A/N Thank you reader's for your continued interest in this story and Beta Mike91848 for your ongoing help and encouragement.
CINDERELLA Revisited
Chapter Twenty Five
Tony found time to go down to see Abby a few days after Tim's uncharacteristic display of profanity. She whirled around, a dashing, twirling dervish of motion and freewheel loops and spins that made Tony's head hurt.
"...so that's all I wanted to say, Tony. I've learned a valuable lesson and that's what living is, isn't it, learning and applying what you've learned, and I have. I have. I was awful I can't change that and the class I am attending is helping me to try and let go of guilty feelings so as not to lose myself to regrets so that it changes who I am, that is, the good parts of who I am, not the pushy, bullying, big mouth who I am but the caring person who makes a good..."
"Abby?" Tony refocused his poor bewildered brain, which was trying to keep up with Abby's version of straightforward but roundabout explanation of her stupidity.
"Yeah, Tony?"
"How come you don't let me say anything?"
"You noticed, huh? I'm sorry Tony I guess I'm afraid you won't accept my apology."
"Abby girl, I accept your apology for being a pushy, bullying, know-it-all, hypocritical shrew who butted in where you were warned, on several occasions, not to go and who went there anyway." Abby nodded her agreement at each of the moral deficiencies and shortcomings he accused her of.
"YOU DO?" His ears cringed at her yell. She reached out readily with her arms as though to gather him in her all-consuming, smothering hug, and weep tears as they were reunited. His graceful sidestep and pulling away had her embracing empty air and discontent.
"Yes I do, Abby." Tony's usual gregarious nature, absent now, was telling.
"I'm just having a problem with why you would turn on me like that, Abby. We had been friends for a long time, years really. Then some guy comes along and just like that..." and he snaps his fingers in quick succession, "boom, I'm the culprit, the evil doer, the one you could haul off and add insult to injury when my face ran smack into the palm of your brass knuckles." He stood there unsettled, hurt, and puzzled at what he had done to make her change because it had to have been his fault, the change.
"Now, you see, Tony, that's where you're wrong. It wasn't anything you did, I was a bitch to you, to McGee, to anyone who stood in my way. I yelled at poor Palmer, was disrespectful to Ducky when he tried to talk sense into me. It wasn't just you. I was ready to have a knock down drag out with an innocent woman who had been harassed by my so-called scum of a boyfriend. I was totally out of control. I was even..." And here she turned around to check and listen for intruders, "avoiding the nuns because they would know my spirit aura was dark and unappealing. And look at poor Tim and the monster drugged up dog I foisted on him, I'm just..."
"Tim was fond of Jethro Abby, it just got to be too much to keep him."
"I know that Tony, I know that now, but I should have known it before..." Tony held up his hand, he had heard and had had enough of being inundated with tense words and long explanations. He really was getting a headache.
"Okay, enough, Abby! Let's just do this a different way. We're friends, it'll take a little time to build up the trust again but I'm willing to try. How about you?" And he held out his hand in that age old tradition to seal a bargain.
"Oh gods yes, Tony." She clasped his hand and they shook enthusiastically both grinning their familiar though somewhat dimmed smile on Tony's part. Abby had no allusions as she watched him leave the lab, and recalled Gibbs warning. 'Be careful, Abby before you throw away something you may never get back'. She and Tony would be friends again but that close brother and sister relationship would probably never return through no one's fault but her own.
Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis
Back in the bullpen, Tony greeted his teammates as usual with a sideways wink at McGee to let him know he had finally done the deed and talked to Abby, and Tim could now stop with them filthy cussing words Tony had been razzin' him about.
Tony swallowed a couple of Tylenol with his lukewarm coffee for his headache and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before starting up his computer and getting to work.
For the past few days, Tony had worked as fill in Lead Agent of Johansen's team until otherwise notified. Vance had held off the announcement of his promotion per Tony's request until Johansen's official termination. Tony had been on the other side of the building, same floor, with Dorneget and the two original agents from Johansen's team who had been filling in as needed. After successfully completing a case together, Tony had still sent them to a week long course at Quantico for a refresher in chain of command and NCIS codes and regulations.
