Thanks to all of you who always make time for this story and to TwoSexySombreros for her work :)
Chapter Seven: The Weaknesses (Part Two)
He was tired. It felt like he hadn't slept in days.
When the elevator door to the bullpen opened, he was able to step out without tripping over only due to years of practice. He was able to get to his table just because he knew the way inch by inch and could make it with both eyes closed.
It was only thanks to his willpower that he didn't turn around and run away; that he took every step toward his table and sat down, waiting patiently for McGee and Abby to come.
Gibbs had called them. He told him and Abby to go here.
They had to opt for the steps because Tony had needed a long time to pull himself together.
It was all because of him.
He tried not to think about it, though.
Still, it was hard and tiring. He didn't want to show any of the emotions he felt and it drained the energy from his body.
How long did it take for a person to stop thinking about death and to start living again?
The memories after his mother had died were vague. The only recollection that held stubbornly onto his mind was the one of an open mahogany coffin, people in black and the stoic expression of his father.
Come to think of it, he didn't even know half of the people that had attended his mother's funeral.
"Tony."
That was Gibbs' voice. He used his first name again. It was unusual.
He raised his head just in time to see McGee and Abby emerging from the staircase door. They didn't look at him first but when they neared him and Gibbs, Abby couldn't take it anymore.
Tony noticed her eyes were red rimmed.
She hugged him tightly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered in his ear.
Tony closed his eyes and waited motionlessly 'till she moved away. He dared to breathe only after that.
McGee muttered something softly but Tony didn't really listen to him, neither did he respond. He looked at Gibbs.
"So," his boss seemed to understand, "fill us in."
Tony studied his hands for a moment. He hadn't cleaned them yet. Maybe he should do that first.
"Tony," Gibbs said again.
Right, he was supposed to tell them. He stopped occupying himself with his hands. "Christopher Jenkins."
Gibbs turned to McGee who jumped to his table and typed the name. Abby stood awkwardly on the same spot and rubbed her own hands.
A photo came out on the plasma screen.
"Is he the attacker?"
Gibbs asked him a question, so Tony should answer it. First, he had to look at the screen.
Was it possible to get away? Could he stand up and run outside; ignore the whole world?
Taking a deep breath, he turned his head. He wasn't surprised when his eyes met with the man from that morning and night.
Even though he wasn't surprised, he wasn't prepared for it either. His insides clenched and he had to tear his gaze away. "Yeah, it's him."
"McGee," Gibbs prompted and Tim started reading the file, scanning it briefly with his eyes, while talking to them.
"Christopher Jenkins, son of Richard Jenkins and Stefanie Bell. His father is a shareholder of a corporation and wow…" He looked up. "The guy's loaded, Gibbs… only," he turned his attention back to the file. "Well, would be – his father disowned him when he was eighteen. He was sentenced twenty years for a homicide, attempted robbery and a weapons offense." He stopped and studied the information for a moment. "They didn't go easy on him. It wasn't the first time he broke the law but everything before had been brushed aside thanks to his dad. However with this one, he was left on his own and disowned afterwards…"
Tony supported his head. He didn't listen to whatever McGee was saying. He already knew all of it. He also knew that his name wouldn't appear in the files. That was his father's last favor for him.
Right before he sent him away.
It was inevitable and he should have known from the beginning that it wouldn't end differently. It was meant to result like that from the very start.
Yet, it had hurt nonetheless.
"DiNozzo."
He turned slowly in the direction of his boss' voice. It seemed urgent. Gibbs had to call his name more than once.
They were looking at him with worry. He'd stopped paying attention to them.
Gibbs sighed. "Ducky will be here any moment. He'll check you."
Tony stayed silent. After all, it wasn't a suggestion, it was an order and he wouldn't get any say in it.
When no reaction came, Gibbs refocused on McGee. "Print everything you can find for me."
"Where have you been?" His father came closer to him but Chris stood his ground.
He'd learned how to respond when his old man was in this kind of mood a long time ago. First thing was not to step back, ever.
"Why?"
That was a mistake. He didn't realize it wasn't helpful asking questions either.
His father smacked him across the face. "You think you can use my money like some parasite and ignore me?"
This one, he knew. The basic rule lied in apologizing for everything, even if he had no idea what for.
"I'm sorry, dad."
His father smiled mockingly. "Sure you are. It's the only thing you're good at. Apologizing."
Now, in this part, he had to swallow every bitter word he wanted to scream at this man. It would do no good. In that case, it would only make things worse.
