Disclaimer: no legal rights to NCIS, no money being made.
Beta: Mike91848. So all mistakes are mine.
DETERMINED TO HOLD
Chapter Three, Flippant intent
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The team had been involved in a joint protection duty with the FBI to stand guard for a formal dinner party the Secretary of the Navy and his wife were hosting. Also on the guest list were the Director of the FBI and his wife.
Tony and Tim, wearing tuxedos spit and polish shine, walked around and through the party as it sizzled with excitement and drama. Ziva and Gibbs, on the other hand, were less punctiliously formal, wearing cargo pants, jeans and shirts as they sat closeted in a surveillance vehicle.
Ziva kept her dissatisfaction to herself for as usual she was regulated to the, what was the new word she had conquered, 'stratosphere', monitoring and reporting but not directly involved in the live action.
She listened in as NCIS' Griffin's team patrolled the outside perimeter as they relayed it was still free of obvious unfriendlies. Other agents keeping watch unobtrusively, reported in also.
"It's quiet," relayed McGee low-keyed into his comm.
"Same here," Tony responded as they kept eyes and ears open for any sort of trouble. "But these hors d'oeuvres, man, I'm hungry."
"Tony, you are on protection duty, which means stop thinking about your baser needs and concentrate on your duty." Ziva took him to task, impatient and admittedly torn with envy. Would he always get away with deeds of foolishness or ever become a mature adult? Would Gibbs never see him for what he was?
"I'm grateful for the reminder, Ziva," mocked Tony. And by the derision in his voice, Ziva belatedly realized she had scolded him inappropriately over the live wire for everyone to hear.
After that, Ziva only heard silence from Tony's end. Feelings hurt again, she assumed, perhaps she should apologize, make a joke out of it. When she opened her mouth to speak, Gibbs reached over and pulled her earplug from her ear.
"You're not his mother, his wife or even his girlfriend, Ziva, so quit acting like you are, or are you just trying to distract him?"
Distraction would not take much with a brain the size of a fruit fly, thought Ziva spitefully.
"No, Gibbs. I am just trying to lighten the mood. We have been at this for hours."
"You too tired to continue your shift, Ziva?" He asked her but she knew the answer he expected to hear.
"Of course not!"
"Good, then get back to work! What DiNozzo does is what he does."
Ziva hated it, reprimanded again and warned off by Gibbs, as though she was a grade school delinquent bully picking on teacher's pet. Gibbs thrust the earplug back at her, which she expertly caught. She wisely kept her face averted from his gaze in order not to show the emotion she was trying to hide; muted anger at herself for being caught out again and Gibbs' continued favoritism, Tony over her.
Meantime, the SECNAV had made his appearance and other military 'dignitaries' at the Ball as well. The place was genteelly packed, the mood expectably festive and lively. Tony looked through the ostentatiousness and affected crowd for something that appeared out of place or something understated as he stood at his assigned post.
His back was to the south wall, hands crossed in front of him, eyes roaming, alert. The grand staircase swirled with color as designer gowns clothed in women came and went. Soft music played by a live band filtered through tinkling glassware and competed with the muted but shrill droning noise of the crowd like a throng of cicadas calling their mates.
Tony had memorized a list of the guests attending tonight so he couldn't say he was surprised when the beautiful Margaret Ringold floated down the stairs in equally beautiful and sparkling silver and gold. After all, her family was part of the rich and famous as was her husband Shane Ringold of the old, new-money Ringold. Tony didn't miss the firm hold Shane had on his wife's hand or the body language that screamed this woman is mine, body and soul, as they descended the stairs, and as they passed, Tony caught her eye but she looked away quickly without a nod of recognition.
The FBI Director escorted his wife on one arm and his niece with the triplets, whose husband was deployed on an aircraft carrier, on the other. Niece winked and dimpled at him when they passed by and Tony foresaw with trepidation more baby-sitting duty in his future.
Of course, the stately Lady Mathilda, rich, eccentric elderly widow gowned in feathers and a hat, would be the one to take his breath away as her surprise guest-escort, none other than the flamboyant Anthony DiNozzo, Sr, gallantly held her arm down the many carpeted steps.
