A/N: There are positive aspects to being at home sick with a cold...the muse was very willing to cooperate, and so here you go with another chappie! Side note: I'm revising the rating on this story to M because of what's to come in future chapters (how's THAT for a teaser? *smile*) I actually had 'Chet Baker in Paris' playing as I wrote this - lovely CD, you must get it if you like Chet, trumpet, jazz, or any combination thereof.
Season 8 premiere is tonight...fresh material! *does happy dance*
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to & including Season 7, especially Flesh and Blood
Disclaimer: Canon characters - not mine. All others - hands off!
Monday, June 7, 2010 12:13 p.m.
Tony sat up in bed, glumly shuffling a limp celery stick around on his plate with a fork. Why was it so impossible to make hospital food at least palatable? His tea was lukewarm, the pudding had lumps in it, and he felt certain the bread in the sandwich had been left out to dry for days beforehand.
"You are a fussy eater, yes?"
His head shot up at the familiar voice. "Ziva!" he beamed. "So, McHero wasn't lying – you really are ok."
She smiled and nodded, proffering up a casserole dish in an insulated bag. "I assumed you would not touch their food, so I brought you this." She lifted the lid, and a tantalizing aroma of garlic and red peppers wafted to his nostrils.
"Boy oh boy... between this and Louisa's cookies, I'm not exactly following the prescribed diet," he remarked. "Smells wonderful. What is it?"
"Spaghetti and meat balls. I used your Nonna's recipe, the one you gave me last fall."
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Reaching for his fork, he dived in with gusto. Ziva plopped down in the chair next to the bed and simply watched him for several minutes, as he devoured the meal like a man deprived of food for weeks. They sat in comfortable silence, the only sound being Tony's murmurs of approval between bites. Finally...
"I understand all is well once more between you and Louisa."
He glanced up at her and nodded. "It all blew over. Still have no idea what it was all about."
"I believe I do. But it no longer matters." He cocked his head and gave her a quizzical look. "I have changed my mind about her," she continued. "I think she would be good for you."
He put down his fork and gave her a scowl. "Oh. Thank you so much," he drawled sarcastically. "What changed? Yesterday you were telling me she was completely wrong for me, and that it would never work."
She stared down at her lap for a few moments. "Yes. I regret some of the things I said. I was a bit... "
"Bitchy?" he inserted helpfully.
"Harsh," she corrected, shooting him a fiery glare. She stared into his beautiful green eyes. "She loves you."
Tony blinked. "What did you say?"
"She loves you," Ziva repeated deliberately. "She and I had quite a lengthy conversation yesterday afternoon. I believe I now understand what you see in her. I thought you should know."
Tony sat in stunned silence, studying Ziva's face for any hint that she might be pulling a prank on him. But he saw nothing but complete sincerity in her features.
"You spoke with her yesterday?" he finally stammered. "Why?"
"You said she would not talk to you, so I decided to take the ram by the horns and find out why," she responded simply.
"Bull, Ziva. Take the bull by the horns... what exactly did she say?"
"It doesn't matter. But I know this much – she will never take you for granted." Ziva took his hand in both of hers. "You are a good man, Tony. You saved my life yesterday. And this is not the first time. You like to play the part of the self-absorbed frat boy, but in reality, you are nothing of the sort... when it really matters, you think of everyone but yourself. Firing that last shot caused additional damage to your shoulder. It could have killed you." She cupped his cheek with her hand. "I am grateful, beyond words. But now it is time for you to think of yourself... don't be afraid of what makes you happy."
This last comment made him uncomfortable. He shifted in the bed with his good arm. "You sound like my therapist."
"Well, maybe if enough of us say it, one of us will get through to you."
She took the casserole dish from his lap, gave his hand one more quick squeeze, and kissed him on the forehead.
"Goodbye, Tony. Get well soon."
He watched her willowy silhouette disappear through the doorway, and wondered anew if he would ever be able to understand women.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010 9:37 a.m.