Working with those agents, a strain had been lifted from DiNozzo's browbeaten shoulders. It dawned on him what he had been putting up with for years and probably one of the reasons Gibbs had been divorced three times, a damn nagging wife! Except Ziva wasn't his wife and he hadn't had the perks or ultimately the privilege of kicking her to the curb in a nice messy divorce.
It was a relief not always having an under agent questioning him in the field making snide, inappropriate remarks couched in humorous jargon and sidelong glances. And let's face the ego stroker, an agent who thought Tony had something worthwhile to contribute, and that he could learn from.
Now Tony was back with Gibbs' team until his agents were fully versed in 'who's the boss'. He and Ziva did not have a convivial working relationship since their little talk. Rather it was as professional and civil as was appropriate and welcomed.
Vance had decided that it would be pointless to send Ziva to FLETC. She was too stubborn and set in the ways of her Mossad training. Director Shepherd's past leniency and DiNozzo's wishy-washy contradictions would also undermine any likelihood of its instructions having any effect. So Vance's warning to her had been harsh but a last resort; another act of documented insubordination and she would be fired!
Tony was not immune to the cold stare and lack of smile of his co-worker but he functioned in spite of it as he was use to it having grown up with it. They worked cases with Tony and McGee usually partnering up together. Or Tony, Gibbs and Ziva when Tim needed to stay behind for computer information gathering. It was temporary until he was permanent on the other side of the infamous portrait pumpkin wall and he already knew he would miss the whimsical notion of Family team Gibbs. But Gibbs would be right around the corner, McGee was with him and Ziva was just...not.
Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncisncis
They caught a case around one just after McGee came back with lunch for all. Tony was glad to sneakily dump the large burrito into the garbage can as just the thought of putting it in his mouth turned his stomach. His headache was back and for the last hour he was uncomfortably chilly. Stomach flu was just what he needed.
As they chased the culprit triathlete wannabe down the crowded street, Tony managed to avoid running headlong into the streetlight pole that seemed to have moved into his path. They plowed through a busy coffee shop and out the back alley where Tony stumbled into an iron table instead of skirting over it and almost went down. He recovered quickly enough and managed to tackle the creep to the ground scraping his elbows on the hard pavement and banging his knee on a discarded glass bottle.
The blubbering scumbag had thumbed his nose at them in scorn when he was on the loose and evading capture but now that he was in the custody of a team of pissed-off agents the thought of living behind bars for possibly his eternity had him crying for his mama.
"Get on your feet scumbag, I'm not carrying you, and shut your sniveling mouth before I break this bottle over your empty head." Tony was at his derisive best; this creep had made him run miles with a headache from hell and too wobbly legs.
Tony started to limp down the alleyway with a tight hold on the hooligan and McGee on the other side as they escorted the handcuffed man towards the front of the alley. Ziva, who had eyed him with a quick disdainful look when he almost toppled into the street pole and barely concealed ridicule when he un-nimbly tripped himself up falling over the table walked behind carrying the evidence the man had tried to discard. Gibbs had driven the car around the back to block the alley exit and stood waiting by the side of the car.
"You okay, DiNozzo?" Tony's flushed face, too rosy cheeks and limp did not go unobserved. "You drinking on a school night?"
"Yes and no, Boss." Tony managed to lose the limp as they reached the car but wished he could lose the headache and painful stomach. They manhandled their prisoner into the back of the car and made sure he was securely belted in the middle seat. Ziva had put the evidence in the trunk and had the temerity to head to the front passenger seat but as sick as Tony's stomach felt no way was he riding cramped in the back seat with the loud-mouthed complainer unless it was to throw up on him.
"Mind riding in the back, Ziva? It'll be pretty cramped with three big guys sardined back there."
