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: Just a couple of reminders: This story is just about done and it started up only a couple of days after the conclusion of the events of Broken Arrow (episode 8.07).
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 Eight: Winding Down
By the time the cookie and wine were nothing more than crumbs and an empty cup, Tony felt a little better. Still feel like I was hit by a bus, but that will fade eventually… I hope. His hands had managed to stop shaking, at least. Pushing aside the bone-deep ache that throbbed in time to his heartbeat, he slowly sat up.
Anthony DiNozzo, Senior knew what backlash felt like; overuse of a talent, or pushing it too hard, too fast, tended to make a person feel as though their bones had been burned to ash, while their muscles tied themselves into shapes better left to Asian paper art, and nerves would feel as though they'd been kicked into hyperdrive. He further knew that his son hadn't touched his talents in years, and as a result had to be enduring the single worst case of backlash ever suffered in their family. "Junior –"
Tony met his father's eyes and gave a tiny shake of his head. "Not done yet, Dad," he said, the words crashing through his brain with all the subtlety of the proverbial bull in a china shop.
Senior's eyebrows crept closer to one another, lines deepened on his forehead, and a flash of anger – though at whom or what not even he could say – briefly flitted through his eyes. "Nonsense, Junior. You need to rest."
Seeing blatant concern on his father's face, Tony forcibly pushed aside the backlash-pain that had him wishing desperately for a cool, dark place in which to hide. He straightened his posture. "And I will," he said. "When this is done." He tore his eyes from his dad and glanced over at Tim and Ziva. "Any updates?"
"No," McGee replied. "The security guy –"
"Anders," Senior supplied the name.
Tim made no notice he'd heard it, and continued as though he'd not been interrupted, "– is still in the basement."
"Does he look like he's going anywhere?" Tony asked.
Tim shook his head. "Doesn't seem that way."
"Good," Tony shifted a little to face Ziva. "You manage to get through to your Interpol contacts?"
She nodded, her eyes flickering among Senior, Gibbs, and Tony. "They are ready to go whenever you say."
Even though it set off a fire-alarm within his skull, with a side of exploding neck-nerves just to make it interesting, Tony nodded. "Soon," he said, then readjusted himself to face Gibbs, who was still kneeling at the end of the sofa.
Tony's dad watched as his son and Gibbs simply exchanged a short series of indecipherable expressions – a twitch of an eyebrow, a narrowing of eyes, a barely-there shake of a head, a tired smile – and had to wonder what they were saying to one another. Another thought, hidden by his curiosity at what was being said, began to take shape; it consisted of equal parts of understanding that Tony and his boss weren't just coworkers and irrational jealousy that he had been, on some level, replaced. Coating this embryonic thought was the absolute certainty that he had no one to blame but himself. But Senior wasn't even aware of the thought yet, too much had happened recently for him to have the chance to acknowledge it and form it into words.
Unaware of what was going on in his dad's mind, Tony simply saw the question on his boss' face – You sure you're okay to finish this? – and gave himself a quick internal assessment. Yeah. I know I probably look like crap, Boss, and I feel worse, but I can see this through to the end. A tiny shake of Gibbs' head said more than the man himself ever had, telling Tony in that one, little gesture that though Gibbs would wish otherwise, he trusted Tony to be telling the truth in being able to finish what he'd started, that he knew better than to argue at this point, and that – lead agent for this scheme or no – Tony was going to damn well rest when it was over. Tony's tired smile agreed. Out loud, he simply said, "Yeah. Three days."
"A week," Gibbs countered.
"A week?" Tony's expression morphed into one that was better suited to chewing on lemon rind. "Come on – that's overkill."
Gibbs simply leveled a hard stare at Tony as he climbed to his feet. "Not up for negotiation," he said, breaking the eye-contact and turning to the empty area of the floor where Tony's chalk diagram had been.
While Gibbs' back was turned, picking the dishes and Tony's gun up off of the floor, Senior saw the one expression on his son's face that hadn't changed since he'd been a little kid. It was the one that said he'd decided to dig his heels in and get his own way, come hell or high water. It's good to see some things don't change. "So, what's left to do?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice low, while he joined his son in sitting on the sofa.
Tony met his father's eyes and a smile unlike any other Senior had ever seen broke onto his face. His initial reaction was to label it 'evil' or 'bloodthirsty'. "We make sure Macaluso has a long, long, long time to think about why messing with us is a phenomenally bad plan." Had Senior bothered to look, he would have seen similar expressions on Ziva's and McGee's faces.