After being held one day for observation, Tony was discharged on Tuesday morning, with a prescription for Naproxen, a referral to a physiotherapist, and strict instructions not to engage in any strenuous activity for at least 3 weeks. Yes, Mr. DiNozzo, sex is considered strenuous activity.
Betraying her eagerness, Louisa arrived several minutes early to pick him up. "Hey, you!" she greeted him warmly as she stuck her head in the door of his room.
He grinned back at her. A male nurse was helping him pull up his trousers. Louisa turned beet-red. "You caught me with my pants down!" he quipped. "You have no idea how hard it is to pull up your pants with one hand until something like this happens. And I'm right-handed, too."
"I'll come back when you're decent."
She ducked out, as Tony called after her in protest. "It's ok, Lou, I'm not shy..." Why was she so uncomfortable? It wasn't as though any of the naughty bits had been showing – he already had his boxers on. In fact, he secretly wished she were the one helping him... did he dare tell her that?
Over the past day or so, lying in bed with little else to do but think, Tony had been mulling over his relationship with Louisa, and where it might be headed. Yesterday's conversation with Ziva had given him much to ponder.
He didn't know how to define what he was feeling for Louisa. It was so much more than infatuation. Certainly there was a sexual attraction there – her ample curves made him melt like cheese whiz on warm toast. But it was a host of other things that really had him bowled over. Her vulnerability, ironically combined with a tenacious and feisty side. Her bubbly cheerfulness, offset by that fabulous Italian temper that made him think of Shirley Temple stamping her feet in a tantrum. Her charming domesticity, balanced by a brilliant mathematical mind channelled into a successful Naval career. Her care and concern for him...
He zeroed in on this last point. How comforting it had been, waking up after that horrible ordeal, to find her gazing down at him, smiling, running her fingers through his hair, softly whispering sweet reassurances to him through the fog of painkillers! And yet, she seemed to know instinctively just how much, or how little, coddling he needed. Sunday night, she'd treated him as if nothing was wrong, forcing him to do for himself as much as possible. Brilliant. The last thing he wanted was to feel sorry for himself. She hadn't fawned over him, hadn't put on the kid gloves. She'd treated him like a man.
He loved her.
It was not a 'lightning flash' moment of insight, but rather a soft realization that washed over him like a gentle wave. And it felt good. It wasn't frightening.
Despite the fact that they'd only officially been on one date (he didn't count Sunday night, with Pete hovering around the whole time), and had only known each other for nine days now, that feeling did not seem premature to him. It felt as if she'd always been there, in the background, just waiting to ease her way into his life.
And of course, she had. With hindsight, he could now recall certain occasions... Cameron's baptism. Pete's surprise 35th birthday party. The Marine Corps Birthday Ball, three years ago, when she'd worn that spectacular periwinkle blue dress with the strap over one shoulder. Oh yes, she'd caught his attention that night. But then he'd overheard Admiral Penachetti introducing her to someone as his daughter, and his interest had faded, for some reason. Perhaps because it made her seem unattainable? The thought now seemed ridiculous, but back then...
They had rubbed shoulders time and again over the course of five years, without ever actually being introduced. Had she ever noticed him, he wondered?
Now fully clothed, he wandered out of his room, and glanced up and down the hallway. There she was – speaking with the discharge nurse at the desk, taking note of the instructions. Watching out for him. Taking care of him. He wasn't used to it. But he liked it, he decided. Lots of fluids. Plenty of rest. No lifting over 5 pounds. No driving. No sex. She blushed. Tony laughed.
"I'm all set," he announced nonchalantly, sidling up to her and cocking his head to catch a glimpse of the papers laid out on the counter. "These my marching orders?"
"Yup. I got 'em." She quickly gathered the paperwork and shoved it into her purse. Gazing up at him, she smiled sweetly. "Nice to see you back on your feet, soldier."