He had been civil and polite instead of expressing his crassly inappropriate but provocative real thoughts in his sick mind that went along the lines of, 'are you nuts, you stupid selfish ninja bitch?' He missed those easy early days before she had become so self-centered and driven.
"Of course, Tony." It seemed perpetuating the past status quo between him and Ziva was dead and buried as Ziva's response had also been without flaw, courteous and polite, precise and succinct. Tony blinked his eyes closed tiredly as he sat back in the car seat and contemplated the many adjectives he and Ziva could use to communicate short-hand with each other; exact, careful, considerate, cohesive.
And jerked his eyes open again when the car pulled into the navy yard and squealed to a halt in the parking space. It seems he had snoozed through the voyage back and the prisoner's sobbing, to the yard and awoke at the screech of brakes that turned his stomach so sideways he was just happy he hadn't eaten all day because regurgitating bile was bad enough.
He and Tim escorted the prisoner, who had thought it was hilarious giving them a run for their NCIS paycheck, to a cell where he could sit and tremble and think profoundly and at length at his criminal misdeeds before his real terror began when Gibbs got a hold of him in interrogation. On the ride in the elevator back to the bullpen Tony slumped against the elevator wall and closed his eyes.
"You'd better stop doing that if you're trying to hide something from Gibbs because he already knows."
Tony opened one bleary eye, "Stop doing what, Oh McMystery?"
"Falling asleep standing up and you look all sweaty and pale. Are you sick or, hey, did you have that after game party you were suppose to invite me to last night and now you have a hangover?"
"What! No! Why does everyone keep asking me that? So I'm a little under the weather, big deal. Probably from that burrito you tried to force on me for lunch, McGee."
"You didn't eat it Tony so you'd better go see Ducky or I'm telling Gibbs." McGee's unyielding scowl indicated he wasn't fooling.
Tony couldn't even dredge up the energy to make fun of McTattle. "I have been feeling a little warm. Check my forehead, McGee, do I have a fever?"
McGee looked with distaste at the sweaty brow. "Ah, no! Do I look like a thermometer to you, DiNozzo? We're here, let's go."
"Hey, this isn't the bullpen, McGee." Tony followed woozily behind Tim as they entered autopsy and were greeted by a stethoscope wielding Dr Mallard. Tony was dizzy, hot, sick to his stomach, thirsty and had cramps. He finally had to agree with Tim.
"I think I'm sick, Ducky."
Ncisncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncisncis
Kidney infection, urinary tract infection, dehydration, fever, hospital stay, IV rehydration, antibiotic regimen and pain analgesic. Then there was the overwhelming exhaustion, the restlessness, the throbbing headache and body pain. The painful urination, nausea and vomiting, and the pulling out of the dreaded IV over and over.
Oh yeah, don't forget the 104 degree temperature for two days and the delirium that played out like a horror show with him as the bait for disturbing dreams. The horror show dreams lasted for several days before the body and mind cohered to return to a very exhausted reality.
But the remembrance of being tied down in the past and stuck again and again with a sharp point amidst confusion and fear hadn't faded, or being alone with a broken jaw and no comforting family present. Strangely, as the fever abated, the dreams had him passing through purifying smoke to the other side and the team was there, Margret, even Ziva. And Ducky, Palmer, the coach, Mrs B, grandma, Janes. And so, true, there was no family, but he wasn't alone.
Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncismcisncis
Finally free of the fierce torments of dreams and family, I leaned back against the pillows in my hospital bed and tried to empty my mind now that I was coherent again. Rest my aching body is what the doctor said I needed the utmost of, rest.
And the mega dose of antibiotics needed to fight yet another kidney infection that I was prone to compliments of that cadre of doctor quacks a la Tuskegee, and the triple Nurse Ratched's. Thankfully, they were all locked up in the cuckoo's nest now, or even better yet, stone-cold, scissors-in-their-anatomy dead.
So, the quiet was refreshing as everyone had gone home, and it did feel good to hunker down under the thin hospital blanket and threadbare sheet with a cool cloth on my forehead, the lights dimmed and quiet, peaceful, quiet.