The Lady gave a polite nod and smile to everyone she met as they snail paced past in slow motion. Tony could only spare a glimpse but out of the corner of his eye he caught the sneer Senior aimed at him even as he smiled winningly at the Lady. The optical illusion that was his father of the perfect gentleman was cracked and jaded and he thought that Lady Mathilda must have senile film covering her eyes not to see the rottenness underneath that was exposed to anyone discerning enough to see. Perhaps she didn't care.
His father's appearance hyped Tony's already defensive edginess and as the evening wore on, he wore himself out trying not to be distracted by Senior's presence and why he was there? Two hours later Tony moved from the spot and took up circulating the room in an orchestrated change of the guard with the other agents. At one point he found himself not far away from Fornell's boss, the Director of the FBI, who stood chatting with a group of men.
"A word with you later, Agent DiNozzo?" the Director requested as Tony passed by.
Tony paused respectfully, "Of course, sir," and then continued on with his duty.
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The night was finally over. The threat had been low for terrorists attacks and the evening's festivities had ended without mishap; that is, unless you discounted some of the guests free flowing boozy stumbles and falls, the wandering, age-spotted lustful hands on soft young flesh and the spiteful, non-retractable, inebriated words spilled freely, as without mishap.
Tim and Tony met up at the far end of the ballroom as the last of the straggling night owls who didn't know when to go home, left.
"Catch you on Monday, Tim."
"What do you mean, catch me on Monday, you rode with me, remember?"
"I'll take a cab home, got to see somebody."
"I don't believe you, DiNozzo. How'd you do it?" McGee complained.
"What are you going on about now, McWhiner?"
"You got a phone number or a hot date out of this, didn't you?" Tim accused. All he got was tired pinched feet and a headache.
"Ah, ah, that's for me to know and you to envy," Tony joked.
"Up yours, Tony!" An aggravated Tim was a rare and humorous sight.
Even so, Tim persisted, "I'm a sucker, I know, but do you want me to wait?"
McGee had gotten the surprise of his life when DiNozzo, Senior had greeted him like they were at a long lost war buddies reunion. Tony seemed unaffected but Tim wasn't sure, maybe he wanted to talk about it or his old man, or something.
Tony noted McGee's inquiring look and unspoken question but he also noted the man's wan, exhausted face; they were all tired. And he didn't need to talk about it anyway.
"Nah, don't know how long I'll be. Go home, get some rest."
"Get some rest? Yeah, sure," Tim complained as he started walking away.
"You sound like Gibbs and his, 'go home, get some rest'. Yeah, until the brutal wake up call two hours later with a, 'grab your gear,' greeting growled in your ear and a dead dial tone."
Tony smirked, so true, and watched him go until the sound of his footsteps faded and he was left standing alone frowning. His father was back. Tony was used to carrying his own load so having someone to talk to about personal things felt unfamiliar and disturbing and wasn't an option he was willing to use. He and McGee were friends but drinking a beer together wasn't cause for a best friend for life pin and he wasn't going to spill his guts about his father unless his father was back to no-good involving him or NCIS or he was on his death bed.
Tony shook off the pins-and-needles mood his father's presence within a hundred miles of him always brought on as he started walking towards an anteroom for his meeting with the head of the FBI. His personal concerns would have to wait but he couldn't drop the uneasy feeling that his father's appearance now was not a coincidence; the four million dollars found at the DiNozzo mansion from his last case with the soulless ex-Senator had become available as NCIS and the FBI could not prove the money had been a drug payoff, stolen, laundered, gang related or from organized crime.
The tainted money was found on the DiNozzo mansion property and founders' rights were in effect. The money was his. His and his father's and somehow, Anthony DiNozzo, Sr must have found out about it. Had he returned to get his share of it or all of it if he could and who had told him about it? That had to be the only reason he was back in DC and somehow he had managed to purloin the affection of a clueless old lady to slip his way back into high society.
Tony didn't care about the money but who had leaked that info to his father since he had just found out about it last week, that's what he cared about. He'd hand over his father's share in a paper sack and be done with it once and for all. But working with someone he couldn't trust, not something to be done with; not something he might be able to live with either. Literally live with as in stay alive covering his own back.
