Title: Make Believe
Author: rekkidbraka
Rating: T
Pairings: Tony D. and Ziva D.
Category: Romance; Drama
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Tony wonders about his grandfather's lifelong secret love for the woman he met in WWII and how it impacted his father's upbringing.
-------------------- Make Believe ---------------------
Now that he'd learned of his grandfather's wartime affair, one that Sergeant Anthony DiNozzo had kept secret his entire life, Tony wanted to know more about the man he'd called Papa Tony.
He remembered that Papa Tony had been the one who instilled in him his all-encompassing love for Ohio State and, especially, Buckeyes football and basketball. No Saturday went by that Little Anthony, as the old man called him, and Papa Tony didn't watch the Buckeyes on TV, going to war on the gridiron. Somehow Papa Tony managed to ignore Grandma Joan's constant nagging insistence that he stop watching "that silly game" and do yardwork or fix something in the house or any other piddling errand she wanted taken care of. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard to little Tony, who feared her, but Papa Tony simply hugged his grandson closer to him whenever his wife started in on him and focused on the strong young men running, passing and blocking in Ohio State red and silver before them on the television set.
After each game, his Uncle Vincenzo, a butcher on Long Island, would call Papa Tony and ask if the Buckeyes won. Then Papa Tony would put the phone up to Little Anthony's ear and his uncle, who he'd met only once but had really liked, would regale him with tales of New York City and how much fun they'd have when little Tony came to visit.
"You, me and Papa Tony," he'd say, "we'll have a blast, kid. Coney Island, a Yankees game, the works!" Then he'd sound somewhat sad, adding, "Hey, tell your old man that Vinny says hi, OK? That his big bro misses him? Be cool if he came with us, y'know?"
Tony's family was strange and he'd done his best, as an adult, to steer clear of them. But after reading his grandfather's journal and the letter from the mysterious woman, known only to him as "H," he wondered if things might have been different.
Another time, another place, Tony thought drowsily as the rain continued beating against the windowpane. Tony felt sorry for Papa Tony, who, unlike him, hadn't been lucky enough to enjoy life with the woman he loved. In the kitchen, Tony heard Ziva humming to herself as she flipped the pages of a cookbook. As he dropped off to sleep, he imagined himself in Papa Tony's place back in 1942 Casablanca -- and Ziva as the mystery woman...
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November 1947 - Columbus, Ohio
Anthony DiNozzo downed another beer at the Buckeye Bar, lamenting the season-ending 21-0 loss to Ohio State's hated archrival, Michigan. The '47 season was a nightmare for the Buckeyes, with the team going 2-6-1, and the mood in the bar -- and around campus -- was ugly. Anthony had used his G.I. Bill from his World War II service to enroll at Ohio State, the school he'd dreamed of attending since he was a boy growing up in the shadow of the campus as a Columbus 'townie' where his father toiled 12-plus hours a day pouring hot metal at the Buckeye Steel Castings Company. The memory of his father further depressed Anthony, who signaled the bartender for another beer.
Vincenzo DiNozzo had come to America determined to make a good life for himself and, in his own way, he had. But he didn't want Anthony to spend his life working in the dangerous steel industry and so, when the boy was old enough, he'd made Anthony enlist in the Army where he could travel and have the opportunity to advance in the armed services. Besides, it had been 1930 when Anthony turned 18, the Great Depression, and jobs were nowhere to be found. Vincenzo, then just past 40, worried he'd lose his own job. Anthony's mother had died when he was 10, leaving father and son to care for one another. Now that the boy was gone, the father was alone for the first time in his life. And when, in November 1932, Buckeye Steel had to let Vincenzo go, Anthony found that he perhaps wasn't as surprised as he should have been to get the telegram telling him his father had been found dead in the single room he rented in a Columbus row house. "Heart attack," the telegram read. Vincenzo was 44.
And so, in November 1942, five years earlier, Anthony marked the 10-year anniversary of his father's death by storming the Moroccan beaches near Casablanca with Allied forces as a U.S. Army sergeant in Operation Torch, aimed at defeating pro-Nazi French forces in the region. The mission had been an incredible success and Gen. Patton had given his men one night in Casablanca for celebration. Anthony spent his evening drinking in a bar, toasting his father's memory. Until a young, exotic Jewish woman -- Hannah, she called herself -- sat beside him at the bar.