"Hey, are you Tony DiNozzo?"
What the...? Some numbskull was shaking my shoulder, persistently shaking my shoulder. Which I chose to ignore until that person knocked the side of my bed with his knee or maybe a sneakered foot?
"What the hell?" I pulled the pretend comfy warm and fluffy hospital blanket and sheet down to get a glimpse of some punk blond teenage kid dressed in a loud logo emblazoned blue teeshirt, slim jeans with one hole in the pocket on his slim frame, hooded jacket and sneakers. I recognized the expensive labeled clothing and shoes, probably a trust fund baby. So what was he doing in my room annoying me?
After I got a good look at his peachy smooth frowning fallen angel face I was groaning on the inside and not from my inflamed kidney. God dammit to hell! Was there no end to this?
"Yeah, I'm Tony. What do you want, Gregor?"
"Hey, you know who I am? And it's Greg, just Greg."
"Yeah, I know you, 'just Greg'. What do you want? How did you know where I was and what are you doing here?" I removed the wet rag and covered my eyes with my arm. With a shudder I realized my dream's premonitions of absent family had turn into unwanted reality.
"Heard Uncle Steve and grandfather talking."
Gibbs must have told Steve I was in the hospital cause I hadn't been in any condition to talk to anyone.
"What'd ya want, please...just tell me and then get lost!"
"You look like shit."
I looked over at this cussing kid. He didn't look too bad for someone everyone had bent over backwards trying to get a kidney for, my kidney. Were his uncle and grandfather colluding together in a last ditch effort to gain what everybody else had failed to get? Were the two of them grasping the mantle, continuing the battle the bitch and her cohort crazy son Anton had dropped in their crooked race to out maneuver me out of my kidney?
"Did your uncle send you?"
"No one sent me. I just wanted to get a look at what all the fuss was about."
I breathed easy again relieved that my relationship with Steve was traitor-free. In the meantime, Gregor had made himself comfortable in the hospital torture chamber chair, a magazine model all lanky youth with big hands and feet, and long lashes and pouty lips to make a teenage girl cry and swoon and any older woman wish for her younger days.
"Never mind how I look, I thought you were on your death bed."
He gazed at me solemn, bland face and green eyes opaquely darkened with hidden thoughts, then sighed dramatically for effect and smiled the DiNozzo smile, but still hiding.
"Grandmama was such an incredible imbecile. I think she went insane before I was born. She said she hated you but she had your picture pinned up in her closet that she stared at all the time. She probably wanted to do the deed with you but you wouldn't throw her a bone."
"...Do the deed?"
"Yeah, what're you stupid? Have sex with you, copulate, intercourse, do the..."
"HEY! Enough! Tell me what you're doing here or get out now before I kick your sorry punk ass!"
Okay, that was harsh but I wasn't in the mood for a younger version Anton, spouting Angela-generated platitudes and rhetoric at me, fouling up my sick room air with his contempt.
"Get a grip, man. I'm leaving. Look at you, you couldn't swat a gnat anyway. Just wanted to let you know that I don't need your kidney now or if I was on my death bed ever. So relax. Get better. Grandfather said you're sick because of some things that were done to you on my so called behalf. I don't think so. Grandmama had her own agenda she was always obsessing about and you were a big part of it. So, catch you around, man."
I couldn't let it end like that even with this precocious, annoying kid.
"Wait. Wait, sorry, excuse my bad temper I'm..."
"Don't say sorry it's a sign of weakness."
Now, this was ridiculous.
"You know about John Wayne? Or have you met my boss Gibbs?"
"Sure, the Duke, yeah. Don't know Gibbs, though. I love old movies. My majors in college are in Cinematography and Film, Law, Medicine and a minor in culinary arts, oh yeah and music. I'm a genius like my dad who's insane like his mother was.
