They walked toward the hospital again, the scene similar to the previous night but brighter and even warmer. The same tremors shook Tony's hands at the sight of the building, but he stuck them in his pockets and commanded his feet to move forward.
Gibbs didn't speak and he forced his eyes to stay on the hospital and not on his quivering companion. Gibbs knew he was lucky on this warm summery morning because his battle was the easier, by far. He was seriously worried about Tony because he had barely said two words all morning, but Gibbs wasn't pushing him. He found he couldn't, really.
Gibbs felt a flare of pride when Tony's step barely faltered as he pushed open the doors and stepped into the building that held so many bad memories, so much past pain. Tony got a room number from the information desk and headed toward the elevator. Gibbs followed silently, wondering where Tony would want him to be during this. He wondered if Marianne would be here.
Tony's hand shot out suddenly, smacking the emergency-stop button and drawing a look from Gibbs. "Eh, DiNozzo?" he said, questioningly. Gibbs couldn't help smiling even though Tony looked troubled.
Tony just sighed. "I know. I'll make it quick before they call security." He paused for a second. "I didn't even think about who else might be here. I can handle Marianne. I can handle a stranger."
"But not other family?" Gibbs asked thoughtfully, because he hadn't seriously considered the possibility, either. "You think they might be here?" he asked, having no idea who "they" might be.
"Who knows?" Tony said. "There are all those cousins, his sisters. I just can't—"
Gibbs reached around him and flipped the switch, restarting the elevator. He punched a button for a higher floor. "I'll get off here," he said, watching Tony's reflection in the silvery door. "Meet you up a floor, okay?"
Tony couldn't help smiling. "You'd do recon for me?" he asked lightly, but there was real emotion in his voice.
Gibbs lifted a shoulder. "Not my first time doing this dance," he said.
The doors opened and he stepped out of the car before Tony could ask if he meant dodging relatives or actual combat. He figured it was probably both. As he lounged by the elevator a floor up, he took the time to thank all things holy that he had someone like Gibbs in his life. He had always known the man cared about him, had known it for a long time now, had even known it—deep down—during that whole Mexico disaster. But Gibbs' support was more than he could have ever hoped for—more than he had ever allowed himself to want or need. Simply accepting his kindness scared him more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.
He forced his face into blankness as the elevator dinged and Gibbs waved him in. "Just him," Gibbs said. "And Marianne."
Tony leaned against the wall beside him in relief, but then he frowned. Turning slightly, he asked, "How do you know it's her?"
Gibbs just gave him a look, and Tony grinned. He shook his head. "Yeah, okay."
They made their way down the hall, and Gibbs stopped near the door, giving Tony a meaningful look. "Where do you want me?" he asked softly, watching Tony's shaking hands.
"It doesn't matter," Tony said after a moment. He cursed the tremors running through him at the mere thought of seeing his father, of meeting this woman. "Wherever you want to be."
Gibbs frowned. "Hey," he said, wanting to reach out and take Tony by the arm. But he didn't. "No, Tony. What do you want?"
Tony shuddered and Gibbs saw it. The lead agent tried not to flinch. What did he do to you, Tony?
"Come with me?" Tony said, and it came out a question. He really had no idea what he wanted, but he knew it was a strange and alien feeling to be asked in a situation like this. For his opinion to matter in anything regarding his father.
Gibbs nodded and met his eyes. "He, uh, doesn't look so good," he said softly, itching to touch him as Tony shuddered again. "Take your time, okay?"
Tony swallowed hard and blinked back sudden tears. Why the hell am I even here? He wasn't there when it was me not looking so good. He turned to the door again and tried to force himself to enter it. But Gibbs was there for me then. He's here for me now. Don't screw this up, DiNozzo.
Gibbs watched Tony quickly erase the tears and set an appropriate mask over his anguish. He wished Tony would just leave the mask in the hall—or better yet, go toss it off the roof. As embarrassing and frightening as it would be for the younger man, Gibbs wished he would just give in to the tears. He didn't want Tony to hurt, but he also didn't want him to think it wasn't okay, either.
Tony knocked lightly on the door, and the woman beside the bed shot up out of her seat. Tony barely had time to take in her silvery hair, her soft plumpness, the grandmotherly sparkle in her kind eyes before she wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug.
Shit, Gibbs thought, watching Tony's body go taut as piano wire in the soft embrace. He knew Tony was seeing his father's gray, sunken face over the woman's shoulder and that, coupled with her show of kindness, would probably be enough to break him.
There was a reason Gibbs hadn't touched Tony all morning.
The woman held on long enough to make Gibbs want to shoot her—and for Tony to lift a shaky hand and pat her back. She finally pulled away and must have seen the devastation that Tony couldn't quite hide.
"I am so sorry," she whispered, following his eyes and stepping back. "Would you like some time alone with him?"
Tony looked at the ruined shell that once held his father and almost begged her to hug him again. "Uh, no," he said, not realizing he was backing toward the door. He almost ran smack into Gibbs as he bolted with a mumbled, "Be right back."