Then Anthony's life changed forever. That night, he met his soulmate -- the woman he was meant to spend his life with -- and in one passionate night of lovemaking, he bonded emotionally with Hannah. By the morning, she was gone. And he was never the same again.
But now, back in Columbus, he was in the Buckeye Bar, nearly fall-down drunk, and unable to get his father's death off his mind. And he spent every day, every minute thinking of Hannah and their night together. Anthony felt as miserable as he ever had in his life. He wished he, too, were dead.
"Anthony?" A voice gratingly familiar to him cut through the din of the bar room. Bleary-eyed, he tried to focus on the face of the woman speaking. "Anthony... I looked for you at the fraternity party after the game. The boys said you were probably here." She glanced around the bar with utter disdain. "How much have you had to drink?" Her voice took on a bitter, pointed tone.
"Not enough," Anthony replied thickly. He lifted the cold mug the bartender had just put before him but the woman put her hand on his, stopping him from taking a drink. Her nails dug into his skin, hurting him. He frowned at her, angry that she was insinuating herself into what had been his personal time. "Joan," he said angrily, "Back off." Then, trying to be something of a gentleman to this girl who he didn't really care for but who always seemed to know exactly where he was and what he was doing, he added, "Please."
Joan didn't flinch. Instead, she tightened her grip on Anthony's hand, her nails digging deeper and harder into his skin. Her eyes narrowed. She glared at him, her light blue eyes glowing with fury at his unwillingness to obey her.
"No, Anthony," she insisted, pushing his hand down so that the beer sloshed over the mug onto both their hands. She grimaced at the feel of it on her skin. "You're leaving. Now. You're coming with me." Seeing that Anthony's only reaction was to stare straight ahead in a futile attempt to ignore her, she pressed against him and hissed into his ear. "You are going to get UP from that barstool right NOW and WE are walking OUT of this DISGUSTING PIT! Do NOT fight me on this, do you UNDERSTAND ME?!!!" She dug her nails that much deeper into the skin of his hand for emphasis, clenching her jaw.
Anthony continued sitting and staring, silently feeling sick at the sensation of Joan's hot breath in his ear and the feel of her body against his. He thought of using all the strength he had to wrench his hand away. He was stronger than Joan. He could easily push her away. But from the moment she'd met him in a class they'd had together, she had been obsessed with him. He could make her let him go tonight. But she'd find him again. She always found him. His frat brothers joked that she meant to get him. At first he'd laughed it off but as the months wore on, he realized it was true. There was no escaping her, not even after he'd told her that he was in love with a woman he'd met overseas and was going to meet her in a few months so they could be married. It was only his dream, the one he had of finding Hannah and building a life with her, but it felt so real and right when he'd voiced it that even he'd bought into it. Joan had slapped him, said she hated him and stalked off. He thought he was finally rid of her. But the next day, she'd returned, crying that she was sorry and nobody but Anthony understood her and wouldn't he please at least be her friend? Then the cycle began anew. He hated Joan. He didn't want to. He hadn't started out hating her. He'd only ever been polite to her. But she'd made him grow to despise her. She just wouldn't let him be.
"Yeah," Anthony finally said, his voice a pained whisper. "I hear you... Joan."
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August 1953 - Coney Island, New York
"Anthony!" Joan snapped, "Don't feed him that hot dog! He's only three!" She yanked the toddler from her husband's arms, causing the baby to cry out in fear.
"Can't you be a little less rough with him?" Anthony said quietly, watching his youngest son fuss and kick as his mother wrestled him into her arms. "He was fine, Joan."
Joan shot Anthony a hard, bitter look. "I'm taking him to the ladies' room to wash up. He's got mustard all OVER his face! It's disgusting!" The boy cried, reaching out for his father, as his mother threw him over her shoulder and stalked off.