My birth mother committed suicide a year after I was born. Postpartum depression, I think, along with having to deal with the psychotic sociopath Angela. I'm not having any kids, see? I think that's a mature decision on my part just so as not to pass the taint to some poor little pink wrinkled squirming baby DiNozzo.
"Did you know they say I'm a prodigy like you were on the piano? I like jazz and blues but grandmama wanted me to stick with the classics. What about you?"
Okay, this was too uncanny. I must still be dreaming weird dream hallucinations because he rattled on like a mini-me spewing so much information that I got the impression he was holding something back.
"I like jazz and blues too but hold that thought. I don't get it. You're...look sorry to bring this up but your kidney failure, well, you're supposed to be so sick that..."
Greg flushed crimson and looked to the side. There it was.
"Oh, yeah, sorry about that but it wasn't me. That's why I came here to tell you that was one of grandmama's ploys. I don't really know her motives, well some of them I know but she was just plain crazy. But you see she was a conniving old bat cause she was the only one who got to see my medical records so she could say anything she wanted. She didn't like it when she didn't get her way in everything and I know she wanted great grandmother's things that you had, she sure was pretty pissed at you for that."
Gregor was uncomfortable and wordy as he confessed his grandmother's misdeeds. "Well, see, uh, she made things up and she got a certain doctor sex partner of hers to falsify my medical records. The transplant board was even fooled. Everyone believed her even my father and look what happened to him.
"I do have a fibrocystic kidney but the other one is fine for right now. I don't need a transplant and the doctor's say I might never need one if I take care of myself. It's all been for nothing, man, and I may not be the best person in the world but I never would have gone on with this if I had known what she was doing."
I laid there wishing I was dreaming. Go to sleep, dream and wake up knowing it was a dream. Not this bent, twisted out of shape reality nightmare. Assassins, hit men, car chases, kidnapping, mad doctors, lousy co-workers, innocents murdered, people locked up behind bars, revenge, avarice and greed. I could go on but I lacked the initiative when all I really needed were four words, Angela the bitch DiNozzo, to sum it up.
I looked over at the kid, Greg, innocent in this fiasco, as was I. He had said what he came to say and was now looking at me for...guidance? Resolution for circumstances and events out of his control?
"You know that none of this was your fault, right?"
"Hell yes, hey I'm not a kid. I know this isn't my fault. Why should I take the blame for any of this crap?" He slouched down in the chair with a huff as though I should know that.
"Good, good. Good to hear." I was at a loss. If he didn't want my absolution then what did he want from me? He didn't look like he was ready to leave any time soon as he pulled the other hardback chair over and rested his feet in the plastic seat.
"So, how'd you get here, anyway? Shouldn't you be in school?"
"I came home from school on bereavement leave and I'm on my own right now. Grandmama's death and father's involuntary admittance to the asylum for the insane leaves me a free man and I've got some major plans." He gloated happily at his cleverness.
"What about your grandfather, your uncle Steve? How old are you Greg?"
"Steve's away doing something no one is supposed to know about and grandfather is shacked up with his bitch in their penthouse room above the clouds. So...here I am. And I'm old enough. I'll be seventeen in three months.
I couldn't help but wonder at Gregor's use of words, sometimes full of sensitivity and imagination and other times his words brimmed with the vulgarities of modern speech. For what, to shock, to get attention?
I remember a grand day in New York City some time ago, lots of brown snow and muddy, dark slushy ice. A million people smiling on the outside, fleetingly happy in their core at the twinkling bright lights and the smell of pine and chestnuts. And me, alone, hands in pockets, woolen cap down over my ears.
I looked down at the reflection from the skater's blades as they circled round and round, and seeing that one familiar face, taking one quick involuntary step to join. Only to be rebuffed as of no consequence when the familiar eyes saw me and knew me but chose to turn away in an act of rejection and inhuman lack of natural feeling towards one of his own, his eldest son.
My first instinct was to do that to this kid. He was family but I still had strong unhealthy hate in my heart for his father and grandparents, who hated me first. I could carry on the tradition generation after generation Hatfield and McCoy style turn this kid away the way I had been turned away or...