Gibbs watched him flee, saw the hand clamped desperately over his mouth and let him go, knowing he would probably want to be alone for what was coming. He turned back to the woman, saw her looking at the man in the bed with a surprising bitterness, and he extended a hand. "Jethro Gibbs," he said. He jerked a nod over his shoulder at the door. "His boss."
She shook his hand and he found her grip surprisingly firm. She looked at him with an appraising eye. "Much more than that," she said knowingly. "I'm glad he has someone. From what his father has told me, he didn't do a very good job filling that role in that young man's life."
Gibbs blinked at her perception—and her bluntness. He immediately revised his opinion of her.
"I'm Marianne," she said, her eyes still on the unconscious man. The bitterness was back. "Damned fool man. I told him to try to connect with his son. That we get only so much time here and to leave the past in the past. He picked up the phone so many times but never made the call. I bet he wishes he had now."
Gibbs thought back to what Tony had said about his phone call with her yesterday and realized DiNozzo had misread her. She knew exactly who he was. "Maybe you should tell him that," Gibbs advised, keeping the bite from his tone. It was obvious this woman loved the dying man deeply.
She nodded, taking her seat back but not picking up the man's limp hand. "Oh, I will," she said determinedly, but her tone softened and she met Gibbs' eyes. "But not yet. I'm not sure the poor boy can handle that just yet."
Gibbs' opinion of the woman shot through the roof at that.
She looked to the door through which Tony had fled and she winced. "I shouldn't have hugged him," she said, letting out a frustrated breath. "But he looked so sad, and well, I'm Italian so it's kind of what we do."
She smiled a tiny smile, but there was a question in her eyes. Gibbs saw it, read it and said, "I'd go check on him, but Tony usually prefers to puke—" and break down "—alone."
She smiled knowingly. "Don't we all?"
They were quiet for a moment, but Gibbs found it wasn't awkward and he started to hope that he had made the right decision in pushing Tony to come here. A soft rustle behind him announced Tony's return, and Gibbs turned, surprised to see him lounging against the wall, pale-faced but lacking the red-rimmed eyes Gibbs had been expecting. He wondered how long DiNozzo had been standing there. You'll terrorize junior agents with that, too.
Tony shoved off the wall and approached Marianne, who stood and offered her hand. "Let's try this again," she said with a smile as she watched him try not to look at his father. "I'm Marianne Cappella. It's very nice to finally meet you, Anthony."
Tony blinked at the surname. "Not DiNozzo?"
She shook her head, and he realized he had misunderstood her—several times—on the phone. He thought back to his explanation to Gibbs and knew she had been asking if he was his son, not that she was surprised he had one. It shouldn't have surprised him, though, since it was amazing he had comprehended anything beyond the words father, hospital, dying.
"I'm going for coffee," Gibbs said, knowing Tony would be okay with Marianne—and hoping he would drop his guard without his boss around. He met Tony's eyes before leaving. You know where to find me if you need me.
Tony gave an almost imperceptible nod and turned back to face the woman, suddenly glad she was there to distract him from concentrating too much on his father, who was, for all intents and purposes, already gone. He felt his stomach flip again at what he had realized when he'd first laid eyes on the wasted man: They would never speak again. He was never going to hear the things he wanted to hear from his father—and he would never be able to tell him the things he needed to say.
He found Marianne watching him with an incredible depth of sympathy and understanding. It made him ache. He struggled to find words, but for once in his life, he couldn't find a single thing to say.
"Would you like some time with him?" she asked again.
Tony nodded, not because he actually wanted to be alone with the man—that was the last thing he wanted—but because he wasn't sure he could speak to explain that to her.
She nodded and stood, but she stopped and laid a wrinkled hand on the back of her partner's. "Forse è meglio non si può parlare con lui. Si sarebbe probabilmente fare sbagliato, miei cari, dannato stolto," she whispered.
Tony laughed softly even as pain wrapped its fiendish claws around his heart at her words: Maybe it is best you cannot speak to him. You would likely mess it up, my dear, damn fool.
He looked up at her, admiration blooming in his green eyes as he met her wide brown ones. She looked mortified. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly, looking down at her hand on his father's. "I didn't know you spoke the language. The way you pronounced your surname…"
He just smiled at her, surprised his mouth remembered how to form the expression. He shrugged. "People at least have a chance of spelling it right that way."
"But they never do," she said, matching his smile and moving toward the door.
His smiled melted away as he watched her start to go. "Wait," he said, hating how pathetic he sounded.
She stilled, looking back at him, his father, and then back at his eyes. He realized she was probably a bit shaken by their strong resemblance.
"Will you stay?" Tony asked hesitantly.
She nodded, moved like she was going to touch his shoulder but stopped herself. She simply took her seat again and studied Tony's face. "Jethro seems like a nice man," she said, knowing instinctively that Tony wasn't ready for anything deeper.
Tony smiled again. "Nice? Yeah, he can be," he said, realizing how bad that had to sound to someone who didn't know him as anything other than a boss who had accompanied a coworker on a very personal trip. "He's kind of old-school, I guess. I mean, he cares, but he doesn't always show it. I mean, he rarely shows it, which makes it that much more meaningful when he does, but he's mostly…"
Tony stopped, realizing he was in the middle of an Abby-esque ramble. But Marianne just smiled. "Tough love?" she offered.
