BODY LANGUAGE
Chapter 4: Desert Camo v. Jello Shots
He'd hugged Claire and apologised to his mom before turning in last night. His sister looked so tired he thought she'd collapse, but he was more worried about Mom. He didn't think she'd sleep much, alone in that bed, and he wasn't surprised when, on one of several small-hours prowls around the house, he'd seen a light under the guest-room door.
Josh had marvelled at her wisdom and restraint when she hadn't asked about his visit from Tony DiNozzo; for his part he couldn't, yet, tell her what she wanted to hear, although he'd been wavering even before the agent had said the word revenge. He'd settled for saying that everything would be all right, and pretended to go to bed himself. By about half-past four, when he'd made his last patrol, everything was clear, and he caught a few hours of reasonable sleep. Well, he presumed it had been reasonable when he woke up around seven, since he couldn't actually remember any nightmares.
He was never one for packing until the last minute, but he'd made life even more difficult for himself this time. When he'd come back from giving his statement, he'd been mad because DiNozzo hadn't driven him. It was unreasonable, he knew very well, for the agent and his team catching evil bombers was the priority, but Josh had needed him.
So, in a fit of fury, and determination to do what he thought right, and not what he was being told to do, he'd torn up the lists he'd made of things to take to Princeton, and thrown them in the trash.
Here he was then, in the early morning of the day he was supposed to be there, writing the lists again, and serves you right, he told himself, as that small, wry smile that had managed to establish itself somehow, surfaced again.
He'd managed breakfast, (sitting in the kitchen with Mom, and more to make sure she ate than anything,) and galvanising coffee, but he still felt woolly-headed, so he opened his window. The pleasant smell of morning grass and cold, fresh air helped as he'd hoped it would.
It didn't seem long before a sound drifted in through the window, that made him put his pen down and look out. A beautiful classic car, with a husky growl for a voice, was drawing to a halt outside. He wasn't that much of a car buff, he liked girls, baseball and karting, but he reckoned that the Ford Mustang convertible was from the 1960s. A classy American lady, dressed in British Racing Green. He was surprised that the person who stepped out of it would call at such a time, but not who that person was. It was just the sort of car he would have imagined he'd drive. Inside, he couldn't have been more pleased to see someone. Oh, unless, of course, his dad had just appeared. Spirits sinking again, Josh picked up his pen, and tried to look busy and nonchalant.
His mom opened the door, on the end of a whispered conversation, and with a quiet "Thankyou", Special Agent DiNozzo stepped into the room. He was immaculately dressed, and looked as if he'd had a good, refreshing ten hours sleep, although Josh knew that was impossible.
"Hey, looks like you've made up your mind."
Don't sound so satisfied. You were right, OK? Not that I'm going to tell you just yet.
"Special agent - slash - mind-reader," he growled back.
It was impossible to offend this guy; but then, he'd already realised that, otherwise he wouldn't do it.
"Well, when you're good you're good…. But I wasn't reading your mind, I was reading your body language. You're relaxed; the struggle is over. You've made up your mind."
"Special agent – slash – Doctor Phil." Josh stood up, and walked over to the closet. He lifted out a bag, and began to place random items inside. He wanted Tony to ask, dammit, and sure enough, the agent obliged.
"So, what's it to be, Josh? Six a.m. wake-ups and desert camo - " He walked over to the chair Josh had just occupied and sat down - "Or all night frat parties and jello shots with co-eds?"
Josh couldn't resist stringing things out just a little longer.
"I decided to do what my Dad always wanted me to do," he said neutrally, and then felt guilty when it seemed as if the big man folded into the small chair had got the wrong idea.
"Ah," he said in soft disappointment, "I'm guessing he wasn't a big fan of jello shots." He lowered his eyes, and did that aimless thing with a discarded magazine that Josh recognised since he'd been doing it himself just yesterday. Enough, already.
"No," long pause, "But he was a big fan of Princeton."
The special agent's head jerked up, his hazel eyes wide with surprise, and for a moment he didn't speak. Josh wondered if he realised he'd been the one played for a change, then wondered why he was even wondering.
A delighted smile spread across Tony's face. "So, you're going back to school!"
"Then Georgetown law, then into naval intelligence."
The smile became a laugh. "That's good. Could use the help." He stood up, and suddenly the humour dropped away. There was that something different in the brilliant eyes, that Josh had seen twice now, but had only really registered last night.
"Listen, I keep my word, Josh. We're going to find the person who did this."
"I know, Tony." Raised eyebrows, and those eyes again. "It's in your body language."
Special Agent DiNozzo glanced down at himself briefly, then looked up again. He began to move towards the door, with a muttered "Hmph". Josh was aware that he was turning his face away in order to disguise the pleased smile on it. What he didn't know, and probably never would, was that the smile was not pleasure that he'd won – it had never been his intention that his will would prevail. It was pure happiness that the kid had at last used his name.
With a grin over his shoulder and a sketched wave he was gone, leaving the room much, much emptier.
AN: I wasn't expecting to have another chapter up so soon, but it seems it's easier when you're not writing angst! Only an epilogue to go now.
Once again, thank you very much for kind reviews.