"Look, it's getting late, you can't sleep here. You can go to my place, get some rest. I'll be out of here in a few days." I opened the end table drawer and pulled out my wallet and withdrew some cash. I wrote my address on the writing pad and the home security number so he could get in without being arrested for burglary. I ripped off the sheet and handed him the money and the paper. "The key's in a rock next to the quacking duck."
He looked at me strangely at that and didn't move to take the items I handed him.
"Take a cab. Knock on my next door neighbor's door first and let him know you're there or he might pepper your ass with buckshot and he's an excellent shot."
I continued to hold the money and paper out to him and waited to see what he would do. If my gut feeling was right he was starving for someone to throw him a bone, a rope to a sinking spirit, like I had been. Maybe I could be The Coach's lifesaving hand out in welcome to him, or the warm brown auntie face thrusting ham sandwiches and homemade cookies in brown paper bags at CC and me as she put us on the bus back to the academy.
"I don't need your money I've got plenty or a place to stay, either." He seemed insulted that I had figured him out and he had to maintain his belligerence for show.
"Suit yourself but I'm tired, see if you can dim the lights a little more, goodnight." I wide mouth yawned and over adjusted the bedding to make my point as I fluffed the hardtack of a pillow and slid back down under the covers. It was his move.
"Say, your neighbor isn't a shoot now and ask questions later kind of guy is he cause...?"
"No, he's not. Goodnight."
"Yeah, okay. Goodnight, already." When he made it to the door I heard a quiet polite salutation, "Hope you're feeling better soon," as he dimmed the lights and left, my address and taxi fare stuffed in his pocket.
Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncisncis
Tony was released from the hospital a few days later and on bed rest for a week. Ziva sat in the bullpen with McGee going over NCIS email alert's and job openings. Transfer opportunities were slim right now because no one was leaving a secure job in these economic times so she was surprised to see an announcement for special agent's positions that had become available; two investigator's positions and a senior field agent's position. It listed the skills needed, education and experience; she was certainly qualified and this would be the perfect opportunity for her to transfer out of this untenable position she found herself in.
Being on her best behavior all of the time at work was draining her token by token and even though that didn't sound right Ziva knew what she meant. It was taking a piece out of her every day that she had to get up, get dressed and come to the office. Tony was insufferable, arrogant and insufferable now that he had her under his thumb and Gibbs did nothing about it.
If Gibbs was willing to accept mediocrity in his senior field agent, that was his business but she would not continue to work with someone so unqualified and inept, a hyperactive clown and baboon belonging in a circus. Ziva felt better after her disparaging thoughts toward Tony since she couldn't express her contempt out loud to any one inclined to listen.
Ziva was not altruistic about her bitter thoughts and feelings. She knew she was now preoccupied with unhealthy thoughts that were even disturbing her sleep. It galled her that she was an unwanted woman scorned by the man she had chosen. Her job situation was precarious at best. She was green-eyed with jealousy over everything that was Tony, his girlfriend, his job and the respect of his co-workers and his bond with their boss, and now with McGee.
So this opening was a godsend, a way to change her perspective and to start fresh. To lose the resentment and garner some peace within herself by not having to interact with Tony on a daily basis. She could get away, but not too far away from the few friends she had made as the positions were right here in this building. A chance for her to start over with a new team, show her talent's to the Lead investigator or better yet apply for the Senior Field agent's position and eventually getting a team of her own.
There was that one strike against her though; something else she could lay at DiNozzo's door. The disciplinary action and warning against a repeat act of insubordination was not something she could casually dismiss so she would have to have all her cookies in a row or something like that before she went for her interview.
Perhaps she could redirect attention away from her and force it onto Tony's character flaws; his being arrested, several times, for murder, his office pranks and buffoonery. His lack of professionalism in the office and in the field was the reason she was always at odds with him causing her to express her frustration in acts of defiance of his authority. That would work. Then with her Mossad training and background and her years with Gibbs, well she had a boot in the door.