"Reporting for duty, ma'am." He saluted with his left hand.
She giggled. "Gibbs says you're to obey every order I give you. Abby sends her love. And Tim said to tell you that you owe him big time for making that video game disappear from your computer. Apparently the network security people came on the warpath yesterday." Her expression turned serious. "It's really not fair, you know. I get written up for transmitting a harmless little family video, and somehow you get away with playing Mob Boss III during work hours. Where's the justice?"
"I lead a charmed life, it's true," he nodded. "Never more true than the day I met you." She smiled up at him delightedly. He hooked her chin with his index finger, and leaned in to kiss her. She opened her mouth ever so slightly to receive the gift. Her lips were soft and warm, and her tongue just barely grazed his teeth, with a promise of deeper, more languid kisses to come, when they had more privacy.
"Don't you wanna get out of here?" she asked finally, as their embrace came to its natural conclusion.
He nodded, and took her tiny hand in his. "Let's go home." She raised her eyebrows at him, and he suddenly realized what he'd said. Oh, how he wished they were going home... to their home. She had wormed her way into his life in the most insidious way.
He'd gotten close to setting up house with Jeanne, but getting to that point had taken time, and even then, he'd not been completely comfortable with the idea. But everything was so easy and natural with Louisa, and in no time at all, he was finding himself thinking about the future. His future. Their future.
Woah, Anthony. Slow down. Take a deep breath. Get your head together. Nine days. How the hell can you know she's the ONE after nine days? Maybe it's the drugs?
He decided the best thing would be to just let it go. She didn't question him on it, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the awkward moment passed.
10:45 a.m.
They stopped at the grocery store on the way to Tony's apartment, and he watched in fascination as Louisa navigated the aisles, effortlessly filling the cart with all that was needed for what he knew were certain to be some amazing meals. Grocery shopping was an infrequent task for him, and when he did it, it usually took all of ten minutes. He hardly ever ventured into the produce section, and it was intriguing to observe Louisa squeezing and sniffing the various fruits and vegetables, selecting only those that were just right for her purposes. He followed along behind her like a loyal pup. This was a completely new experience for him.
Tony had never gone food shopping with his mother. His mother had never even been inside a grocery store, as far as he knew. She'd had 'people' for that. The food just magically appeared in the service kitchen downstairs, and somehow got transformed into the fancy meals that were presented to them in the formal dining room. Oh, how he'd hated those meals. Having to sit there in his little sailor suit, while the grown-ups held inane, boring conversations around him; staring dejectedly at various strange, unknown foods on his plate, and not being allowed to leave until he'd consumed them all. Why couldn't he just have meat loaf or pork chops, like normal kids?
Louisa assumed (correctly) that he'd have virtually nothing in his pantry. As a result, the cart was filled, and included such staples as a bag of sugar (he always just lifted a few packets from the lunchroom whenever he needed some), butter, pastry flour, pasta, rice, salt (Tony saved up the little ones that came with his McDonalds fries), vanilla extract, various spices, and baking powder.
A brief inquisition revealed that Tony was also missing several of the required cooking implements, so a whisk, a slotted spoon, a stainless steel bowl, and a spaghetti fork were added to the pile.
The cashier asked if they were setting up house together. It was an impertinent question, and it made Tony's face flush – almost imperceptibly, but he felt it nonetheless. Louisa didn't bat an eye. Tony made note of this. Instead, she handled the situation with grace and aplomb.
"No, he's been away for awhile, so he needs to re-stock. I'm just giving him a hand."
She would not let him help load the bags into the back of her SUV – no lifting over 5 pounds, remember? – but she sensed his need to feel useful, so she charged him with corralling the cart, once the last bag was safely stowed.
Finding room for everything in the cupboards was a challenge. Louisa pulled things out, rearranged, organized, and restocked Tony's entire kitchen.
"You're just gonna have to stay here permanently and take care of me now, 'cos I'll never be able to find anything," he quipped.
