CHAPTER 10

The phone rang Saturday morning, just as Tony was about to pour Agent Braunmeir some of his freshly brewed, extra dark coffee. "DiNozzo," Tony said into the phone, holding out a hand for the FBI agent's travel mug.

"It's Agent Fornell. We're still tying up loose ends," Fornell said apologetically. "I'm calling to let you know it's safe to bring Mrs. DiNozzzo and your son home."

"If it's so safe, why do I still have a guy in an extremely boring suit guarding my front door?" Tony asked. "Hang on a minute, will you, Fornell?" Tony handed Agent Braunmeir his travel mug, saying, "It's strong enough to put hair on your chest." The agent nodded his thanks, and left on his rounds of the building. "Okay, I'm back," Tony said, closing his front door and locking it.

Fornell said, "Just a precaution, Congressman."

"Against what?"

"Just humor me. How're you holding up?" asked Fornell.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine and dandy. You should try spending an afternoon stating your case on conversion therapy to an audience of representatives, while coughing hard enough to puke your guts out. The minute I was done, they were outta there so fast you'd have thought I had the plague or something."

"Did they listen?" asked Fornell.

Tony sighed. "Yeah, I think they did. I can be pretty persuasive. I'll start making calls on Monday, go out and press the flesh, make sure they all have the fact sheets in their hands."

"You should take it easy," Fornell suggested. "Send someone else. You should stay home."

"What's that mean?"

"Just what I'm saying. You can't expect to bounce right back after being kidnapped and almost killed."

Tony retorted, "Why not? The world doesn't stop just because someone tries to trade me for a few million."

"DiNozzo…"

Tony was tired of being coddled. "I'm fine. What is it with you FBI guys? You're like mother hens."

"We're probably like this because the people we're trying to protect tend to act like kids who think they know better," Fornell replied.

Tony could sense, without seeing him, that the agent was smiling. "I can handle it."

"It?" Fornell persisted.

"It. You know, waking up in a cold sweat, barfing when I cough too hard. Oh my God…you don't think I'm pregnant, do you?" Tony asked with a laugh.

The laugh triggered a bout of coughing, and when Tony was finished, Fornell said firmly, "You need to take a few days off. Stop making speeches."

"I've got too much to do," Tony replied.

"It's the weekend. Make the most of it. How about you go somewhere out in the country and enjoy the fresh air."

"You have somewhere in particular in mind?" Tony asked suspiciously.

After a slight hesitation, Fornell suggested, "Well, there's this horse farm over in Bowie…"

"C'mon, Fornell. I can't."

"Why not?"

After a moment Tony said, in a quiet voice, "He never picks up his damned phone. I don't want to encroach and…" Tony sighed. "Besides, I'm not trooping around the country with a protective detail hovering, and failing to blend in."

"You tired of my agents, Congressman?" Fornell asked.

"I just need…I need things to get back to normal," Tony admitted.

"Sorry, not for a couple of days."

"You said there was no danger. That Wendy and Zack could return."

"My agents aren't bringing them back until Sunday night," Fornell explained. "Tell you what. I'll relieve your bodyguards of duty if you're out in the boonies, at Gibbs' place."

That made Tony smile. "Are you saying that one former NCIS agent is better than two of your Fibbies?"

"I'm saying he's a good man to have at your side, DiNozzo. Besides, that farm of his is damned hard to find. Who's going to be able to locate you? I think Gibbs removed all the road signs in the area."

Tony chuckled. He wouldn't put that past Jethro. "I've got someone coming over tonight…but I'll call him again, okay?"

As soon as he was off the phone with Fornell, Tony called Wendy. They were still at her parents' home, she said, and she confirmed they had no plans to return home until Sunday evening; Zack had to go to school Monday morning. He had a basketball game that Tony didn't want to miss later in the week, and Wendy agreed that if Tony went to the game, he could stay for dinner after he brought Zack home. Wendy had always hated going to kids' games, and PTA meetings and the like.