After depositing empty bowls onto the coffee table, Gibbs turned and handed Tony his Sig. Unlike Ziva, Gibbs had immediately spotted how the weapon had changed: It was no longer the basic black of his own pistol, but a metallic blue so dark that most would need to have Tony's gun right next to an unchanged one to see any difference at all, and now sported a tiny engraving, just below and beside the safety, of what appeared to be a stick-figure dandelion – a six-line asterisk wherein the bottom-most line was slightly longer, and bisected by a short, horizontal line. Tony took the gun and also noticed its new appearance.
Senior watched his son run a thumb over the small engraving and had to repress a smile. "Always did say you were Hers, Junior."
Tony glanced at his dad. "I know, Dad," he said, then slowly got to his feet. "I know," he repeated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. "Okay," he turned to face Tim and Ziva. "Keep an eye on things, guys. Let me know when Macaluso returns, and get things set up." He walked over to where his shoulder holster was sitting on the kitchenette counter and slid his gun into its place. "Gibbs? Fill Dad in on what's going on, would ya?" Slowly, the backlash was starting to fade, replaced with a level of tiredness that could only be compared to coming out from under a general anesthetic and a growling, echoingly empty hunger.
Gibbs nodded and indicated for Senior to follow him. "What's going on, Junior?" Senior tried to stall, watching as his son slipped his holster into place.
"Just talk with Gibbs, Dad," Tony replied, ducking under the level of the island counter which separated the kitchenette from the dining area. Unseen by his dad, he was putting his shoes back on. "I'll be back in a few minutes." With his shoes back on his feet, Tony grabbed his jacket and paused next to the coffee table long enough to snag another cavallucci. He was chewing the cookie and out the door before Senior could reply.
"Where…" Senior shook his head. "No, he's gone after food." He stood and looked at Gibbs.
His son's boss was leaning on the doorway to one of the suite's bedrooms. It was enough to make Anthony realize he really needed a shower and a change of clothes. Too bad my suitcase is probably still at the airport. I have to wonder what Sam is making of my sudden disappearance. He took a couple of steps in Gibbs' direction and the other man, satisfied that he was 'following orders', ducked into the room. By the time Anthony joined him, Gibbs was digging through a small duffle bag. "You need a doctor?" he asked without looking up.
Senior shook his head and caught sight of the movement in a mirror over the room's dresser. Aside from needing cleaned up, and the sad state of his once-expensive suit, the only evidence of his recent capture was an impressive bruise on the left side of his jaw. He reached up and gingerly touched it. It hurt, but was just a bruise. There weren't any loose teeth and there was no mistaking the pain of a broken jawbone. "No. Had worse from my brothers."
Gibbs accepted him at his word and tossed the man a pair of sweatpants. "Bathroom's through there."
Anthony caught the sweats and sat them on the surface of the dresser. "Thanks, Gibbs." He let out a small chuckle. "Have to say, this 'talk' is going better than our last few. Maybe it's just that it's not in an interrogation room this time."
"Could be," Gibbs allowed. "But my money's more on the fact that you've finally caught a glimpse of what your son goes through."
"He's been kidnapped before?" Senior knew the answer before seeing the affirmative on Gibbs' reflection in the mirror. Anthony wilted a little. "He doesn't tell me about it, Gibbs. Just the movie-side – the action, the girls. He never tells me about when he gets hurt."
"Doesn't want you to worry," Gibbs replied. He knew where his SFA was coming from – he rarely told Jackson anything about the dangerous side of his own life, either.
"I know. He's a good kid." Senior turned around to face Gibbs directly.
Gibbs just nodded. "He is."
Tony managed to make it to the small boutique just ten minutes prior to closing-time. It only took him five minutes to make his purchases, wincing at the hit his credit-card took, before he headed to the café across the street and down the block from the hotel. Lines were longer there, and it was nearly an hour before he had a large bag of sandwiches, pastries, and a cardboard six-pack of fresh coffees for everyone.
On returning to the suite, he saw that the salt had been swept up and the furniture returned to their original places. "Did I miss anything?" he asked, setting the food on the counter, but hanging on to the sack and garment-bag from the boutique.
