A/N: Hey there. So this is the "Tony's story" installment. I honestly am not sure how I feel about it. I'm presenting the story the best way I could think of. As always, if you don't like it, just hang in there, it gets much better. I am actually hoping to wrap this story up in the next three to five chapters. Please review if it tickles your fancy. It always brightens my day when you do. Thanks for those reviews from the previous chapter.
Oh, and same as last time, I'm going to talk about the new season at the end of this chapter, so if you haven't seen the most recent episode "Good Cop, Bad Cop" then I wouldn't read.
Ch. 25 Tony's Story
Told in first person point of view of Tony DiNozzo...Basically, assume it's Tony speaking until otherwise indicated:-)
I took a deep breath, steadying myself to tell my story. Ziva looked at me patiently, but no less expectantly. So, I started...
"There was yelling everywhere, all in Arabic. I'd killed Tariq to close the door. I shot him, like everyone else was doing. I was hoping to catch a ride on the chopper, but, man, the guns some of those guys were carrying were huge. Small, rocket launcher type stuff. I just knew that even if I did catch up with the helicopter, there would have been no way for all of us to escape. No way. So I shut the doors. It must have taken those guys a few moments to figure out what was going on because I didn't get shot in the back. No, it was when I turned around. As soon as I turned to face the hanger, all these shots hammered into me at once. It felt like I'd gotten hit by a train. I think the only saving grace was that they didn't hit anything mortally important.
Anyway, I fell behind some crates by the hanger door. Would believe my luck? One the terrorists who was shot early on was back there. He had a full belt of grenades. Somehow, I got the pins out of some and lobbed it over the crates. There must have been some explosions of some kind, but I honestly don't remember. I was ready to die, I felt so bad. Hey, don't scoff! I was! I know I'm practically a super hero these days, but I think twelve bullets would have done Captain America in. Next thing I know, I wake up in a bed. I didn't have one of those out of body, half in heaven experiences folk talk about. No, I woke up, was alive and hurt. I thought my body was on fire. I took seven to the chest, but got one in my thigh and was grazed all over. Someone must have heard me wake up, because then his old timer walks in, grumbling under his breath. He pulled me into a seated position and shoved a drink into my hand.
"Drink," he said. His voice was really accented, but I mean, I got the message. I didn't respond or drink so he grabbed the cup out of my hand. Before I could say anything, he tipped my head back and poured the stuff down my throat. Ziva, I swear I wanted to throw up. It was the nastiest think I think I've ever tasted. Some kind of weird herb mixture. But hey, instantly, I felt better. Or I hurt less at least. All in all, I fell back asleep. When I woke up, I could hear humming in the background. The old timer was sitting next to my bed, reading a magazine and humming to himself. He didn't even look at me when he began to speak.
"You're awake I see." he said. Now that I was a little more conscious, I could hear that his voice was deep an musical. It was like an Arabic Bing Crosby.
"Where am I?" I asked. Still he didn't look at me when he spoke.
"You are in Somalia. In fact, you are still in the air hanger. Now, tell me: what were you doing here and with such a dangerous group of people?" I paused and looked at Ziva. I wasn't sure, but I decided not to spare any details. So, I went on.
"They had friend of mine. They weren't very nice to her. I had to come get her." I was really thirsty and as if he could read my mind, he handed me a cup of water. I drank as he questioned.
"Her...so your lady friend, she played damsel in distress?" he seemed kinda disinterested, but heck, I answered him anyway, and no, it wasn't because I love the sound of my own voice.
"She's hardly a damsel in distress. More like a Lady Knight who got stabbed in the back by her squire." I said. He smirked at me. Very much like Gibbs actually.
"So, if your lady is the knight, what are you? The jester?" I think he was actually laughing at me, at least on the inside.
"No," I countered, "I'm like the charming commoner, a rouge of a man. You know, strong, quick witted, devilishly handsome. Not to mention an excellent fighter. I offer a deeper level of companionship than any noble man could." Now he was laughing out loud. He put down his magazine and finally looked at me. For all his dark skin, his eyes were as blue as the sky.
"I have not met such an entertaining American in a long time, Anthony. You're identification card was in your pocket." He said, answering my next question.
"And your Lady Knight? Where is she?" he asked me.
"With any luck, on her way home." I told him. That's honestly what I was hoping. He just nodded and stood to his feet. I started to ask some questions.
