing a quick check of the house. Eventually, the lights were doused, save for a small glow from the left side of the house, as viewed through the front camera, which indicated the man had likely retreated to the basement.
"Looks like I'm up," Tony said. He took off his holster and sat it on the kitchenette counter, then toed off his shoes. The task completed, he took the time to meet the eyes of his team. Lingering on Tim's, he said, "I may not know the hows or whys behind all of this, but I do know how to use it. Once I start apporting something with a pulse," he moved his gaze to fall then on Ziva, "I cannot be interrupted." He then met Gibbs' own gaze. "Else, Bad Shit happens."
The rest of the team nodded in unison. Tony once again met their eyes and returned their nods. Now that it was 'game time', the inner turmoil which had been haunting him ever since Gema turned up at NCIS HQ had quieted. Stress dissolved, replaced with determination for this to work.
He stepped back to the design that had taken him all day to remember, but only twenty minutes or so to draw. Don't fuck this up, Tonio, he thought. Gibbs' voice spoke up from the back of his mind, You won't. The last shred of doubt that had been clinging to his brain gave way. He took a breath and murmured, his volume barely enough to carry to his team. "Mi legano a me questo giorno la rapidità del vento, la forza del mare, la durezza delle rocce, la resistenza della terra." (I bind to myself this day the swiftness of the wind, the power of the sea, the hardness of the rocks, the endurance of the earth.) He then took a deeper breath and stepped over the line of salt, taking his place between the empty 'arm' of the star and the symbol for earth at the circle's northern point.
Closing his eyes, the nearly-forgotten chant came to his lips with an ease that shouldn't have been possible. "Torna al fiume, torna al mare," took on nearly melodic overtones. (Back to the river, back to the sea.) "Torna al oceano, uno con te." Though he'd started speaking at a near-whisper, it was rapidly gaining in strength and volume. (Back to the ocean, one with thee.)
That same strange presence felt earlier when Tony had scryed on his father once again began to build within the room. All eyes, willing or not, locked on the sight of Tony standing within the design on the floor.
Tony's hands moved, dipping into his pants pockets. "Torna alla mia sangue, e indietro attraverso le mie vene," he chanted, pulling out his pocket-knife and a white handkerchief. (Back to my blood, and back through my veins.) With his eyes still closed, the knife flicked open. "Torna alla mia battito cardiaco, uno e la stessa," rumbled out of his mouth, the words echoing strangely through the ever-building heat-shimmer. (Back to my heartbeat, one and the same.) The knife moved quickly, light flickering off its blade as it sliced across the palm of Tony's left hand.
"Tornare alla foresta, di nuovo ai campi," the knife dissappeared back to its place while red welled from the cut. (Back to the forest, back to the fields.) "Torna al montagne, il suo corpo ha rivelato," the handkerchief wound around the cut, absorbing the blood and turning dark. (Back to the mountains, her body revealed.) The pressure-presence, heavier now than it had been at its peak before, grew thick, almost like the spike in humidity just before the clouds let loose.
"Torna alla mia ossa, torna alla mia pelle," Tim felt as though his teeth wanted to vibrate apart and his ears were ringing a shrill, high-pitched sound. (Back to my bones, back to my skin.) Ziva had trouble catching her breath, it felt as though something large and extraordinarily heavy, but soft, like a giant pillow, were resting on her chest. Gibbs felt, not glued, but melded with his chair, and the light had taken on a surreal quality, like it wasn't quite real.
"Torna al mio spirito, il fuoco dentro," Tony finished and dropped the blood-stained handkerchief from his outstretched hand. (Back to my spirit, the fire within.)
Three things happened simultaneously: The handkerchief hit the precise center of the star on the floor, Tony opened his eyes, and the room felt as though it shifted ninety degrees out of true with reality.
Unknown to those involved, the witnesses to this shift were all thinking along the same lines. Am I seeing this? Am I even here? The only thing that looks really real is Tony. Whereas his efforts in scrying had produced a firefly-like glow that briefly flashed through his eyes – disturbing, certainly, but also fascinating and kinda cool in its own right – what they were now seeing was so far out of any frame-of-reference that words couldn't convey the level of unease they felt.
