WARNING: To reiterate, most of this story will center on the subject of child abuse and Tony's past. Nothing too graphic here on the part of abuse, Tony's father has...other things on his mind.
Also - The rest of this story has been undergoing a fairly major rewrite for the better. What was originally 10 chapters is now most likely going to be 13, so next week I'm going to post an unrelated one-shot that I wrote as a tag to Hiatus, part I. And then depending on how far ahead of myself I've gotten, I'll either post chapter 9 a couple days late or resume posting the next week - it's going to depend. So if there's a delay, that's why.
Chapter 8 – No More Tears
JEANNE: Where did you learn to climb?
TONY: There was this big, old pine tree in my backyard. It was about three times higher than we are now and I used to climb it all the way to the tippity-top. One day, I refused to come down, and my mom called the Fire Department.
~ Iceman 4x18
The smell of sawdust that always saturated the air in Gibbs' basement settled Tony's emotions more than words ever could have and overrode the lingering smells of Marie's room that had accompanied his latest set of memories.
He wasn't sure what had drawn him to the workbench, but the familiarity of sitting there with a mug in his hands and watching his boss working on his boat gave him a sense of ease that he could never quite recreate anywhere outside of the basement. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but the sounds and smells that cocooned him were almost as good as that raggedy old teddy bear had been when he was small. If anyone had asked, Tony couldn't have told them how long he'd been caught up in his own thoughts, completely oblivious to the outside world. Gibbs had let him be – experience had taught them both that stubbornness was a trait that they both shared.
"I don't know if she meant it. I was sure at the time that she blamed me – I blamed myself. The party line was never questioned and God knows my father had beaten it into me enough in the days before the funeral. But it almost sounded like she was asking me instead of telling me, ya know?"
Gibbs nodded noncommittally and continued working the wood. There was nothing for him to do about it this late at night and telling DiNozzo that it wasn't his fault was akin to beating a dead horse. Not that he hadn't tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully in the past – it was a point of contention that Gibbs couldn't seem to get past. The lead agent knew the younger man didn't want to hear it, couldn't stomach the idea that someone else could be more forgiving of his own perceived weaknesses than Tony, himself, was.
"She works for him now. He paid for her to finish her education and get her MBA. So I guess he thought that settled it."
Gibbs scoffed at that.
"When my mother realized what he had made me do, she was furious. I'd never heard her raise her voice to him once – and especially not about me. It was the only thing that kept me there, even when I'd already packed my backpack and was planning on running off. She'd been drunk at the time, but when they brought me back in after I was found, she lit into him."
"But his…lessons? Those were all right in her book?" Lesser men had crumbled under that stare and spilled all of their secrets in interrogation. When the older man realized he was pinning DiNozzo with it, he had to fight to bring it under control. The man's parents weren't standing there; it wouldn't do to make Tony think Gibbs was angry at him.
"I don't know. She was so far out of it most of the time, and avoiding me the rest. She may not have known. He was real adamant about me keeping quiet. Or maybe she couldn't…wouldn't cross him over that. Or maybe she did and I just never heard it before that. It's not like I can ask her." The clipped laugh covered emotions that most would have missed.
Tony continued before Gibbs could comment. "Every so often you'd catch a glimpse of who she was before…well, you know. It was confusing as Hell, but one minute she'd be talking to pictures of Vinnie like he was still there or raving about how she wished that he was there instead of me, and then the next she'd be absolutely horrified that I'd skinned my knees at school or missed my piano lessons because my father hated them. She cared. But she was sick and I just don't think he could manage to hate me and love her all at the same time and still see what was happening to her. He couldn't see that he might lose her."
~*~
Tony had long since stopped trying to figure out his parents' moods. It just wasn't worth it – the few times he was privy to their conversations through hand-covered ears did nothing but increase his already colorful vocabulary. His father could be grinning one minute, lavishly spoiling his wife and dropping sweet kisses on her neck to please her, and at the drop of a hat could be swearing up a storm in Italian and English and beating Tony to a carefully concealed pulp.
There were warning signs, of course, and the boy was starting to recognize the sound of slammed doors and the slight smell of scotch before cocktail hour anywhere in the house. Either of these were good indicators that he should be hidden away anywhere his father wouldn't look for him. The closet in his bedroom or under that canopy bed were excellent places, dark and tight and safe. Vinnie's room or the kitchen, light and airy places were definitely out.
When things got really bad and he could hear his father arguing with someone from his company, Tony had learned that not even the sanctity of his rarely-used room was safe. These were times when being outdoors or hidden in the staff's quarters were some of his only safe havens. Even then, it was a good bet that he'd be black and blue by the end of the night.