"Sit down." His father motioned to the chair and Chris did what he was told immediately and without questions. That would get him to repeat his mistake again.
He couldn't help himself but think about what Tony had said. He'd defied his father and the man let him go without a punishment.
Could he do that as well? He'd never tried it. He gave advice to every friend he had but it never actually occurred to him that he could help himself as well.
His father paced before him. "Were you at your French class?"
What would happen if he tried?
"Yes."
Could it free him as well?
"Spanish?"
Was it possible that his father only waited for his son to man up and stand up against him?
"Yes."
To show him that he no longer deserved the punches and was finally prepared for the cruel world?
„Did you read the books I gave you?"
To cross the line…
"No."
His father stopped. "Excuse me?"
His heart was pounding. If this worked, it would mean that all the beatings weren't just meaningless acts. That they were to help him strengthen and grow up, that his father liked him somewhere deep inside.
"I said no. I- I don't need it... I'm old enough to choose what to read. I don't need you to pick up books and classes for me." He managed to keep the voice firm.
His father smiled and Chris felt light-headed. Did it work?
A punch sent him off the chair and onto the wooden floor. He grazed his arm as he tried to lift up but his father's foot pushed him down again. "You think I care about what you want or what you think?"
The pressure from the foot increased. "You should be grateful that I'm keeping you here. That I didn't throw you out when I found out about your night activities." His father talked calmly, with a cold precision and without emotions. It hurt more than the blows. "That I spent a huge amount of my fortune so you wouldn't be kicked out of that damn school."
Chris lay motionlessly on the floor. His hand itched to grip the foot on him but he didn't move it. He resigned and waited, his mind shutting down. If this all wasn't for him to grow up and learn to defend himself, then what was it for?
What was the point when it didn't have any purpose? Did his father hate him so much?
"Stand up."
The pressure eased and then vanished. He stood on shaky legs and straightened up, looking his father in the eyes.
A punch sent him to the ground.
"Stand up!"
Chris lifted his body up with an effort, only to be knocked down.
"Again," his father said coolly.
Everything he'd ever done was to get any kind of attention from the man before him. He'd always hoped that the beatings were for his own good and that his father cared about him.
He was so wrong.
Chris stood up and a moment later he found himself on the floor again, coughing. "I'm sorry," he tried but it didn't help.
"Again!"
It had only started.
Chris' eyes shot open as he woke up.
Running a hand over his sweaty face, he rolled on the side. He hadn't dreamt about that night for a long time.
What he was doing brought the memories back to him again. He couldn't stop thinking about what would change if he'd done something differently.
If he hadn't ended up in jail, how would his life look like? Maybe he'd have a family, a job… children. He'd raise them with care and he would never leave them alone. He would never lay a hand on them.
That wasn't right, parents should never do that.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
It was useless to think about past. It wouldn't help. He'd lost his chance for a proper life in the moment the cell door closed behind his back. After twenty years spent in there, his life was over. No one would give him a second chance and people looked down on him.
He didn't blame them. He became a murderer and he would always stay one. The only thing he could do now was to get as much as he could from the situation and enjoy his few remaining days.
Before he came to D.C., he'd tried to think up something else to do with his life but there was nothing. Nothing that would satisfy him and that would be viable.
Destroying the life of a person that was, in his opinion, responsible for his imprisonment seemed on the other hand like a perfect distraction.
"He's fine, Jethro, bruised but otherwise healthful. The only thing he needs is a good rest," Ducky said.
Gibbs waited for DiNozzo's 'I told you so.' but it didn't come. The only thing Tony had done the whole time was sit obediently and stare into blank space.
At least he had been able to wash his hands to get rid of the blood on them.
Gibbs had previously wanted to ask further questions but now, as he watched his agent, he changed his mind.
He stood up in front of Tony and finally got his attention. "You're going with me."
Tony slid off the table without so much as a word and headed for the door.
Gibbs exchanged a worried glance with Ducky and sighed. "When Kate arrives, tell her to take everything to Abby's lab and go home. The same applies for you too," he said. "This… case will wait till tomorrow. Just make sure Steve's body gets here safely, okay? I'll talk to the director so NCIS could take this over from the LEO's."
Ducky nodded. "Do that, Jethro. And make sure the boy eats something." He looked over at the door, through which Tony had vanished from their sight.
Gibbs said nothing and made his way through the door as well. He met Tony at the elevator, leaning against a wall. "Where we going?" he asked absently.