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Tony met up with the Director as prearranged. The head of the agency was alone in the obsolete smoking room, smoking a cigar while sitting in a comfortable chair under the quaint no-smoking sign. His glass of straight Bourbon was on the coffee table in front of him along with a plate of sandwiches. Tony took a seat on the sofa, stretched out his long legs and eased his tie. He grabbed a half sandwich off the plate and started to eat.
"Agent DiNozzo," the Director greeted, his expression leaving little doubt to his mood.
"Just so you know, Fornell has my permission to continue to hound you to come over to the better side. What's taking you so long?"
"Yes, sir," replied Tony, swallowing his bite of bread and meat.
"I do realize that and I hassle with the dilemma on occasion, maybe once in a blue moon, but so far, my conscience remains clear on my decision to stick with NCIS. Sorry, Sir."
"Hmmm, fine!" Said the Director taking several puffs and Tony tried hard not to cough when the acrid smoke came billowing out of the Director's mouth and into his face. The Director's face remained stoic but Tony caught the little twinkle in his eye and knew the man had done it on purpose as payback for his being loyal to NCIS.
"Miriam know what you're doing in here, Hank?"
"No, DiNozzo!" The Director glared, "And you'd better not tell her, either."
The Director's glare eased up and was replaced by a look of contentment as he puffed some more on his cigar enjoying his few minutes of peace away from his wife's nagging and threats if he didn't stop sneaking around catering to his addiction.
"A man's hobby is his own business and the right to smoke has been held sacrosanct from the ages of time."
Tony just grinned knowingly at the man. "If you say so, sir. In the meantime, Mom and Pop are on board and your Italian feast is in the planning stages now, so much so, I can already smell the garlic in the pasta sauce."
"Good, good and remind them enough food for two hundred strong. Miriam wanted a trip overseas for our anniversary but I couldn't get away so this surprise dinner is the next best thing until I can take some time in the spring."
"Don't worry, Hank. Mom and Pop are the best at Italian cuisine, authentic old Country cooking and using only the best ingredients imported from Italy. Miriam won't be disappointed, I guarantee it."
"Good to hear, Tony, and of course you are invited and bring a date."
"Thanks, Director, but I think someone's coming." Tony hauled himself up from the sofa, straightened his tie and adjusted his suit. When the Director belatedly heard the footsteps approaching he hurriedly stumped out his cigar in the China plate with his half eaten sandwich, dumped the evidence on the floor beside his chair then waved his arms around to dispel the smoke just before female voices invaded his sanctuary.
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"That's it? You're planning the FBI Director's anniversary party? That's the big conspiracy?" Fornell was almost spitting in disgust.
"I'm not planning his party, I'm just having his party catered by the best Italian food chefs in the DC area."
"Since when have you become buddy-buddy with 'Hank', DiNozzo?" The question came out of the blue yonder from a previously silent Gibbs.
"Not relevant!" Vance barked. "That can wait for another hour of wasted time. Right now, my concern is there'd better be more to this story than what you told us so far, DiNozzo. I don't like the idea that I've been chairing a meeting over the choice of food items for a dinner party." Vance's voice threatened grave retribution if that was, in fact, the case.
"No, there's more. I just wanted to make sure you understood that I am not working undercover for the FBI. That there's no connection between that and what happened next."
"So, what happened next was...?
The Director's wife, Miriam, came into the room first, sniffing the air in a moue and her piercing eyes zoomed in on her husband. She kissed Tony on the cheek and patted him on the back before beckoning to her husband who followed her out meekly after saying his goodnights.
The Director's niece, Kathy Vigil, followed her in and she was doing most of the chattering to the subdued woman beside her. Tony looked surprised for a second and again wondered what bizarre position the stars had carefully aligned themselves into this night as Margaret 'Peggy' Ringold walked in sedately with Kathy on one side and her husband Shane on the other, as they entered the room.
It seemed the lovely, gregarious Niece Kathy and Peggy Ringold were friends, not just friends, but best friends.
"Tony," said the niece happily. "Margaret has hold me that you two have known each other for ages and that you've met her husband, Shane. How wonderful, that makes us all old friends then, almost family."
Never mind the kooky alignment of stars,Tony now felt he was in Abbyland madness again. Old friends? Family? Hardly. That was not how he would describe the daggers Shane Ringold was aiming at him before he covered his feelings in phony hospitality and sly, smoothly spoken words. He started in as soon as the Director and his wife left and the remaining ladies headed for the powder room, which left Tony and Shane alone.