Anthony sighed, wanting to grab his son out of Joan's arms, comfort him and let him enjoy the hot dog he'd asked for at the boardwalk stand. He'd clapped with glee when his father ordered the snack, shrieking "Papa! Papa! Look, Binny!" His brother, Vinny, who was almost five, smiled back at him as he took a huge bite of his own hot dog.
"Thanks, Pop," Vinny said to Anthony. "It's good. You want mustard on yours, Danny?" His little brother shook his head "yes" excitedly. Anthony and his boys then headed back to the beach where Joan lay in a deck chair, sunning herself. And then the afternoon had gone south.
Anthony and Vinny finished their hot dogs and waited for Joan to return with Danny. When she did, it was obvious Danny had been crying. His eyes were red and puffy and his breath came in short gasps. He had pink markings where Joan had wiped his face. He sobbed as she plopped him down on the beach towel next to Vinny and took her seat in the deck chair. Anthony glared at her as Danny whimpered. Vinny hugged his baby brother, trying to get him to stop crying. Vinny softly told Danny "It's okay" and, in a sweet attempt to make Danny happy again, said they would go build a sand castle.
"VINCENT!" Joan barked. "SIT DOWN! You just ATE! You and Danny are going to sit RIGHT HERE for an HOUR until I SAY it's time for you to play, do you UNDERSTAND ME?!!! I don't want DANNY getting SICK!" Vinny sighed and sat down. Danny crawled over to Anthony, who lifted him into his arms. Danny sobbed into Anthony's chest. Vinny lay his head in his father's lap, staring at the ocean. Anthony stroked his boy's head as he held Danny against him.
"His name," Anthony said in a low tone, "is Vincenzo. Not Vincent."
"Yep," Vinny said, smiling up at his father. "I'm named after my Grandpa Vincenzo! He was Italian. He came to America on a big boat."
Joan pushed down her sunglasses and shot Anthony a hard look. "Don't you DARE correct me in front of our SONS!" Then she turned her glare down at Vinny, narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. "And YOU shouldn't speak out of TURN, you little BRAT!" Vinny gulped. His mother always seemed angry with him but she'd never called him a brat before. He turned over in Anthony's lap, away from Joan, and began to silently cry.
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Anthony yelled, loud enough that the beachgoers around the foursome stopped what they were doing and stared. Lowering his voice as he glowered at Joan, Anthony hissed, "NEVER call my son a 'brat' again, you hear me? And you LEAVE Danny ALONE! DAMMIT, Joan, for once can't you let him have some FUN? Can't you let us ALL have some fun? Are you enjoying this -- making everyone miserable?" He coaxed Vinny up from his lap and stood. "C'mon, boys, we're gonna build that sand castle. AFTER Danny gets his hot dog!" Danny clutched at his father, afraid to let go. Vinny took Anthony's hand, making sure not to look his mother in the eye. She scared him.
From her deck chair, Joan let out a cold, harsh, cutting laugh.
"Have fun on the boardwalk, Anthony," she called out as her husband headed for the beachfront stands with their sons. "Maybe if you're lucky, you'll find... what was her name again? Hannah?" Anthony stopped in his tracks, hearing the name. "Hmmm..." Joan mused in a cruel tone. "I wonder if she's even still alive? Guess you'll never know. Oh... and while you're up by the bars, why don't you get yourself a beer?" Anthony felt hollow inside. He hadn't touched alcohol in over three years, since the last time Joan had gotten him drunk, had sex with him and become pregnant with Danny. Since then, they'd taken separate rooms. Joan insisted on it; she'd called Anthony a disgusting alcoholic who could only "perform" when drunk. It was only one of the many times she'd questioned his manhood. Replacing her sunglasses, she quietly fixed her gaze on a handsome young lifeguard standing nearby. Motioning him over, Joan patted the end of the deck chair and the man sat down. Anthony watched as Joan smiled at the man, giggling in conversation with him as she stroked his strong, tanned chest.
"Pop, does Ma know that man?" Vinny asked.
"She will," Anthony sighed, shaking his head in disgust. He rubbed Vinny's head lovingly and gave Danny a little kiss. "Now... let's go get Danny that hot dog. You look hungry, buddy."