He smiled again, trying not to feel guilty about doing it while his father lay there so… sick.
"Yeah," Tony said softly. "He'd lie down in traffic for me and then yell at me for ruining his shirt."
She smiled back at him. "You're lucky to have someone like that in your life."
She winced, immediately hearing the unspoken thought that lingered between them. Switching gears slightly, she asked, "You like your job?"
"Can't imagine doing anything else," Tony answered, wondering what she knew about his father's feelings about his chosen occupation.
"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," she said, smiling. "Has a nice ring to it. And law enforcement is such a noble calling. You should be proud."
He eyed her, reevaluating her grandmotherly charm so he wouldn't have to acknowledge the pain that ripped through him at the word "proud." He kicked himself even as he was saying, "Too bad he didn't agree."
Tony's eyes dropped to his hands as he insulted the dying man who couldn't hear his derision.
"Oh, Anthony," she said softly but without reproach.
He looked up at her, holding up a hand. "Don't, please," he said, his eyes hard but his voice low and pained. "I don't know what lies he spun for you, but please don't try to tell me he was proud of my choice of profession. He didn't like my being a cop. I know that."
She looked at him for a long moment, gathering her thoughts, her heart aching for the young man. "Of course he didn't like it," she said, hoping she wasn't being too forward with someone she had just met. But she was never the type to back down from something this important. She knew she didn't have much time with Anthony, and she loved his father enough to walk this hard road.
"Thank you," Tony said stiffly, sinking into a chair opposite her when he really wanted to run far, far away.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You misunderstand me. He didn't like your job—but not for the reasons you think he didn't."
Tony narrowed his eyes at her, wondering how much she really knew about him—and the man she had been with for only months. He realized that might not be true though. Just because his father hadn't mentioned her during his visit didn't mean he hadn't been seeing her then. It wouldn't be the first time the man had hid a relationship from him.
"It's a dangerous profession, Anthony," she said, meeting his eyes. "He worried about you."
Tony couldn't help himself. He laughed. But he had to give his father credit. He knew where he got his lying skills from. He found Marianne looking at him sternly. "I'm sorry," Tony said, meaning it. "But I just can't buy that. I almost died a few years ago and he was nowhere to be found."
"Was it easy for you to come here?" she asked.
His gaze turned steely and he thought about leaving. I don't need this. Just walk away. He'd probably be proud of that.
"And yet here I am," he said, barely able to keep his anger out of his voice.
He saw tears well in her eyes, and he dropped his angry gaze to his hands again.
"I'm sorry," she said. She looked ashamed of herself, and for some reason that made Tony feel worse. "I have no right to talk to you like that." She paused, watching him with compassionate eyes. "Not knowing what I know about all he's done to you."
Tony's eyes jerked up at the soft admission and realized he was suddenly terrified of this soft old woman. What the hell do you know about me? he thought wildly.
He watched her seem to make up her mind about something. "I'm defending him because I love him," she said, her voice cracking slightly, and she forced her eyes away from the dying man. "It's easy for me to forget about what he's put you through because he never abandoned me, never hurt me. Whoever he was when you were a child is not the man I fell in love with, and it just breaks my heart that you'll never get to see him as I did. I'm sorry for that, Anthony. I really am."
She stood shakily, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "I'm going to go. Give you some time with him."
He felt guilt kick him hard in the gut. "Wait, Marianne, please."
"No," she said, shaking her head as the tears made their way down her cheeks. "I should have left the minute you got here."
Tony watched her go even though everything in him was screaming to stop her. He simply lacked the strength to get up, though. His eyes returned from the door to land on his father's ashen face. As much as he wanted to get up and leave, something made him stay. After a few moments, he moved to take Marianne's vacated seat, mostly because he didn't like having his back to the door. He started to reach out to touch his father's hand, but just looking at the withered limb made him feel his earlier nausea start to rise again.
He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms protectively around himself as he thought about the last time his father had touched him. It was in that fancy hotel lobby months ago, and he had patted him twice. "I love you, Anthony. I love you."
"Really, Dad?" Tony whispered, his eyes opening and then snapping shut again against stubborn tears that blurred his vision. "Why the hell did I even start to believe that? You lied to me then, just like you always lied to me. You'd tell me you would be at my game and never show. But I always believed you. No matter how many times I searched the stands for your face and never found it, I always believed you'd be there next time. Why don't I ever learn? I'm an investigator, goddammit. I make my living finding patterns, but I could never see the one that was right in front of my face. I never saw that one."
He stopped talking and opened his eyes, blinking until he was satisfied the tears would stay put. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore. You were never there when I needed you, and now you won't ever be there for me."
He stood, unable to even be in the room with the man anymore—even though he was practically already gone.
Tony walked away without a backward glance.
A/N: The Italian is an Internet translation so it's undoubtedly wrong. But I left it because it looks pretty. Thank you to everyone is reading and reviewing. I wish I could respond to each and every one because they really make my day, but I'm just crazy-busy right now. Please know I'm extremely appreciative!
Cheers,
AT