Tony barely managed to bite back his frustration as his father strode back into the bullpen and swiftly commandeered his desk and his computer to conduct his apparently urgent business. Part of him was furious with the man and longed to rail and shout. He'd practically begged his father to stay away from the Ibn Alwaan's, but as usual his needs had been brushed aside in the face of what his father wanted. The other part of him was simply grateful that he had the means to keep his father occupied where he could keep an eye on him.
"What does a person have to do around here to get a drink or something?" DiNozzo Snr groused after a while.
"This is a Federal building, Dad," Tony pointed out, a little testily. "It doesn't serve McAllen eighteen."
"All that schmoozing he must do with the Navy Brass and your Director doesn't have a wet bar?" DiNozzo Snr gave his son a knowing glance. "But I was actually thinking of something to drink. I'm thirsty."
"Oh," Tony blushed slightly, glad that no-one was around to see his embarrassment. He didn't know what was worse. That he had assumed that his Dad would want alcohol in the middle of the day or that DiNozzo Snr had so easily seen through his pious posturing. "The break room has coffee and tea and stuff."
"Well?" His father looked impatient. "Lead the way, Junior."
Not especially enjoying the reflex that had him jumping to obey Tony obediently conducted his father to the small break room, situated off the bullpen. To his enormous relief the room was presently empty, which meant he didn't have to answer any more awkward questions. Working in a building of people who investigated things for a living could have its drawbacks and Tony knew that the physical resemblance between him and his father was far too striking not to evoke his co-workers curiosity.
"Cofffee?" He suggested, without waiting for an answer. Years of working as a cop and with Gibbs had made the beverage almost mandatory. His personal preferences of hot tea or hot chocolate were sometimes indulged by his team when he was sick or injured, but Tony could and had downed Gibbs' strength caffeine when the case required it. "Cream and four sugars, right?"
"Two sugars," DiNozzo Snr corrected, making a small face. "Not as young as I used to be, need to watch the waistline."
"Two sugars, it is."
Tony filled the coffee pot with water, and reached up into the cabinet, scowling as he realised that the catering sized drum of coffee, bought by some budget cutting type, was empty. Tossing it in the trash he quickly located an unopened drum in the cupboard. Automatically whipping out his knife to slice through the seal and prise it open it he was unprepared for his father's reaction.
"You carry a knife as well as a gun?" The tone was disapproving. "I thought this was our capital city not downtown Afghanistan."
"You were the one who paid for me to learn knife throwing at summer camp," Tony pointed out. "Although, I don't suppose you remember that, because when I finally got home you were too busy to watch what I'd learned."
"That again Junior?" His father sighed. "I thought we'd been over that."
"Besides, Tony continued as if his father had never spoken. "This isn't just a knife its a Zero Tolerance 0300 series. It has saved my life more than once."
"Looks expensive," His father peered over his shoulder, examining the inscription Tony DiNozzo 04.24.06 Hero Love LJG with narrowed eyes. "What on earth did you do to be considered a hero?"
For a second, Tony was back in the heat and danger of the jungle, Ziva and McGee standing guard as he held Gibbs injured body in his arms and tried to coax the man he loved like a father into taking small sips of water from his canteen, knowing that the responsibility of getting all four of them safely out of there rested firmly on his shoulders. Feeling once again the bite of the whip across his back as his captors tried in vain to find out what he knew. He still bore those light silvery scars on his back. There was no way he was going to share the details of that mission with his Dad.
"It's classified." He retorted tightly.
"LJG?" His father tried a different tack. "That supervisor of yours gave you this?"
"He's my Boss," Tony corrected. "And the best and most honourable man it had ever been my privilege to know."
"Is that so?" DiNozzo Snr coolly raised a brow. The fact that Tony had said 'know' instead of 'work with' escaping neither man. "And what exactly did he do to earn such devotion?"
"Well, let's see, Dad," Tony deliberately baited. "He trained me, taught me, watched my six when I was in danger, pulled my ass out of the fire when I was in trouble, slapped me silly when I screwed up, stood by me when I needed a friend, took care of me when I was sick, giave me a roof over my head when I needed one and always been there when I needed him."
"Sounds like you've got him on some kind of pedestal," His father mocked slightly.
"It's not like he's perfect," Tony defended himself. "Gibbs can be stubborn, pig-headed and a grade A bastard. When he goes off half cocked I want to shoot him myself. I've had to save his life more times than I can count. He's made mistakes, but he's always been there for me."
"What exactly are you insinuating, Junior?" His father bristled slightly.
"I'm not insinuating anything, Dad," Tony came as close to insolence as he ever had since he was a teenager and still hoped that this relationship could grow to become more like he wanted it to be. "I'm just saying Gibbs always has my six."
"I took good care of you," His father protested. "You always had clothes on your back, food on the table, nice places to live, good schools to go to. Everything you ever wanted."