She filled out the application on line for the promotional position to senior field position and to the other two lateral transfer position's available. It required a job performance rating by her immediate supervisor. Gibbs would accommodate her she was sure, but she also needed a character reference and she hadn't gone out of her way to endear herself to many here in the past. Why should she, she was on the number one team already. So it would be Dr Sciuto or Dr Mallard she would ask, that would look good on her resume.
Ziva emailed the applications to HR before she could change her mind. This was a good move on her part and once she was transferred, she would be free to express her poor opinion of the way the top MCRT was run and Tony DiNozzo's incompetency and ineptitude for the position he now occupied.
This opportunity was a gift supreme, something she deserved and was worthy of. Feeling freshly rejuvenated, she wanted to share her good news and approached Timothy McGee who had just hung up his phone.
"You're not going to believe this, Ziva. Tony's nephew Gregor showed up at the hospital and guess what, the kid is not sick. Can you imagine? Mrs DiNozzo made it all up. Unbelievable!"
"Really? That's too bad. Tim, I wanted to let you know that..."
"What do you mean, that's too bad, Ziva? That's good, the kids not sick even though his grandmother put Tony through all kinds of hell."
"Tim!"
"Yeah, sorry Ziva, what did you want?"
"Well, I..."
Tim's desk phone rang and he answered immediately and wrote down the information with a grin of satisfaction.
"Tony was right again."
"Right about what, McGee?" Ziva questioned reluctantly, not in the mood to join the DiNozzo official fan club.
"He was getting antsy so I gave him some info on this cold case. He came up with a new outlook and that call just confirmed the previous agents were looking in the wrong place. How does he do that?"
"Dumb luck?" Ziva sarcastically answered his rhetorical question.
"No, no it's not luck, Ziva. Tim was enthusiastic and excited as he shared what he had figured out. "Gibbs got the gut going for him but Tony's got something that I call intuitive instinct, think outside the box-ism so to speak."
"And what do we have Tim?"
"Well, I've got the mad computer skills. And you, Mossad trained and awesome fighter are the brawn. But think about it, whenever we need a real clue, it always invariably comes from Tony. And Ziva, do me a favor and don't tell him I told you that. His hat barely fits his oversized head now."
That did it. Brawn, indeed! All brawn, no brains, is that not how the idiom went?
"Tim, I have decided to apply for a transfer to a position that has opened up and I feel that I am more than qualified for the job."
"Really, Ziva?"
"Yes. I just saw it on the inter office job openings email and I have already completed the application and sent it in. I am looking for a change of scenery and a relief from, well, Tony's silliness. I am not use to such mischief-making in the workplace and my work performance has suffered."
Tim had seen the job ads also. He realized she had not been told of Tony's promotion to Lead Investigator or his promotion as Tony's SFA. Always the gentleman, Tim felt it would not be an honorable thing for Ziva to find out from someone else what the rest of the team already knew. He would have to be the one to fill her in before this went any further and she got her hopes up for something that would not happen for her at this time. He would lay it on her cold turkey, not sugar coated, novocained or...sigh.
"Ziva, listen. Tony has been promoted to the Lead investigator for Johansen's team. That's the position the email was about and also an SFA position. He asked me to be his SFA and I accepted. The..."
Ziva turned furiously intense dark eyes on Tim. There was betrayal and dismay in her voice and accusation. "Why was I not told of this?"
"Ziva, Vance decided to hold off on the public announcement until Johansen was officially terminated. Then Tony got sick and the announcement was held off until he comes back to work."
"But you, yourself, have known about Tony's promotion all along and you did not say anything? Tony asked you to exclude me? How could you, Tim?"
"Tony asked me not to say anything to anyone, Ziva, until it was official, and I saw no harm in that."
Reeling herself in from her hurt feelings, Ziva went back to her desk and sat down, trying to think rationally. Emotions aside, she began to think that this situation could in fact work to her advantage. All was not lost. She thought craftily of the position that had just opened up Tim watched her closely.