"Speaking of not being able to find things... where's your toaster?" Louisa was rummaging around in the lower cupboards, to no avail.
"Don't have one."
"What? How do you make toast?"
"Broiler."
"You make your toast in the oven." She stood up and stared at him, hands on her hips.
"Yeah...what's so weird about that?"
She rolled her eyes.
"No, seriously... people put it in a toaster oven, so why not in a regular one?"
"It's a terrible waste of electricity, Tony."
He blinked at her. She sighed. This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought. She had always figured that Pete was the most undomesticated man she'd ever known, but compared to Tony, he was a virtual Jamie Oliver.
She explored his refrigerator, discarding several items that would have made even Abby cringe if she'd found them in her lab, and triumphantly pulled out a package of processed cheese slices in one hand and a jar of pickles in the other.
"It ain't the Ritz, but it'll do for lunch." She whipped up the best grilled cheese sandwiches Tony had ever tasted, complete with fresh tomatoes on the side and a tall, cool glass of milk for each of them. He could get used to this. He really could.
Lunch over, she began to explore more of the apartment. Tony didn't get in her way; he merely sat on the sofa and watched her make her rounds, observed which objects attracted her interest, and let the conversation flow. She admired his jazz CD collection – they compared notes and discovered they had many favourite artists in common. Tony dug out 'Chet Baker in Paris' and Louisa nodded appreciatively as the legendary trumpeter's mournful rendition of Alone Together filled the room. She ran her hand along the bookcase, and her eyes rested on a photograph perched in a corner on one of the shelves.
Tony, aged seven or eight, with his parents. Posed. Stilted. Uncomfortable. Adorable.
"You look like your father."
"Yeah, so I'm told. Lucky me."
"Hey! I'll have you know, I meant that as a compliment."
"I know."
She came over to the sofa and flopped down next to him. Her eyes met his, beckoning for further information. He felt compelled to give it to her.
"The man's a con artist, Lou. A fraud. Those good looks got him into and out of trouble so many times... I found out a few months ago... we probably never really had as much money as I thought we did. Or if we did, he blew it all. Not that it matters, because –"
"- because you're not in the will. Yeah, I got that part." She was annoyed with him. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pursed. "Honour thy Father and Mother, Tony. The Fourth Commandment. You shouldn't speak that way about your Dad, no matter what he did, or didn't, do."
A look of consternation came over Tony. No one had ever challenged him on his attitude towards Senior before. And she was actually quoting scripture at him!
"Excuse me. You're not the one that had to live with a new step-mother every couple of years growing up. I think I'm entitled to be a little bitter."
She processed this new information for a moment. "Tony... did it ever occur to you that maybe your Dad was lonely? That maybe he was trying to fill the void that was left when your Mom died, and he just didn't know how?" Tony's jaw dropped. No, it hadn't occurred to him. She continued, "Most people do the best they can with whatever circumstances they're in. Some of us are better equipped to deal with traumatic experiences than others." If you only knew...
"You're like a modern-day Melanie Hamilton." She stared at him blankly. He clarified, "Too good to be true."
She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. But family's important, Tony. Family's precious. You have to treasure it."
"Family's never meant anything but embarrassment and aggravation to me. It's just easier without it." His voice caught as he uttered the words. He didn't want it to be so. He wanted to be close with his father. God knows he'd tried. If only he could have had a different family, one like hers... how could she possibly understand? She came from that 'Leave It To Beaver' world, where Dad was the head of the household, and Mom took care of everyone.
"If that's the way you really feel, why do you have that picture on your bookshelf? Why not just stick it in a box somewhere?" she challenged. Oh boy. She was determined to draw this out of him, come hell or high water. But he wasn't going to go there. Not today.
A boyish smile crept over his features. "I keep it there for the ladies. So they can see how cute I was as a kid. See? It works."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't do your 'Don Juan' thing on me. You and I both know that's not who you really are."