Gibbs pushed the elevator button and the door opened. "My house."
Kate was done talking to the police officer who was in charge - for now. She was sure Gibbs would never let the local police investigate this murder. It was only a matter of time until they got call from the director to hand the case over to NCIS.
She was glad for it. She wanted to find the bastard who'd done this.
She teased Tony, she argued with him and barely took him seriously, but she liked him, a lot. He was a friend, a brother to her.
Someone had hurt him and she would not let it go.
"Sit."
He sat down. A plate with a toast was placed before him.
"Eat."
He hesitated.
"Don't make me repeat it," Gibbs said and seated himself on the other side of the kitchen table.
Tony eyed the toast and then, finally resigning, he took a bite. It would serve no purpose to argue with his boss. Besides, he didn't have any energy spared for that either.
Gibbs observed him quietly without words.
It unnerved him. He knew he didn't have any other chance than to spill everything out.
However, it was the one thing he didn't want to do.
Biting off another piece of toast, he looked at his boss. "Eh… I think maybe I should go sleep…"
Gibbs said nothing but his posture stiffened. Tony continued. "You know, to get some rest, like Ducky said…" He glanced sideways and tried to find an escape. "We can- y'know, talk tomorrow… right?"
"You think you can put it off?" Gibbs' eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him closely.
No.
"Maybe?" he smiled widely.
"Stop it," Gibbs growled and he obeyed, getting rid of the fake smile in a second.
He looked down at his now clean hands. They were grazed from the rough way he'd scrubbed them at work.
It didn't matter.
He raised his head and found Gibbs' eyes with his. He really had no other choice.
Taking a deep breath, he said, "When I was twelve, father's secretary gave me a little thrashing." It was the first memory that came to his mind and to think of it, it was a reason why everything else had happened.
Gibbs leaned forward but otherwise stayed calm; at least on the surface. Tony could read him like an open book, so he knew exactly what was going on in his boss' mind. The man was surprised by the start and by what it told him. However, the surprise quickly turned into anger.
He should better talk faster and move to other things before Gibbs exploded.
"I was angry," he started but then paused. "No, that's not right… I was hurt – not just physically but mentally as well." He looked down again.
Gibbs clenched his fist and moved it under the table.
"I was hurt and defeated," Tony continued. "You see, my father never really cared for me, but at least I thought he'd get rid of that man or… I don't know, I just thought he'd do something, anything… Well, he did," he chuckled slightly, remembering the memory. "He practically told me to be quiet about it. He came to the hospital and told me to shut my mouth."
He played with the rest of the toast for a moment, tearing small bits of it. "It's just… parents are supposed to protect you, right?" He gazed at Gibbs, wanting to get a confirmation.
A shadow crossed his boss' eyes. "Yeah," he rasped.
Tony studied the slightly pale shade of his face but decided to leave it. He knew he'd get no answers.
"Anyway," he turned his attention back to the toast, "that was the night before I met Chris. Well, to be precise, I paid a visit to him. He was something like a leader of the small gang our school had. I bet you can imagine it – almost every school has them."
He smiled slightly. This short period of his life wasn't that bad. In fact, it was the best time of his whole childhood. "They're the cool kids that can do whatever they want. They steal things and smash other people's property and so on, but no one punishes them 'cause they have money…"
"I'd beat the crap out of them if I were at a school like this," Gibbs stated, seeing the small but honest smile tugging Tony's lips. It irritated him.
Tony chuckled nervously. "Sure… well, I joined them."
Gibbs sat back in the chair.
Tony abandoned the toast and leaned forward, wanting his boss to understand; he had a feeling he did that often in this one day. "Look, I was stupid. I wanted to hurt my father. He was more interested in his name than his son, so I wanted to destroy it and throw it right into his face." He rubbed his hands together nervously.
The talking was uncomfortable but at least it helped him focus. He didn't need to think about previous events because his mind was busy with forming coherent sentences.
"I didn't even get to do something," he continued quickly. "Most of the time, I just hung around, ignoring every rumor that was going around the school about them… and it didn't last long. For about four months. Then Chris came one day and… uh, I don't know, he looked really bad and he said that we should have some fun… He asked me if I wanted to come, so I said yes, sure – why not? I wasn't certain I wanted to go but those guys helped me a lot and became like something close to a family, which I really needed at that time… so I agreed. Guess I didn't want to disappoint them."