"How am I still at the hanger? Why aren't I dead?"
"This hanger belongs to me. The men here now better than to dispute with me and some of my own...friends. I ordered them out, making them clean their mess as they did so. As to why you are not dead. In a former life, I was a doctor and a rather skilled surgeon. I would be very ashamed of myself if I let you die. Now, whether you survive is up to you."
"Look Mr..." I paused because I didn't know his name. He filled in by saying giving me Fharar. "Mr. Fharar. I just want to get home. I don't want to cause you or anyone any trouble." He just chuckled again and patted my arm.
"I do not believe you will cause trouble. Now, sleep some more. You need the rest." So I slept. I was in bed for about a month before he let me try walking. It took me two weeks to do so without collapsing. Fharar was nice enough to give me a cane at that point. Turns out I was being kept in some small living quarters attached to the hanger. For a while, I just walked around, getting used to my body again. Surprisingly, people came and went from the place often. About three months after you and Gibbs and McGee had left, I finally asked him what he was up to, him and his previously mentioned friends. We were having some Arabic dish for dinner at the time. He also turned out to be a great cook, and I've grown quite fond of Arabic food. I asked him and he sighed and pushed away his plate. He gave me one of his patient looks.
"Those that you have seen over the past three months in this airport are all part of an organization. We have no name. No country. No government allegiance. What unifies us is our desire for the violence of this land to stop. Not a one of us are untouched. Not one. Some have lost sons and daughters. Others parents and friends. Others have lost their livelihood, their homes. I myself have lost a son. We are tired of the games that the refuse of our society decide to play. The actions of the few are destroying the lives of the many. Your incident here is an example of that. None of us knew that Saleem and his men were holding a young Israeli woman prisoner. Or that a love sick American man would risk his life to find her, to save her. You are two infinitesimally small characters in the grand scheme of the world, yet here you are putting bullet holes in my airport hanger. The aim of my friends and I is to protect our people from the madness of terrorism that seeks to annihilate us. My role in this effort is ensuring that supplies are always available." he said. Needless to say I felt awed and guilty because of his logic. But he always seemed to read my mind, so he kept going.
"Anthony, you cannot apologize for something that you have absolutely no control over. And I do not expect you to. But, because you have an inarguable sense of honor and chivalry , I will give something for you to do that will make up for this debt that you really do not owe." Honestly, I wasn't sure if I wanted to stick around. I'd gotten the majority of my movement back. Sure, I was pretty stiff, but I wanted to come home then. But I just couldn't say no. I mean...he saved my life. I wouldn't have had a home to go back to without him. Not to mention, he seemed a little lonely. I call him old timer because he was. He must have been eighty years old. Young at heart, but worn down by the world. So I said yes.
So for the next month, I learned everything there is to know about small, single passenger cargo planes. It needed repair, and so that's what Fharar had me do. He told me everything and even showed me how to fly it... Actually, now that I think about it, that's twice that he's saved my life. But I'll get to that later.
So hold on, that gives me what, four months with Fharar, right? Well it was at the end of that month that well, everything changed. I had to start home. Turns out Hadar's, Tariq's, Saleem's, who ever they belong to; their guys showed up and well, it wasn't pretty. They tried to get into the hanger the first time. Fharar waved his cane at them, shouting in Arabic. They left that time, but Fharar pulled me aside to talk. It...it was the last real conversation we had. We had so many...I've never met a wiser man.
"Tony," he said "Those men will return very soon. You must promise me something: when they come back, you burn this hanger down. There is C4 inside the walls of this building, inside. I built it that way for a reason. It could be deadly for my people if those pigs gained control of this airstrip. Tony, burn it and leave. You must escape and though it will be hard for to accept, you must leave without me. No, do not protest," he interrupted me sharply. Like always, he could read my mind. "Anthony DiNozzo. My wife died soon after she gave birth. My son, my only child, was the joy in my life. My most prized possession. I loved him completely. I was a doctor at the time and my son aspired to be like me. He was killed by those bastard's guns the very same day he received notification that he could go to medical school. The same day! My heart was ripped in two. I will not let these men do it again. They will not have another of my sons." He shoved a detonator in my hand and walked away at that point, not letting me respond at all. I knew where he kept his car, or jeep rather.