"I understand you're working tonight, Tony, but in spite of that, I will say welcome just the same. I must commend you on your choice of vocation. Really, if you must work, there's no shame in having aspirations to be in... law enforcement, is it?"
"Yep. I was even a policeman at one point." Tony bragged, he could play along and be charmingly dumb and obnoxious, too.
"A cop?" Ringold's lip curled. "A beat cop, how quaint. Every little boy's dream come true along with firemen and superheroes. Not everyone is suited to those types of positions, Tony, some would even say it is a demeaning fall to well below your class considering your background."
Ringold must have been thinking odd thoughts that now would be a good time to denigrate Tony's...whole life, really, and in such an admirably aloof and coolly calculated way to insult. Tony wasn't impressed and really wasn't in the mood, it'd been a long day. He'd put up with the idiot's rudeness while Peggy was present and until and when he found out what was wrong with her. Until then, whatever Ringold's problem was with him, he couldn't care less and while they were alone he'd take none of his BS.
Tony stepped up and personal in Ringold's face.
"Listen, Goldilocks! Back off or I will kick your sorry ass, again, if one go round wasn't painful enough for you!"
Tony spoke with such chilly contempt that Ringold wanted to take a swing at that arrogant chin so badly he could taste it but he took a step back from the annoying navy cop's challenge. Ringold would get his revenge in his usual way, one man against three or four or more of his hired men.
Even while he was making his plans for future revenge, Ringold couldn't get the picture of their younger selves out of his mind; of losing at some game or another again by mere points to DiNozzo and his team, and then suffering the humiliation of trying to sneak up behind him with a bat to hammer him into the ground only to get the worst beating of his life for his efforts instead. In spite of his best efforts, the hatred became too much to contain and Ringold burst out furiously, "Why you...!"
Female voices interrupted their standoff and Tony turned away with a genuine smile for the benefit of the ladies who had just returned from the powder room. Ringold wiped the hateful expression along with the sweat off his face before turning to greet his wife and the other ladies who excused themselves politely and said their goodbyes. Tony got the subliminal impression that Peggy wished she could go with them. Instead, she stepped up to her husband's side and smiled a smile that hardly left her lips and didn't reach her eyes.
No doubt Ringold saw what he wanted to see and smiled back not noticing the brief grimace of distaste when he pulled her to his side.
"Margaret, dear, I was just telling Tony here that we are having our own little after the ball soirée and will be flying to Monte Carlo as soon as we leave from here. It's understandable that he cannot attend, duty calls. Perhaps next time if your work allows?"
He threw an inquiring look Tony's way phony and false and Tony wondered, why bother? It was just the three of them, no one here to impress. But Shane Ringold continued his absurd pretense of saccharine, husbandly concern, and an almost flawless public facade of friends happily reunited.
"Would you like that, Margaret?"
Margaret appeared ready to say something when her husband preempted any response by holding out his arm to her. She gracefully stepped forward to say goodbye to Tony and than clumsily dropped her clutch at his feet. Her husband, who watched her every move, tsk'ed under his breath and bent down to retrieve the purse and it's contents scattered about. As quickly as an eye blinked, Margaret thrust a piece of paper over her husband's head into Tony's hand and the clandestine moment came and went unobserved by Ringold.
Tony could only watch as the facade slipped and the idiot chastised his wife as though she were a delinquent child. "I see someone will be taking more etiquette classes in their future. At least you had the decency to maintain a hold on your purse and not cause yourself greater embarrassment by being a clumsy boor in front of the other guests, don't you agree, Margaret?"
And why did those simple sentences sound more menacing than a blow to the face?
Tony wanted to give Shane Ringold a blow to the face with his boot than see how much of a clumsy boor he'd be with no teeth in his mouth but he held back. Now was not the time.
"I'm sorry, Shane." Peggy apologized quietly as they left the room.
Since the others had already said their goodbyes and no one seemed to be around, Tony read the note quickly. I will contact you. Was the gist of the message, nothing more.
"That's basically all there was to it. I haven't seen or heard from Peggy Ringold since that last encounter."
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