~*~
Tony was already hiding in his closet when the first sounds of raised voices were caught by his sensitive ears. He tried to make out where his father was yelling from, figuring out which direction he needed to head in order to get out of the man's warpath. If he was in his office, then he was most likely on the phone and the way to the grove of trees at the back of the property was his best bet. But if he was in the study, then Tony's best chance was to take the back way down to the kitchen and out the service entrance to Marie's old room. The new woman who lived there didn't exactly like Tony, but she wouldn't deny his presence either as long as he was quiet and kept out of the way.
It only took a few minutes for the name of his father's CFO to enter the one-sided conversation. Tony had met the man one Saturday and had actually been occupied for almost the whole day talking with him. It was one of the few happy memories he had of the office. If his father was yelling at him, then surely it was a business call and the safest place would be the trees.
He crept out of the closet and carefully opened the door to the long corridor. All he had to do was go left, past the study and down the stairs. If he made it that far, he'd be home free. If he made it that far all he had to worry about was tearing his play pants as he climbed the old pine. He thought he could see forever around him from the very top and loved to lose himself in the highest boughs. It was safe there and the world looked so vast and serene and pain-free. It didn't matter that he knew there were bad things out there just like in the walls of his home. It just mattered that he couldn't see it and feel it from where he'd sit in the slightly swaying branches. He could be free there.
Of course, that required him getting down those stairs and out the door. It didn't require the door to the study opening only seconds after he'd passed it and one very chagrined looking CFO stepping out with his employer still dogging his heels. From the looks of things, the man would be cleaning out his office come the morning.
Tony heard the door opening behind him and stopped in his tracks to turn around and stare. The man noticed him immediately and called out a greeting. It was all Tony needed to send him scurrying down the hall and making a beeline for the stairs. Nevertheless, he caught the conversation that was sparked from his name being called.
"My son is out there, Thomas? Send him in, will you?"
His name was called out again, but Tony took a chance in his adrenaline-fueled flight and kept running. Maybe the man would believe…
"I think he was too far away to hear me, Sir."
Tony let out a choked breath as his ploy worked and leapt down the stairs two at a time. He had to get out of sight and fast.
"Anthony? Anthony, where are you going, my boy?"
Tony turned a shocked gaze onto his mother before turning the door handle and bolting from the house.
"Out to play, Mother," he called back as he sprinted across the lawn. He was almost safe.
If only his mother had turned back to appraising the new artwork that had been purchased for her, Tony would have gotten away unscathed. He heard her calling after him as she followed after him, but the sound of his father's heavy footsteps clambering down the stairs sent him scurrying even faster to his destination. He was halfway up the trunk and into the branches before his mother reached the bottom.
"Anthony. Anthony! Get down from there! You'll be hurt. Come down at once."
He could feel the branches tearing at his cheeks and catching the loose clothing as he climbed. Tony had no time to carefully navigate his way to the top this time, no time to protect his skin and his jeans from the sharp bark as he scaled the branches. His father was coming for him and surely he was in for it this time. The man would never let him get away with working his mother up like this.
~*~
Tony wasn't sure how long he'd been staring off to the horizon and listening to his mother pleading with him to come down. He was thankful that he couldn't hear his father and wondered if the man had simply abandoned the chase for the more reliable scotch inside. He already believed his son was worthless; surely his alcohol had more allure to it than a ten-year old he wished was buried in the ground instead of his oldest son. Tears pricked at the boy's eyes as he recalled that painful lesson.
He was startled from his thoughts by a much kinder, much louder voice near his ear. Tony almost fell from the branch he was sitting on when he noticed the shiny helmet of the fireman to his right.
"Hey there, Son. You want to come on down from there?"
Tony looked at the man for a minute as he regained his balance and shook his head with a definite 'no'.
"Come on now. It's not safe up here. You're already hurt, Anthony. Let's get you to climb on down with me and we'll get you cleaned up." The fireman's tone was sincere, but Tony knew he couldn't understand. It was safe up here. Safer than anywhere else on the grounds and definitely safer than going down where he could now hear his father's voice consoling his mother – acting every bit the concerned parent that he hadn't been in years.
The boy scrubbed at his cheek where he could feel the blood trickling down one of the slight lacerations that marred his skin. Again, he shook his head 'no' and looked pleadingly at the man next to him. Couldn't he just leave him be?
The look of stark terror that only a few years of practice couldn't yet hide in his expression must have struck a chord with the firefighter because his next words were unbelievably soft and concerned.