"Like I already told you, what I had was boarding school, summer camps, a string of nannies and housekeepers," Tony protested. "What I wanted was for you to take care of me, look after me when I was sick, to play catch with me once in a while, to spend more than a week or so in my company without handing me off to some paid help or other. But you were always too busy or too drunk I never got everything I wanted from you!"
"Someone had to earn us a living," His father shot back. "Those schools of yours didn't come cheap and your mother's money only went so far. Why else do you think I cut you off when you were twelve? You needed to understand that nobody owes anybody a living."
"Really, because all I understood was that you were trying to put even more distance between us!" Tony retorted as he turned back to attack the coffee canister, putting all his force into popping the lid and slicing through the foil top, unwilling to let his father see the depth of emotion in his eyes, clenching his jaw tight enough to break a tooth, when the blade slithered across the foil top to slice clean through the skin on his forearm. "Damn!"
"Did you cut yourself?" To Tony's ears his father's tone sounded reproving rather than concerned.
"Its fine, Dad," Tony evaded, quickly tugging his shirt sleeve down firmly over the cut. He didn't want his father to see his pain and anguish. Not any of it. "I just need to put some of this into the .."
"Don't go to any trouble on my account," His father cut him off. "On second thoughts, I'll just have some juice from the vending machine. Better for me that all that caffeine."
"Dad," Tony protested, only to find that he was speaking to empty air. The man had already abandoned him. Left alone his arm burned but it was the unwelcome sting of tears he felt behind his eyes that occupied his full attention. He was not going to cry. Not here. Not now. Not over this. Not ever again. "Damn, damn, damn .."
"Something bothering you?" Gibbs' voice asked mildly from the doorway.
"Geez, Boss," Tony snapped, with genuine fury as he jumped, all of his anger towards his father being channelled into the nearest target as he struggled to force his feelings of loss and abandonment back down where they belonged. "Can't I just have one frigging minute?"
Gibbs chose not to respond to the emotional outburst. Instead he took in the slightly wild demeanour, the tightly clenched jaw and the unexpected glint of unshed tears in his Agent's eyes and knew that DiNozzo was close to losing it. Tony almost never cried. He felt a moment of hot fury towards DiNozzo Snr for still being able to do this to his son. He stepped forward to try and ground his partner, when his eyes tracked the dark rivulet of blood, trickling down his hand to drip onto the floor.
"You cut yourself?" Gibbs asked with a calmness he didn't feel.
"It's just a scratch." Tony dismissed it.
"Even scratches can get infected," Gibbs pointed out. "You want your arm to fall off?"
Tony blinked stupidly, not really feeling at the top of his game right now, and not quite sure if Gibbs was making a joke or not, feeling even closer to tears at the hint of caring than he had at his father's cool indifference. He stood trembling like a skittish colt as Gibbs gently captured his arm, pushed up his sleeve to inspect the shallow but longish cut across his forearm, before tugging him across to the sink, as Gibbs flushed the cut with cool water, Tony felt the tremors in his body begin to subside under the former Marine's careful ministrations.
"Not deep enough for stitches," Gibbs decided as he reached for the first aid kit on the top of the refrigerator, selected a coiled bandage, tearing the film off the protective film with his teeth, before applying it to the wound with more gentleness than the gruff words suggested. "Hold still."
Tony watched with something akin to fascination as Gibbs covered and then wrapped his cut with deft, careful hands. Suddenly he flashed onto the former Marine doing the exact same thing for Kelly when she grazed her knee or cut her finger in some childhood mishap. The image forced him to look away and swallow hard to get himself back under control. He couldn't remember a single time his father had personally tended to his injuries. Half the time the man hadn't even been there.
"You okay?" Gibbs' voice cut into his thoughts.
Blinking sharply, Tony realised his Boss had long since finished tending to him and was looking at him for some kind of response. Straightening his spine and stiffening his shoulders, he opened his mouth to make some kind of glib response before the look of honest concern on Gibbs' face reminded him who exactly he was talking to and allowed himself to sag slightly against the worktop.
"My head's all over the damned place," He admitted with raw honestly. "Maybe you should bench me."
"That what you really want?"
"You want to know what I want?" Tony demanded."After all these years, I want to know better than to want my Dad in my life. Its not like he's ever deserved for me to want that."
"He's still your father." Gibbs reminded him.
"You know, I can't believe that you, of all people are defending him," Tony burst out. "Its bad enough that McGee looks like all his Christmases have come at once and Ziva is doing all that smiling and winking and don't even get me started on her hair. But I saw the way you smiled at him, and then you shook his hand. I worked for you for four years before you finally, finally shook my hand and you walk right into interrogation and treat him like he's a long lost friend."
"What did you want me to do?" Gibbs challenged. "Sock him in the jaw?"
"No, of course not," Tony answered reflexively, before he took a moment to take stock of the throbbing of his arm, the stinging behind his eyes and the hollowness in his soul, before he could force out, the cold, ugly truth and his turned to face Gibbs with a cold, hard, look. "Actually, yeah that's exactly what I wanted."