Tony offered, "Tell you what…I can stay overnight if you want. Boys' night in. You can go…out." Tony had no doubt that Wendy would jump at the opportunity to have a night off, to spend time with whoever she was currently fucking. He was right; she agreed.

Finding out that his wife had cheated on him had hurt Tony more than he could have imagined, and discovering months later that she returned to her lover, even after she'd sworn she'd given him up, had hurt Tony even more. But now, the thought of Wendy going off to meet some guy, while Tony stayed at his wife's home taking care of their son, no longer had the ability to cause him pain. Maybe it was because he'd taken control of the difficult situation by declaring that he was divorcing her. They'd fought about it, back and forth, and even his father had become involved at one point, until Tony had put his foot down. In the end, Tony had won – if you can call splitting up after twelve years a win – and from that moment on, he'd felt relief interlaced with the sadness that comes with the end of any long-term relationship.

Wendy handed the phone over to Zack, who asked his dad when he was going to see him, and if he'd be at his game, and if they could watch a Sherlock Holmes movie. "Can we see one with that bad guy in it?"

"Basil Rathbone? You'd like The Hound of the Baskervilles. 'Murder, my dear Watson. Refined, cold-blooded murder,'" Tony said in an English accent, which set Zack giggling.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Late in the afternoon, Tony took a long hot shower, glad that the week from hell was over. Two weeks from hell, if you counted the time he'd spent chained to a bed in the middle of nowhere, with a crazy fuck spewing conspiracy theories to an audience of one.

Tony had taken it easy that morning, still recovering from yesterday's trip to Washington. Although he'd made out to Fornell that his report to the committee hadn't gone well, that was far from the truth. It had been a bit of a strain to talk, and he had had to step away to cough a couple of times, but the microphone was good and the audience had been attentive. Several representatives had come up to him afterwards, promising they were unified about getting a federal law passed to stop conversion therapy for kids. Just hearing that, Tony felt better than he had in days.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

After speaking before the committee, Tony had returned to his small office at the Longworth Building in DC, only to find his father was waiting there for him. "I can't deal with this now," Tony had muttered. He'd managed a smile and a greeting. "Dad! Great to see you!"

Tony had been a little surprised that Senior had given him a real hug, and not a clap on the shoulder version, but it was the first time they'd seen each other since Tony had been brought into the hospital. Tony had invited his father to take a seat, and said he'd be right with him. He then took his assistant aside to give him orders. "Do whatever it takes to call me away on important business exactly ten minutes. Got it?" Mooney had nodded, wide-eyed.

After plying his father with Macallan 18 (three fingers, one ice cube), Tony had interrogated him about his connection with Mrs. Tozier, and asked why the hell had the man who had kidnapped him phoned his father.

Senior had waved a dismissive hand about the woman, and had denied knowing what had motivated her son. "Nothing he said made any sense. Political jibber-jabber. Spitting hate. Waste of my time. I had no idea this idiot who kept calling me was the man who'd abducted you, Son," the elder DiNozzo had said.

Senior had gone on to complain about the way the FBI had treated him, picking him up at his club, and taking him away to interrogate him. The ten-minute warning from his assistant had come before Tony had obtained any useful information, so he just about pushed his father out of his office, with the promise they'd do dinner soon.

On his way out, Senior had stopped and, for the first time, really inspected his son. "You look like hell, Junior. Are you all right? You didn't come back to work too soon?"

Tony heard genuine concern in his father's voice, so he answered that he was doing better every day, although he played down his injuries. Senior, in response, had given him a brief parting hug. "Call me about dinner next week," he had said gruffly. "And give that wife of yours a kiss for me."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

As he dried off after his shower, Tony decided to call Jethro again, to ask him over for dinner or something – if the man ever picked up his phone. Dinner out and a movie, perhaps at the Old Greenbelt Theatre, where they showed vintage films. Or he could cook something simple and they'd eat here at the condo. Would Jethro like Italian? Tony's pasta dish with pecorino and pepper was good enough for company. If the weather was good they could have drinks out on the patio.