"Are you all right here, Tony? Do you need help?"
Never tell. Must never tell, Anthony. You'll be taken away and believe me it's only worse if someone has to be paid to take you in. You wouldn't want someone to do this to you without a reason, would you? That's what will happen if you ever let anyone know about our lessons.
Tony sighed and spoke with an air of obvious defeat. "No, sir. I'm fine. I can even climb down by myself."
The man on the ladder flashed him a grin that would eventually rival the adult Tony DiNozzo's. "You'd deny me my chance to play the hero?"
~*~
As he was set back onto the ground and out of the warm embrace of the fireman, Tony gulped and dropped his gaze to the long grass at his feet. He knew he was in for it now.
The hug and kiss to the cheek from his mother and the warm way his father scooped him up in his arms and held him close didn't fool the boy, but the act was bought by the emergency workers. With a brief lecture about keeping his feet firmly and safely on the ground, the men packed up and left. When they were out of sight, the charade dropped and Tony was thrown to the ground. Scuffed knees and skinned palms wouldn't be the worst of his hurts once his father was done with him.
~*~
Tony was so engrossed in the Hardy Boys mystery he had borrowed from the school library that he could almost forget about his latest lesson. If he concentrated hard enough, he could erase how badly his back hurt and how vividly he could still feel and hear every time the belt had fallen for his stunt with the tree earlier that week. He didn't hear the door to his bedroom open and didn't look up until his mother was almost on top of him. When her shadow finally crossed the pages, Tony barely had time to recognize her presence before the contents of his mother's lunch stained his book and pants. Frightened, the boy jumped to his feet and his eyes darted around to make sure his father was nowhere in the vicinity.
The wild look in his mother's eyes would haunt him for years to come. It had been a long time since she'd ever spent time with him without influential members of the board nearby. On the rare occasion that she did, it usually meant trouble. As the two stared at each other, Tony noticed how pale her skin was and how one arm was clutched across her stomach. His sight caught on just how bright red her lips looked against the ashen hue that graced the rest of her. Even with her expensive lipstick and make-up, they'd never looked that bright.
"Anthony, Baby. Something's wrong." The slur in her words and the half-empty bottle in her hand made him gulp even as he moved to help her across to the bathroom.
The stink of alcohol and half-digested food made the boy gag, but his mother never came to him for help, and it confused him enough to act on instinct rather than conscious thought. Spurring his need to get her into the small bathroom was the fear that his father could walk in at any time. It wasn't like the man needed an excuse to punish him, and Tony was pretty sure the sight of his mother sick would be far more than enough.
As his mother continued to gag into the toilet, Tony pulled off his stained shirt and tossed it into the bathtub behind him. He looked down at his hands when he registered that they, too, were covered in vomit. The sight of bright-red blood mixed with food and bile had him bent over and emptying his own stomach into the bathtub. Dimly, he knew that blood anywhere outside of his mother's body was far from normal. Tears pricked at his eyes as the boy scrubbed his palms onto his khakis. This was more than just the few times where he'd walked in on his mother after too many mint juleps. He'd seen her sick after she drank down his sea monkeys, and in the mornings after his father's larger dinner parties. Something was radically wrong.
Tony was transfixed on the sight of his mother looking so vulnerable and had no idea how long he stood, just staring, before his mother slumped to her side and slid bonelessly to the ground. Sweat glistened in the dim lighting and wisps of dull hair plastered to her forehead. Both of her arms were now wrapped around her stomach and tremors were wracking her entire frame. Quiet whimpering sounds ghosted across his ears. Sounds that Tony never would have associated with the loud and cheerful voice he remembered from happier times. Even the tone of voice she used after enough alcohol was a far cry from the noise he heard now.
Images of Marie's eyes darkening as her life fled assaulted Tony's vision and fear seized his chest. He hadn't done anything to help her when she so obviously needed it, and look where that had gotten them both. He had been too weak to do anything about it and he lost her. The little boy clenched his fists and pushed back the near-crippling dread that was racing through his veins. He couldn't do anything to help Marie now, but if there was anything he could do to help his mother – he would show them all he wasn't weak.
"It's all right, Mother. You'll be all right now. We'll just get you cleaned up and everything will be fine." Tony snagged the lace handkerchief out of her pocket and used it to clean off the blood. A quick run under the faucet cleaned off the worst of the stains and allowed the boy to continue mopping away the sweat and tears.
His own tears were unimportant as they coursed down his face. Not only was Tony at a loss as to what was going on with his mother, it seemed that every instance where Marie had cared for him was trying to make itself known in his memories. The repeated motions that kept his mother's face clean gave him enough to focus on, and allowed him to push Marie out of his thoughts. He had to do something to help his mother.