Tony sighed, once again cursing his idiocy as a kid. The weird part was that when he was a child, everything he'd done made a perfect sense to him.
Now, he couldn't remember how.
He could think of the cause and effect, but he wasn't able to understand the connection anymore.
"The rest is in the file McGee printed out. You should read it first. It's a blur in my head so I may have some things mixed up. It happened really fast."
"You mean the bank robbery?" Gibbs asked.
He nodded. "Yeah, well – an attempt. Chris didn't get to do anything else beside killing a person." Closing his eyes, he tried to chase away a picture of a bleeding woman on a floor. That brought a picture of Steve lying on the ground and staring into the night sky.
His body shivered. "That's everything," he said, concentrating on talking again.
"Don't think so," Gibbs opposed.
Tony ran a hand over his face. "Can we do the rest tomorrow?"
Or hopefully never?
Gibbs seemed to hesitate but then, he agreed at last. "I just have one question," he said.
Tony breathed a sigh of relief. "Shoot."
Gibbs leaned forward so they were mere inches from each other. "The secretary you talked about."
Tony tensed. "What's with him?"
"That's what I wanna know."
Tony forced his eyes not to look away and soothed all the emotions from his face. "He still works for father. After my dad dies, he's gonna inherit the major part of the business... His hard work paid off…" he added bitterly.
Gibbs stayed in the kitchen after Tony had gone upstairs so he could take a proper shower.
What he'd heard today and what had happened was… well, to say the least, it was unexpected. He would never imagine that Tony would hide something like that. It was…
He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the upcoming headache.
He thought he knew his agents well; he thought he knew Tony well and apparently, he was wrong.
First, the sudden arrival of Steve Ward, who claimed he'd been closer to Tony than any of them, then his equally sudden death.
The fact that, according to Tony, Steve was murdered by Christopher Jenkins whom his agent knew from childhood.
And it was only getting started. Tony had been abused as a child at least once. He didn't elaborate but Gibbs would make sure not to let it be. Something like that was unforgivable. He couldn't imagine how someone gifted with a child could hurt them or allow anyone else to do it. If someone laid a hand on Kelly when she was small, he'd kill them. To lose her and Shannon was the worst thing that ever happened in his life.
He sighed and opened the file he'd taken from McGee at work.
Fortunately, when his wife and daughter had been alive, they knew he was there to protect them. Tony had none of that. Based on what he learned today, Tony had been alone as a kid. He had no one he could depend on and had to take care of himself.
No wonder it all ended up like that. Children didn't think like adults. They did what they considered was best for them and didn't see the future results.
That was what parents should do for them. They should love them and protect them, not drive them into doing something stupid and desperate.
And making friends with kids from whom half of them certainly became criminals was a very desperate act.
He heard the running water from upstairs. Reading through the file, he was frowning more and more.
He tuned out the world around him and focused solely on the text. He couldn't find Tony's name but he could guess his agent would be the anonymous number two. There were five kids that were ordered not to be named due to some crap about protection. According to the police report, they were only victims that were forced to anticipate.
Clearly, their wealthy parents didn't wish their names to be figuring in the file.
The water stopped and was replaced by footsteps. He directed his attention to the file again.
So, eight kids got to the small local bank and one of them took out a gun. That would be Jenkins. After twenty minutes, the police arrived and enclosed them. Then something happened and Jenkins shot a young office worker. The woman was dead in seconds.
Gibbs frowned. The report was too stark for his liking and it didn't even provide the basic facts. All it described after that was the door for police opened and everyone was arrested.
The footsteps became louder and quicker, thundering down the stairs.
Basically, he didn't need to know the rest, but his mind craved to find out more. He wanted to learn everything that had happened that day.
Tony rushed into the kitchen, his hair still wet and dripping water all over the floor. He was pale and shaking.
Gibbs jumped up and helped him sit down, leaving the file on the table. "What happened?"
Tony looked at him. "I- I forgot to tell them."
Gibbs knelt down. "What're you talking about?"
"I have to call Carol - his wife- tell her and Lynette that Steve's dead. That he died because of me." He ran a hand through his hair. It came out with droplets of water attached to it. "I can't do that, boss." His eyes begged Gibbs for help. "I can't tell them that he's dead because of me."
"He is dead because that bastard killed him, not because of you," Gibbs said harshly. Tony gripped tightly his sweatpants. He didn't need this tone. "Do you want me to call them?" Gibbs asked more gently, trying to soothe down his voice.