His smile disappeared. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Can we talk about something else, please?"
"Ok... you never finished telling me about your mother."
"Sure I did."
"Tony." She uttered his name so softly, it was barely audible. She was stroking his hand, her head cocked to one side, and he was mesmerized by her gaze. It was impossible not to respond. Jesus. She's like some goddamn truth serum.
He averted his gaze. It wasn't something he'd shared with anyone before – not even his therapist. It wasn't even something he wanted to face himself – but she wasn't going to let this go. And he supposed it had to come out sometime.
"It was my fault," he whispered.
Louisa's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"
"She wouldn't have fallen if it wasn't for me. I left my slinky on the stairs. She was going down to the parlour for her nightcap. She didn't see it. She tripped..."
He winced, then dropped his head. She slid closer to him on the sofa, drawing him down onto her shoulder with her left hand and wrapping her right arm around him. They remained so for some minutes, as Tony wept silently, his arms drawing tighter around Louisa, clinging to her like a drowning man clings to a life preserver.
He had never cried over his mother before. It was about time.
"It was an accident, Tony." He lifted his head at her sweet voice, struggling to regain composure, and locked his tear-filled eyes with hers. "You mustn't blame yourself."
"Why not? My father did."
A new revelation. Another layer of complexity in the Junior/Senior dynamic.
"Surely not!" Louisa was horrified at the very thought. "What, exactly, did he say to you?"
"He didn't have to say anything. I could tell by the look in his eyes. I'll never forget it. She was lying there, all twisted, at the bottom of the stairs. He was sitting on the floor next to her. He looked up at me. All I saw was rage in his eyes. Pure rage."
"Grief, Tony. What you saw was grief. It's sometimes easy to confuse the two."
He shook his head. "We were never close. But that day, it was like a wall came down between us. I was nothing but a nuisance to him. He even left me alone in a hotel room in Maui for two days when I was twelve. He resented having to take care of me. That's why he sent me away to boarding schools and summer camps. I think he was afraid of what he might do to me in one of his drunken rages."
Louisa was thoroughly distressed by Tony's painful analysis. And she had an alternative theory.
"Have you ever actually asked your Dad about that day?"
He closed his eyes and shook his head vigorously. "We don't talk, remember?"
"Well, you need to. I refuse to believe your father blamed you. It's far more likely that he just didn't know how to cope with it all."
Tony cupped her face with his good hand and concentrated on her features. "Sweet, innocent Louisa. You've led such a sheltered life. You haven't seen the half of what I've seen. When you're a beat cop... when you work homicide... you get to see the real truth about people. People aren't always nice, Lou. They're not always 'doing the best they can', as you put it.
"My Dad and I will never have what you'd call a 'normal' relationship. It just won't happen. We're civil to each other. He remembers my birthday (usually). I call him at Christmas. But it'll never be anything more than that. That's just the way it is."
Chet was crooning Everything Happens to Me. If this were a movie, it would have been the perfect background music for the scene, Louisa mused. She grasped Tony's hand, and pulled it down into her lap. He was done talking. She could tell. It would be wise not to push any further.
"Well... we'll talk about it some more later." She leaned in to kiss him, and, taking care not to stress his bad shoulder, pushed him back into the pillows on the couch. Long, delicious kisses... Louisa's fingers in his hair... her hands exploring his torso... gradually moving down... Tony responding in kind, stroking her back... her cute butt... down to the inside of her thigh...
She sat bolt upright. She was shaking, hyperventilating, her face flushed, her eyes wide. Tony gawped at her with alarm. It was only gentle petting, nothing more. Why was she reacting this way?
"What's wrong, Lou?"
"I'm sorry, Tony. I can't do this. Not now." She bolted up from the couch, frantically searching the room with her eyes for her purse. Locating it on the kitchen counter, she grabbed it and turned back to him, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she repeated, choking on the words.
And just like that, she was gone.