"It'll be okay now, Mother. You'll see. You'll feel better soon and then…then…" but Tony didn't know what 'and then' would bring. He didn't know what would happen after his mother got better. It had been a long time since anything was right in his little family – not since Vinnie had gone against their father's wishes. There was nothing Tony wanted more than to have his big brother come and tell him what to do. To have Vinnie come and tell him that it was all a nightmare and that everything would be better in the morning.
Tony jumped when he saw his mother's eyes close and everything seemed to go limp. Her skin color was the same as Marie's had been, and the absolute stillness that surrounded her had him shaking her as violently as he could manage.
"Mother? Mother!" Tony's cries grew frantic as she didn't answer. There was nothing else he could do. He had failed again.
"Mommy?" Tony shuddered as the quiet timbre of his voice startled even him. He was greeted with enough of a glimpse of green eyes as her hand brushed against his cheek. The skin on her palm was cold and she had no strength left to offer more than that one final touch.
"Anthony, Baby. I'm sorry." Tony buried his face against his mother's shoulder and listened to the wheezing breaths in her chest.
When the only sound that grated on Tony's ears was his own panting breaths, fear for what he couldn't yet understand overrode anything else.
"DADDY! DADDY, COME QUICK! HELP!" He hadn't made the mistake of being so informal with his father in years, but terror had crept into his veins and he was still only a child. All he wanted was for someone to come and fix his mother.
The pounding steps heralded his father's swift arrival, belt already in hand. Something in Tony's white face, tears pouring down his cheeks, stayed the man's hand as he had already raised it to belt his boy for his insolence. This wasn't the defiant child that was the bane of his existence; this wasn't the boy who looked so much like his pride and joy that it hurt. Tony hadn't looked this terrified since he was six years old and convinced that vampires lived in his canopy bed. Not even the worst of his lessons had ever elicited this stark a look from the boy. The man couldn't help the shot of dread at what could have caused this.
"What? What is it, Anthony?"
The boy started and ripped his gaze from the leather belt to his father's face as the choked words broke through his fear. He rubbed the back of his hand across his nose and the trail of blood it left behind went unnoticed by the ten-year old.
His father, on the other hand, was struck by emotions dredged up from somewhere beneath the constant haze of alcohol and the still-stifling grief that Vincent's death had caused. His first instincts to beat on the boy for interrupting him were lost as he took in the blood and gore congealing on his hands and the smears of red across the otherwise light-colored pants. He reached out and shook the boy by the arm. Hard.
"Anthony." That was a tone that Tony knew better than to ignore, no matter how frightened he was.
"It's Mother." Tony pointed to the bathroom and it was all the prompting the man needed to shove his boy out of the way.
Moments later his scream of pure anguish had Tony bolting for the safety of the closet.
~*~
Hours later, after the paramedics had come and gone and his father had ample time to down an entire bottle of Macallan18, the man remembered what had brought him to the place of his beloved wife's last stand.
"Anthony. I know you're in here. Come out, boy." The forced calm in his voice was betrayed by the same slur Tony had heard in his mother's voice and only served to convince him that he most assuredly did not want to leave the closet.
He almost let out a screech when the bright light assaulted his eyes as his father wrenched open the door. A quick jolt and Tony found himself laying facedown on the soft carpet as his father beat his grief out with a belt and curses.
"DiNozzo men do not cry, boy. Do you hear me? DiNozzo's do not cry." Tony wasn't dumb enough to comment on the tears flowing down the man's face.
The beating stopped almost as quickly as it began and Tony was dragged to his feet. His shoulders shook as he stuffed down his own tears and jumped as his mother's vomit-stained handkerchief was rubbed in his face. It was the same one she had often held over her nose in disgust at Tony's presence.
"You just keep managing to destroy all of the women in your life, don't you? You killed Marie and now you've killed your mother. When are you going to stop leeching all the good out of my life?"
~*~
When Tony finally dared to move and let the tears fall, he reached down to the ground and picked up the lace fabric. Carefully the boy washed out the stains and when it had dried he folded it almost reverently. Checking to make sure no one could see what he was doing, the screws were removed from his record player. Beneath the turntable lay a green and silver ribbon supporting a bronze medal, his Bear Cub neckerchief, a number of Tony's prized Matchbox cars, and the first Hardy Boys mystery that Marie had given him. The boy carefully fingered Vinnie's Commendation medal before wrapping it in his mother's handkerchief.
~~**~~