Tony eased the grip and calmed down a little. He seemed to snap back to reality. "No, that's fine." Standing up slowly, he added more firmly, "I have to do that. It should be me." He nodded to himself in assurance.
Gibbs followed his steps with his eyes, until Tony vanished through the kitchen door. He stayed kneeling on the floor and rubbed his eyes.
What should he do?
Tony stood in the middle of the guest room and stared at the phone in his hand. Could he do it? He knelt down on the soft carpet, running through the threads gently with his other hand.
He dialed the familiar number and closed his eyes.
"Hello?"
He gripped the threads tightly. "Uh, hey. It's me," he said and was glad his voice didn't waver.
"Oh, Tony. Sorry, I didn't look at the display. How are you? And Steve? He didn't call me yesterday but I didn't want to bother you two with a worrying woman." He could see her smiling. Carol was a good person and always made him feel like he was home.
"I-" he started but didn't know how to continue. He wanted to end the call, to throw the phone against a wall and watch it smash and fall down.
"What's wrong?" Carol asked, abandoning the cheerful tone.
Should he say it straight away or try to prepare her first? He didn't know any way to prepare someone before telling them that their beloved died. To his comprehension, it couldn't be even possible.
That left only one choice.
"Tony, is something wrong?" Carol's voice was urgent. She felt something was off. She could always tell.
"Steve's dead," he said quickly.
Silence.
He rested his weight on the stretched hand. Maybe, he should have tried to prepare her first somehow, anyhow.
"What- what are you talking about?" Her voice was shaking and heartbreaking. The despair in it went right through him.
"I'm really sorry. I- we went in a bar and they appeared and one of them shot him-" He took a breath to calm down and paused. "I'm sorry."
The cellphone started beeping as she hung up.
Tony was again tempted to throw the phone against the wall but instead, he placed it slowly on the carpet beside him.
He laid his head down and focused on the breathing.
He'd kill Chris for this.
Chris appeared with a paper sheet in his hand and an angry expression on the face.
Ricky smirked. "Bad night, huh?"
Chris walked around him. "You have no idea," he hissed and slammed the front door behind his back.
He stepped out onto the street and inhaled deeply. Fucking night. It made him think about past, it made him weak.
Would his life be different if he'd chosen another path?
Who the fuck cared? His life was how it was, and examining it would do no good. It made matters worse.
He folded the paper in his hand and grinned to himself. The things he'd learnt as a kid were now at least useful, although, he would never imagined he'd use them for this purpose.
He would use them to finish this game with elegance and grace. That was how his and Anthony's final parts should end.
He couldn't help himself but laugh at the thought that he'd probably make his father finally proud. He'd learnt how to react at the cruel world around him - with the same amount of cruelty.
He set out, gripping the paper and creasing it.
On the contrary of that day, he had this one plotted so it should go as he wanted.
The heavy drops of rain were falling onto his eyelids and trickled down his cheeks. He blinked several times to force the water out of his eyes and spat it from his mouth as well. He didn't slow down and went right through the puddles quickly forming on the path instead of walking around them. His shoes were soaked and his body shivered from the cold that still remained it the air, reminding everyone of the long winter that had just left them.
He strode into the gym and didn't stop till he got to the corner where his bag with important things was placed. He ignored the curious looks his friends were giving him.
"Hey Chris, what happened?" Ricky observed the bruises forming on Chris' face, continuing down under his shirt.
Tony looked up and frowned. "Something's wrong?" He was playing chess with Tom and was once again losing, judging by his sour expression.
Chris turned to them, flinging the bag over his shoulder. Six heads snapped up in attention and waited for his words. "I'm getting bored," he said and the heads nodded in agreement. Tony stared at him quietly.
"Let's have some fun!"
His friends cheered and jumped up. Tom packed the chess hastily, ignoring Tony's protests and was the first one out of the door.
Chris stepped to Tony. "You were going to lose anyway," he remarked.
Tony cocked his head. "You didn't even look at the board."
"I did when I came in." He winked at Tony's befuddled look.
"How did you-"
Chris cut him off. "You going too? It'd be your first time, so if you don't wanna go…"
"No, that's fine," Tony stated firmly, although his voice seemed uncertain. "I want to go."
Chris ruffled his hair. "Great."
He smiled. It faltered for a second when a picture of a wooden floor flashed before his eyes but immediately regained his posture.
Tony looked at him more closely. "You sure, you're feeling well? The bruises-"
"'m fine!" Chris snapped. "Just… let's go."