Tony wondered what genre of movie Jethro would prefer. A Western classic would be good. Something with McQueen in it. Magnificent Seven had enough powerful stars to please anyone, or there was Nevada Smith, with McQueen tracking down and killing the men who had murdered his parents. On the other hand, all that killing? Maybe it was a bit too bloodthirsty for a date. Tony stopped for a moment as he was pulling on his pants. How the hell had plans to invite Jethro for a simple dinner turned into a date?

This was crazy. He didn't want to date Jethro. No. No way! He just wanted to…He wanted to thank Jethro in some way, and to enjoy his company when he wasn't being pursued by a kidnapper/killer during a violent thunderstorm. He also wanted to go out to Kelly Brook Farm to meet the horses, and to see how Jethro's injured arm was doing. That was what he wanted. Plain and simple.

Even though Jethro had invited Tony to come any time, assured him he was welcome, Tony felt uneasy about just driving over there unannounced. Jethro would probably be busy with the farm and the horses, or fixing the hole on the front porch, and wouldn't have time for him.

Anyway, no matter how much he liked Jethro, and was grateful for everything he'd done for him, Tony wasn't sure he could face going back to the place where they'd had the final showdown with Frank Beals. He doubted very much he could even look at the porch where the man had fallen through the rotten floorboards, and see the spot where Jethro had shot him, without falling to pieces. Hell, simply thinking about that man's arm around his neck, choking him, the smell of his sweat, the sour breath on his cheek, made Tony's stomach turn over.

Tony's phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. "DiNozzo."

"Your guest has arrived, Congressman. Do you want me to bring him up?" It was Agent Brown, who was on duty tonight.

"Sure. Hey, Jerome, if it gets cold tonight, don't sit out in your car. You know I have that couch in the den."

"I appreciate that, sir, but…"

"Yeah, I know, you have to keep moving, keep vigilant," Tony said before hanging up.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Tony looked through the peephole to confirm that the person on the other side of the heavy metal door was who he was expecting. Agent Brown held up his ID and badge. Tony admired the man's adherence to FBI policy, but he was going to have to take the guy out for a drink, and get him to loosen up a bit. Maybe share some stories about his own probie days with the Peoria Police Department.

Tony took a deep breath, put on a pleasant expression, and opened the door wide. Agent Brown stepped to one side to allow Tony's visitor to approach. "Rob, come on in," Tony said, ushering Robert Tozier into his home.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

His tires screeched as Jethro took the exit to the Baltimore waterfront, steering with one hand. He'd removed the damn sling but he knew enough not to use his left arm unless he really needed to. As he navigated towards his destination, he questioned, for the hundredth time, his motivation in dropping by Tony DiNozzo's home. A quick glance at the white plastic carrier bag on the passenger seat, containing an almost-new red Marines hoodie, made Jethro say aloud, "Why the hell not?"

He liked Tony. It was obvious that he was a good man. He'd been through a lot and needed a friend – and Jethro wanted to be that friend. Add those all up, and someone might come to the conclusion that Jethro, too, was a good man, for wanting to be there for a man he barely knew, but Jethro knew that he was doing this for purely selfish reasons. That didn't stop him though, not for a second.

Sure, he wanted to make sure that Tony was all right. Tony had seemed like he was on the road to recovery when Jethro had said goodbye to him at the hospital a few days ago, but Jethro had a feeling that Tony was hiding something. It was his gut, his years of experience at reading people, that told him that Tony had not revealed everything that had happened to him when he'd been kidnapped – neither to the authorities nor to the medical team who handled his care. There wasn't any one thing that Jethro could point to and say, "There, see? He's not telling you about that." It was more the subtle slide of Tony's eyes when anyone mentioned the way Beals had treated him, the tightening of his jaw muscles, the way he had breathed when a doctor had come near or had laid hands upon him, that had made Jethro feel that something was amiss. It could have been a reaction from the way he'd been mistreated while in captivity, but Jethro was certain it was more than that. He wasn't going to ask Tony about it directly, but he'd make sure that Tony knew that he was there if he needed to talk.