"No," McGee answered, receiving the fresh cup of coffee from his teammate. "Everything's still quiet. Macaluso's not returned yet."
Tony handed Ziva her own refill. "Thanks for cleaning up."
"It was not a problem, Tony," she replied.
"How's my dad doing?"
Ziva shrugged. "I assume he is fine – I heard the shower not long after you left, but he and Gibbs are still talking."
Unable to resist the savory scents coming from the bag of food, Tony dug into it and came up with a sandwich. He ripped the paper wrapper off with the same level of enthusiasm which small children greeted presents. "This is either very good," he muttered, then tore a chunk of sandwich away with his teeth, "or very bad." The words were muffled, but still recognizable.
"Didn't you just have dinner with the rest of us?" Tim asked, both disgusted and amused at Tony's actions.
Tony nodded and chewed hastily. "Yeah," he swallowed and chased it with a drink from his own coffee. "But I burned it all off – and then some – in getting Dad here." He quickly wolfed down the remainder of his sandwich. "I got some pastries, too, if you're interested," he said while heading over to his duffle. His bag was now sitting on the end of the couch, between the arm and the pillow that had been brought out earlier. He rummaged in it with one hand for a moment before pulling out the small red leather case in which he kept his travel-toiletries. He then returned to the kitchen area, picked up the drink carrier and grabbed a second sandwich from the depths of the bag, then headed over to the closed door to the room Gibbs had claimed.
Gibbs opened the door before Tony had the chance to knock. Taking the drink carrier and the wrapped sandwich, he stepped aside. Anthony looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed and smiled as Tony handed him the bags from the boutique. "Think I remembered everything," Tony said. "If not, you'll have to deal – they closed up shop just as I left."
"Don't worry about it, Junior," his dad replied. "I'm sure you did what you could."
A tiny tendril of pride wound its way around Tony's heart and lent a little more strength to his spine. Most of the pain he'd been feeling earlier managed to fade, but a headache was still thudding with each movement. He ignored it, though, in favor of watching his dad rummage through the sack, ignoring the garment-bag for now. His dad was currently wearing a pair of Gibbs' old sweatpants, with a towel draped around his shoulders, hair still a little damp from his shower. The lack of a shirt revealed that the bruise on the man's jaw wasn't the only one – there were the distinct bruises around his forearms that came from having been tied down. "You don't need a doctor, do you?" he asked, worried that the visible bruises might not be telling the whole story.
As Senior shook his head and said, "No, I'm fine," Tony caught a motion from Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. With a plasticy rattle, a bottle of ibuprofen hit him in the chest and landed on the bed. Tony picked it up and looked at his boss. Gibbs expression clearly stated that he obviously didn't feel as well as he was trying to display. With a shrug, Tony opened the bottle and dry-swallowed two of the pills, then tossed it back to Gibbs.
"Did Gibbs fill you in?" Tony asked, returning his attention to his dad.
"Yeah, he did." Senior laid out the boxers and undershirt Tony had bought for him.
"Good. Any questions on it?" Anthony shook his head and added the pair of blue-and-white striped pajamas to the small pile. "You do realize," Tony stressed, "how important it is to stick to the story we came up with, right?"
Senior grinned at his son. "Of course I do. And I don't have a problem with it. I might not have been there personally, but Vinnie told me what you and Gema went through. The last thing I want is for you to go through all that again, which is what would happen if word got out about the things we can do." He laughed, the sound both bitter and genuine. "To say nothing of the fact that I've no desire whatsoever to join you in making like a lab-rat."
Tony echoed his father's laugh. "And it helps, I'm sure, that you're painted in such a… resourceful light." He handed his dad the leather toiletries case. "There's a new toothbrush in there."
"Yeah, it does," Senior said as he took the case. "And thanks." He rested his eyes on his son, trying to silently convey that he meant thanks for more than just the toothbrush.
Tony understood what his dad meant and nodded. "Any time."
Twelve hours later, the entire team was back on the Gulfstream G100, heading back to DC. Ziva had given up her bed so that Senior could sleep, not that it was much of a sacrifice – she'd been far too busy coordinating the arrest of Carlo Macaluso, Paul Anders, and Mercedes Polito to worry about sleep – and as a result was snoring away on the jet's couch. Tim hadn't fared much better and was sleeping in one of the recliners. Senior sat, staring out a window, in one of the standard airline seats the plane boasted, a newspaper forgotten in one hand, while Tony slumbered in the other recliner. Gibbs, true to his word, was sitting at the table, working on the paperwork this misadventure had generated.