Over his shoulder, Danny's green eyes focused on his mother. In the distance he saw her lean over towards a man that wasn't his Papa. He was glad to be away from her but he felt like crying again. He'd only seen his Mama kiss his Papa once or twice and his Papa had never smiled when Mama kissed him but something told the little boy that his Mama kissing the man sitting on her chair was bad.
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November 1947 - Columbus, Ohio
"No..." Anthony moaned, his voice thick and slurry with alcohol. "No..." He lay on his back, feeling her moving on top of him. She clutched him desperately, thrusting her hips against his as she tried to move him within her. Despite her ministrations, Joan was unable to arouse Anthony in any way. He'd tried to drunkenly get off the bed, nearly falling on the floor in the process, but she'd positioned herself atop him, holding him down. She'd wanted this moment since the first time she saw him in class and she would have him, even if he was unable -- or unwilling -- to sexually perform.
Making love to him in a seedy motel near the stadium wasn't how she'd imagined their first time would be. But it would do. Anthony was naked in bed with her, finally, and Joan's fantasies about him -- and the sex she'd dreamed they would have -- were going to come true. Even if she had to force the issue. And when Anthony drunkenly tried to push her away, groaning "No... No..." she did.
As Joan forced Anthony to move within her, she felt a surge of power. At last, she was controlling him and in the way she'd most wanted to. After a while, she even decided that it didn't bother her so much that Anthony was calling out "Hannah" instead of her name. He was too drunk to know what was happening, after all, and for some reason whenever he called for Hannah and Joan answered "Anthony... yes... yes... it's Hannah... Hannah..." he was suddenly aroused. Whatever it takes, she thought, You will be mine.
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December 1947 - Columbus, Ohio
One month later, telling Anthony of her pregnancy sent a thrill through Joan's body. Now they would be married. He was the father of her baby; there hadn't been another man. Anthony didn't need to worry -- Joan would handle everything. They could be married that same day at City Hall. Why not just take care of that now so they could start their lives together and prepare for the day the baby came? Wasn't he excited? This baby was theirs -- together. Proof of their love. They would name him Anthony Jr., she said, because she just knew she was having a boy. Or maybe Daniel. That was a nice name, too. They could call him Danny -- Danny DiNozzo. Wasn't that adorable?
Anthony swallowed hard, staring at the door opposite the sofa in Joan's apartment where they sat. She held him so tightly, her head on his shoulder, planning their future -- it would start in just a few hours and it was all so exciting! -- and Anthony felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He didn't even remember sleeping with Joan but when he'd woken up in the motel room bed, naked, with Joan clinging to him like she'd never let go, he knew she'd finally gotten what she wanted from him all along. He'd felt sick to his stomach then, wondered if he killed himself would he go to Hell like he'd learned at Mass. No, he couldn't do that; Anthony was raised a devout Catholic and he still attended Mass every Sunday. He'd prayed that Joan wouldn't be pregnant but now, here they were.
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September 1948 - Columbus, Ohio
When Anthony held his son for the first time nine months after marrying Joan, leaving Ohio State and taking the job his father had held at Buckeye Steel in Columbus, he couldn't help but smile at the fact that his boy, like his beloved father, had the dark brown eyes he himself didn't inherit. Anthony had his mother's green eyes and slightly reddish-brown hair; she was half-Irish. His father had the dark Italian looks -- Mediterranean, like... Hannah -- and the baby, too, sported black hair and brown eyes, looking nothing like either Anthony or Joan. Joan had, in fact, asked the nurse if she had the right baby when the boy was first brought to her. But Anthony knew the squirming boy was his son.
"Anthony Jr.," Joan had said brusquely, still eyeing the baby suspiciously. She didn't like that he had brown eyes. She'd hoped he would look like her, have her light blue eyes. "That's what we'll name him."
"No," Anthony said, his voice steady and strong. "His name is Vincenzo."
Joan looked horrified. "Absolutely NOT! What sort of name is that for a child?!!!"
Cradling the tiny boy in his arms, Anthony said softly but firmly, "It was my father's name. Now it's our son's name." The baby opened his dark brown eyes wide, smiling at his father. And for the first time in years, since his night with Hannah, Anthony felt joy.