Over the past few days, every time Jethro had called Tony's cell, it was either busy or it went to voice mail. He had hung up rather than leave a message, more than once. Jethro hated the things, and, quite honestly, he had no idea what to say to Tony, other than, "Call me," which would sound too much like a Gunnery Sergeant's gruff command. Probably not what Tony needed to hear.

Plan B had been to ask Fornell how Tony was doing, only he'd referred to him as 'Congressman DiNozzo.' Fornell had been a little tight-lipped with intel, but he said that Tony had left his wife's house and had returned to Baltimore, where he was currently living. There was a protection detail assigned to the Congressman until they closed the case. Deep down, Jethro was glad of both of these things because, from what Tony had told him, he was better off without the cheating wife, and they had not yet ascertained if Frank Beals had had an accomplice.

Jethro couldn't help thinking that if NCIS had been handling this case, it would have been wrapped up by now, and they would have been in the middle of an straightforward investigation of a dead petty officer in Rock Creek Park. Man, he almost missed those days, if you discounted the long hours and the constant stream of tragedies that crossed his team's path.

So now Jethro was driving to Tony's place in the hope that he could see for himself that Tony was good. Jethro intended to give him a red hoodie he had worn only a couple of times, to replace the one they'd cut off Tony at the hospital. That was all. No ulterior motive at all.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Robert Tozier, a handsome, dark-haired man in his late thirties, seemed nervous and not quite sure of his welcome. As directed, he walked ahead of Tony into the living room, and stood at the window to watch the lights of the boats as they plied the dark waters of the harbor.

Before Tony could join him, Agent Brown asked Tony for a minute of his time. Quietly, he said, "Agent Fornell gave me orders not to let Mr. Tozier out of my sight, sir."

Tony scoffed, "I've known Rob forever. When we were in college, we used to go out drinking together every Saturday night. Hell, we watched Magnum marathons on Sunday nights while we studied with the Andreas twins." Tony wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jerome smiled, but he said, "Yes, sir. Just the same, I have to stay. I'll be over there."

"C'mon," Tony said, keeping his voice low. "It isn't like Rob is going harm me." The FBI agent looked steadily at him, reminding Tony of Jethro Gibbs' steely glare. He could see he wasn't going to win this one. "Okay, you're the boss." Tony turned on his heel and approached Rob Tozier with a friendly smile. "You want a drink, Rob?"

Rob glanced at the FBI agent, who had retreated to a spot by the front door, but he replied, "Sure. Whatever you're having."

Tony fixed them drinks and they sat in the club chairs near the window. Apart from the convenient location of the condo, a decent sized patio, and the large windows with a harbor view were the reasons Tony had bought this unit; it was bright during the day, and at night, the working harbor's lights were a sight to behold.

Tony caught Rob sending surreptitious glances at his black eye. Before Tony could prevent him, Rob said, "I'm so sorry, Tony, about all of this."

Tony raised a hand to prevent any further apoligies. "Look, Rob, I'm sorry as hell, too. I'm sorry that I was the one your brother chose to kidnap. I'm sorry my hands were still tied when he beat the shit out of me. And I'm really sorry that some people aren't going to be able to see past the fact that you're Frank Beals' brother, and that it's going to influence your career. But I'm not one of those people."

Rob said desperately, "Don't call him my brother. He was…not my brother."

Tony bowed his head and, after a pause, said, "The bottom line is that he made a huge mistake – both by committing the crime, and for coming to Mr. Gibbs' home to finish me off. I am not sorry, however, that Gibbs killed him," Tony said, somewhat defiantly. "But I am sorry because this must be hurting you really badly, and I know you don't deserve it."