The official story was a masterful blend of truth and fiction, courtesy of one Thom E. Gemcity. It's no wonder, Gibbs thought while reading through the temporary files to ensure they all supported not just one another, but what the Interpol forensics would find at Macaluso's house, that McGee managed a best-seller. I wonder if he ever finished his second book? He typed in a small correction in Ziva's report before moving on.
What no one not already in the know would be told about the rescue of Anthony D. DiNozzo, Senior was that he'd been taken from the airport in Pisa, while he and Samir Alami had been en route to a working vacation in Cairo – truth. NCIS became aware of the situation when Tony tried to call his father – also truth. The details on how they tracked down where Macaluso was holding Senior were only tweaked slightly; McGee's technowizardry and Ziva's international contacts were all that were mentioned in locating Senior's phone and Macaluso's house on Elba. The part about Tim and Ziva planting surveillance gear remained unchanged, but added a fictional bit of Tony being there, too.
The bullshit-factor increased when the report came to how Senior got away from Macaluso's house. Instead of what had actually happened, Senior's statement indicated that he'd gotten a glimpse of his son through the windows of the library in which he'd been kept. A grain of truth – that Macaluso had been intending on killing both DiNozzos on the successful transfer of Junior's money and his arrival in Italy – was embellished a tad, and Senior's statement went on to describe how, knowing this, he couldn't allow it to happen, and so had managed to work the ropes holding him loose. He then, in the statement, escaped through the window.
One small detail which nobody could think of a way to explain had to do with that window. Never having used his talents to simply move something from one position to another, Tony had somehow managed to get the wood surrounding the pane of glass in said window to merge with the wood of the frame; it was now forever stuck in an 'open' position. Gibbs figured it didn't much matter – he'd let the forensic techs try to figure it out.
On escaping through the window, Senior's report further detailed shadowing Tim, Ziva, and McGee back to the hotel. After arriving there, Interpol was then contacted regarding the situation and sent in to arrest Macaluso and his cohorts.
All plausible, all believable, and save for that damn window, all completely normal and expected for this type of situation.
It was still a bitch making sure all the timelines matched up properly, though.
While Gibbs was focused on his paperwork, Tony's dad was lost in thought. I never did like it much that Junior and I are so different. Money always seemed to equal security to me, but Junior… What I said to him is true. He's always been Juno's, one of her warrior-protectors, keeping things safe for family and community. Every time we moved when he was a kid, he never did complain – he would have, if it was Vesta who ruled his heart. No, it wasn't the house itself he looked after, but the people. I'm beginning to realize, I think, just what it is that makes him tick.
He watched as the land beneath the plane gave way to the cool blues and greens of the Mediterranean. But no. I think I've always known. Ever since Alice died… Something hardened in our boy, Alice. Losing you, he lost more than just his mom, he lost family, and he's been fighting to keep from losing any more ever since. Why didn't I see it before this? He tore his gaze from the window and looked at his sleeping son. Despite the way Tony had eaten his way through the last twelve hours, he was still noticeably thinner than he was when he and Senior had parted ways not even a full week earlier. Dark shadows underscored his fluttering eyelashes and Anthony spared a moment to wonder what dreams his son was experiencing. I'm going to do better, Junior. I know my promises haven't meant all that much before, but damn it! I am going to do better. You deserve it.
The glimmer of an idea began to take shape within the recesses of Anthony's mind. He nodded to himself. That just might work. He sat aside the world news section of yesterday's DC paper and retrieved the real estate listings. Monica will raise hell for me moving again, but she'll live with it. Monica had been the head of his household staff for nearing twenty years. Hey, wait a minute… Doesn't her daughter live in Maryland? A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Yeah, she does. Maybe I won't have to deal with the bitching and moaning this time around.
Before succumbing to sleep himself, Tony's dad spent the better part of three hours making mental lists of what needed done in order to finalize his plans.
A/N2: In re-watching the three episodes which showcase Anthony D. DiNozzo, Senior (Flesh and Blood 7.12, Broken Arrow 8.07,and Sins of the Father 9.10), I noticed something – Jimmy was absent in each episode. I don't know if I'll ever do anything with this observation, but I thought I'd point it out.
All that remains for this is the epilogue. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