Tony had yet to lower his left hand, the slash on the fleshy part under his thumb still bled, but sluggishly enough that his team knew it to be superficial and not something to worry about. "Come sopra, così sotto," Tony's voice now sounded like it was filtered through something somewhat more viscous than mere water. (As above, so below.) "Spirito e materia in una danza così lento." His right hand began to rise to join its partner. (Spirit and matter in a dance so slow.) "Come dentro, così fuori," the hand finally reached the same level as his other one. (As within, so without.) "Grande mistero che spirali dentro e fuori." His hands moved slightly, to a position which, had someone else been standing there, would have been resting on that person's shoulders. (Great mystery that spirals in and out.) "Gloria segreto, nascosto da nulla," his voice gained in intensity, though none of his team would have said it was possible. (Secret glory, hidden by nothing.) "Tre volte benedetto, chiamato tre volte, tre volte ha rivelato." Light vacated the space between his hands, merely reinforcing the impression that whatever it was they were seeing was simply something that couldn't possibly exist. (Thrice blessed, thrice called, thrice revealed.)
"Venite a me, Papà." The intensity didn't change, but a level of command entered Tony's voice; it was enough to make Ziva realize what he'd meant when he'd said We stand next to, but ever separate from, the Gods. (Come to me, Dad.) "Venite a me dal sangue, dalle ossa, dal pensiero, dalle emozioni che condividiamo." The lack of light grew, taking on a vague humanlike form, but still defied definition. It was more substantial than a shadow could ever hope to be, but lacked presence in a way which echoed the most deeply-buried nightmare beasts from childhood. (Come to me by blood, by bone, by thought, by the emotions we share.) "Vieni da me!" Tony shouted the command, and the man-shaped hole in existence was suddenly replaced by a very weary, rumpled, and just as obviously relieved Anthony D. DiNozzo, Senior. (Come to me!)
A great noise, sounding most like the breaking of a tree branch as large as the world, crashed through the consciousness of the team, and just like that, everything was back to being real. Normal. Just as it should be.
"Hi, Dad," Tony managed to choke out, then collapsed against the man like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Junior!" Anthony exclaimed, catching his son, and wincing as stiff muscles protested the action.
The team leapt into action, hurrying over to the two men, but it was Ziva's eyes that noticed the only remaining evidence of Tony's meticulously-drawn design were the salt circle and empty dishes. Tony's gun also remained, but there was something different about it that she simply hadn't the time to investigate.
Working together, they moved their unconscious partner to the sofa. Senior took a moment to glance around the room and saw the now-broken circle of salt. He also saw the open bottle of wine sitting next to the package of cavallucci. While Gibbs and McGee were busy making sure Tony was reasonably comfortable, and Ziva was retrieving a blanket and pillow from the bedrooms, Anthony took the most needed action. He poured some of the wine into one of the two remaining plastic cups and unwrapped one of the anise-flavored cookies and brought them to Tony.
"Are you okay, Mr. DiNozzo?" McGee asked, catching the man's eyes over the back of the sofa.
"Yeah," he replied kneeling next to his son. Not even Gibbs was enough of a bastard to stand between them – he moved to a similar position at the end of the couch where Tony's head rested. "Good enough. Sore. Hungry. Want a shower and about three days in bed, but I'm fine." Anthony sat the cup of wine down on the floor as Ziva reappeared with a pillow and folded blanket. Gibbs helped Tim reposition Tony on the pillow, while Ziva covered him to his waist with the blanket. Senior simply waited until they were done. Once they'd backed off a little, he shook his son's shoulder. "Come on, Junior," he said. "Wake up. You aren't finished yet."
Tony slowly peeled his eyes open. He didn't have a headache, that was far too mild a term for something that encompassed his entire body and made him feel like there was glass in his joints, cotton in his ears and eyes, and mold in his mouth. "Dad," he croaked, his voice sounding just as pain-riddled as the rest of him felt.
"Gotta finish, Junior," Anthony repeated. He handed Tony the unwrapped cavallucci. Tony nodded, knowing he needed to eat and drink something to re-center himself in reality. Once the backlash faded, he'd actually work on getting a real meal, but the cookie was enough to remind his body what it meant to be a body. He slowly nibbled on it, his hand shaking with exertion. His dad held the cup of wine to his lips and he drank.
Gibbs didn't move from his post, but he locked eyes with Ziva and McGee – they both nodded once and headed to the electronics on the table. Just because Tony's dad was safe didn't mean the work was over. Though most who knew him wouldn't say so, Gibbs knew how to be patient, so it didn't bother him to wait. In fact, seeing Senior focusing on his son actually managed to clarify a few things in Gibbs' mind. They might not see eye-to-eye on a whole lot of stuff, and I doubt I will ever truly like the man, but they really are family. It still didn't explain why Senior had never showed, never even called, when Tony had been fighting the plague, but a little of the contempt Gibbs had previously carried for the man managed to fade.
A/N2: Once again, if any of you know a better way for me to phrase the Italian bits, please let me know! I hope this chapter makes as much sense as it did in my head - I don't feel that I got the important part quite right. Sigh, the insecurities of being a writer...
Don't hesitate to let me know what you thought. Thanks in advance.