"What of Gibbs' team, Tim? Will it be disbanded?"
"No, of course not, Ziva. If that's what you're worried about, don't worry. Gibbs is not retiring for some years yet."
Yes, and he will need a senior field agent to replace Tony. She would speak to Gibbs immediately once he returned to put in her bid for the position. Things were working out better than she could ever have imagined even an hour ago.
Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis. Ncisncis ncisncis
Tony was on couch rest, which surprisingly wasn't that hard to do. Resting seemed all he could do with any success as fatigue was his new middle name. Gregor DiNozzo was still his house companion who ate like a horse, spoke to his tenant's wife in flawless Spanish and had her eating out of his hands. Her teenage daughter had thrown Tony over for her newest heartthrob, beautiful green eyes and lovely voice who spoke Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, English, and French fluently and was so cute heartthrob, Gregor.
Margret had come and gone several times but would be away for a longer period this time around and he missed her, a lot. She reminded Tony of Sophia Loren in her excellent portrayal of Cesira in the Italian film Two Women. He and Greg had sprawled on the comfortable sofa and watched the film together without the English sub-titles.
When the sultry Sophia Loren made her appearance, Greg had given a long, low vulgar whistle, said some dirty words in Italian, and made an offensive hand gesture for which Tony had whacked him on the head with his obscene and grossly indecent tribute to women girly magazine.
And when Margret came in with snacks right behind that display of crass oafishness, she pulled both their ears and gave them a piece of her mind before they could resume watching the film.
The physical resemblance to Sophia wasn't remarkable though Margret was certainly earthy beautiful, tall and curvy, definitely sultry. But the tragic story of Cesira and her passionate dedication, loyalty and love for her young daughter, Rosetta, now that was what Margret had in common with Loren's character. Her passion, loyalty and love for him and anything that was his, including the hyperactive, novice-Tony, busybody pain in the neck Gregor, was what set her above any other woman he had ever known. And when he got better he was going searching for the perfect ring.
Now though he had decisions to make. Someone needed to get Greg sorted out, get him back to school, back to his piano lessons, whatever. Which was proving difficult as Greg wasn't too forthcoming with his answers, Steve was unavailable and Anton was a nonentity.
Angela had sent him to some school in Italy as a punishment Gregor thought, but he now realized it was to get him out of the limelight so she could continue in her nefarious plots and schemes about his illness without the evidence to prove her a liar. So when Tony tried once again to get some answers from the closed mouth teen, Greg told him what he thought he wanted to hear.
"I told you, Tony I'm on leave from it all. My guardian's death, you know? So, I've just been slumming at your man cave until I decide what I want to do and as a matter of fact, I'm heading out tomorrow, places to be, people to see, you know?"
And Greg had gone to bed without the excellent arroz con pollo his tenant had dropped by for little Greg. Tony had no choice. This kid wasn't going anywhere without some supervision. So he put in a call to Anthony DiNozzo, Sr against his better judgement and turned stomach and left a message with the secretary for the man to call him.
When the doorbell rang at breakfast the next morning, Tony had no warm and fuzzy good feeling that anything behind that door would be welcome. He sent Greg to see who was there since the boy just sat desultorily playing with his food. A quiet conversation was held in the outer room before Tony heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
Gregor came in and retook his seat and stared at his cold plate of food that was still on the table. Tony remained seated looking out the window, body language and cold stare indicative of alienation and estrangement.
"You couldn't have just called first?" Tony's words were caustic and challenging.
Anthony DiNozzo, Sr, stood in the kitchen doorway holding a briefcase and an overcoat over one arm. He silently contemplated his hostile welcome from the sulky youth and angry older man at the table and remembered his mother's stern warning; 'Anthony, remember this, what goes around, comes around double fold'. She had been right of course. Too bad he hadn't listened.
Ncisncisncis. Ncisncisncis. Ncisncisncisncis