Turns out he was right. The men came back that night, this time with guns. I was working on the plane in the back of the hanger when commotion erupted in the front. The men had shoved Fharar into the hanger and were shouting, filing out to search for me with bullets. Fharar, bless his heart, attacked one the men with his cane. The guys turned back to him...they shot him. And all the while he was shouting for me to press the button. I must have, because the place began to explode. There was fire everywhere. Those guys, they ran out. I went to Fharar. I...I tried to move him. I couldn't do. I wasn't strong enough to pick him up. He just grabbed my hand in the fiercest grip and looked me in the eye.
"Thank you for letting me be your father for a while," he whispered. Somehow I heard him over the flames. I thanked him for... for letting me be his son for while. And then he was gone. Ziva, he was gone and I couldn't save him.
I got out of the hanger quick and got to the jeep. I just drove. I couldn't think or do anything else. I drove that jeep until there was no more gas. Then I just walked to the nearest city, my cane...Fharar's cane helping me along the way. I'd reached the tip of Somalia, on the Indian Ocean. I bartered a passage off of that country. Went north, through the Red Sea. Then we made port...in Egypt. That's when things got rough again. You're um, dear friends, Mossad, found out that a rather disheveled American booked passage out of Somalia. They were kind enough to greet me at the dock. They took me prisoner, Ziva. Dragged my ass to Cairo and kept me there. I thought I was screwed. I figured Hadar would want me dead and was behind it. But, odd as it may be, he never showed. Though they did talk about Israel and how quickly it would take to return there. Most they did was smack me around a couple of times when I talked to much. They asked no questions but they told me that I was guilty of interfering with an official Mossad operation in Somalia. I thought I was dead, but then you...you saved me.
One of the guards one night, he undid my handcuffs and gave me a handgun.
"Listen closely,"he said, "I will sound the alarm and notify my associates of your escape. But you'll actually have a chance to get away. We are at a private airstrip just outside of Cairo. They will expect you to get away by car or foot. On the other hand, I heard stories that an American in Somalia was seen flying a small aircraft. Mind, I care not for you. I am doing this for Ziva. I owe her too much to let one of her friends die." Just like that I was free. He'd given me my cane and I set off running. I was barely a hundred feet away from the building I was in until Mossad started shooting at me. I just shot over my shoulder and kept running. Your mystery man had a tiny plane all ready to go with instructions on where to head and land. And like that, I was gone. I went to Canada. I flashed NCIS credentials at the boarder and hitch hiked back here.
Back to normal POV...whew, thank goodness.
Tony leaned back into the couch with a sigh, wiping his eyes. His heart ached for Fharar and he couldn't stop the flood of emotion that came over him when he thought about the man. Tony had never felt like a son to his own father, and so for Fharar to give him the title made him feel honored beyond words. Ziva had shifted position, laying with her back on the couch and her head on Tony's thigh. Tony aimlessly stroked her hair.
"So six months gone and most of it spent in that hanger?" asked Ziva after a while.
"Amazingly enough, yes. I realize that the story isn't the most exciting one out there, but hey, it is what it is." he replied, his voice low. Ziva grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently.
"I am happy that you are here to tell it, Tony." she replied her voice getting softer as she battled away sleep. Tony just smiled.
"Me too, my crazy ninja. Me too. Though, I don't think I'll tell it again. I'll tell Gibbs most of it I suppose, but that's it." Suddenly, a thought burst abruptly into Tony's head.
"You guys haven't replaced me have you? Because that would make McGee senior field agent and I don't think I can handle that right now." Ziva chuckled sleepily.
"We could not dream of replacing you Tony."
Warning...new season comments below...you've been warned.
A/N: First of, kudos to you logical ones out there who pointed out that Gibbs must have signed the papers if Ziva's application was to be rejected. Makes perfect sense. Anyway, I absolutely loved "Good Cop, Bad Cop". I think it's possibly one of the best episodes ever as far as team drama goes. I'd rank it up there with Hiatus Part 1 and 2. So, some of the things I really go a kick out of were 1) Tony's Predator rant., 2) "Team Ziva" w/ Abby and McGee 3) the "You are a woman" "You are a genius" line b/w Ziva and the boat Capitan. Overall favorite scene, though, was Gibbs interrogating Malachai Ben- Gidon and Ziva at the same time and the aftermath/ conclusion of Ziva's tale. I loved the bit where Gibbs tells Ben- Gidon that Ziva is off limits to him and Mossad. So, overall great episode in my opinion. Lemme know what you think!