"I'm sorry, Tony, that he hurt you," Rob said, sounding very upset. "You know I've avoided having anything to do with my mother for years, but she called me and told me that Frank was going off the deep end and I…I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to have anything to do with him."

"I didn't know the man who was holding me was your brother until afterwards, when the FBI told me, Rob. It's…unbelievable." Tony sighed and sat back, sipping his drink. For some reason he'd poured himself a bourbon, and he didn't even like the stuff.

Rob hung his head and shook it slowly. "Frank kept phoning me. I'd hang up but he was persistent. I had to change my number more than once. I didn't even give it to my mother but somehow she got hold of it. She called my office yesterday. She kept saying that Frank wasn't responsible for his actions."

Tony had to ask some difficult questions. Even though Rob had cut ties with his family, long ago, he might know something. "Was he influenced by someone? Did he have a partner? Or could he have pulled it off on his own?"

Rob stared at Tony, no doubt taken aback by the interrogation. "How would I know what he was up to? He was unstable, always trouble."

Tony didn't know what to call Rob's mother when he spoke of her. She had never been a mother, in any natural sense, to Rob. "Did Mrs. Tozier know what Frank was doing, that he planned to kidnap me?" Tony coughed a couple of times, and then took a sip of bourbon. It seemed to calm the tickle in his throat, so he put up with the taste.

"How would I know? I cut her out of my life years ago, Tony. You know why." Rob took a long pull on his drink and leaned back, covering his eyes with one arm. "Jesus."

"Sorry, Rob, I'm not accusing you of anything but…"

Rob lowered his arm, looking angry. "But what? You think I knew that Frank was planning on kidnapping you? And I didn't tell you?"

"No! Of course not. Look, Agent Fornell told me that my father knew your mother. We're talking about 1970, before either of us was born. She worked on Dad's election committee." Tony watched Rob's face and it was apparent this was news to him. Tony continued, "Agent Fornell also said that Mrs. Tozier phoned my father several times, before and during the time I was abducted. Frank called him, too."

Rob's mouth hung open. "Frank called your dad? Why? My mother knew…? I…you're talking about people I don't know, Tony. I haven't had anything to do with my mother since I was sixteen, and then she phones me out of the blue. Frank would only call me if he needed money. I don't know what motivated him! I wish I did know, and that I'd been there to prevent him but–" Rob was breathing hard, holding one hand to his chest, looking like he was having a panic attack.

Tony leaned forward and placed a hand on Rob's shoulder, soothing him. "Hey, it's okay. Take a moment…just breathe, Rob. That's it…good. I'm not blaming you. I'm not," he said truthfully. "Look, my dad never mentioned your mother, and when I asked him about their connection, he brushed it off as if it wasn't important."

Tony rubbed the back of his neck, wishing the muscle pain wasn't starting up again. It had been bothering him ever since the kidnapping, and if it followed its usual form, the mild pain would get worse and severe muscle cramps would take hold unless he did something about it. Heat and meds were the answer. "Hang on, I need to take something," he said, and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water so he could take one of the muscle relaxant pills Dr. Pitt had given him. The directions said he could take two of them. Deciding that if one pill worked, then two would work better, he downed two of them, and left the container on the counter. As he came out of the kitchen, he saw Agent Brown watching him, and Tony smiled and gave him a salute.

Once seated again, Tony picked up his drink and sipped it. The ice had melted a bit and the cool liquid felt good sliding down his throat. "My dad came by my office in DC yesterday. I asked him about his connection to your mother, and why, of all people, Beals had phoned him, and…" Tony ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "He said he had no idea, and then he started going on about how the FBI had dragged him downtown and interrogated him. He was not a happy puppy. I'm sure he's already lodged a complaint with the Director of the FBI." He rolled his eyes and he was pleased to see the corner of Rob's mouth lifting a little in the beginning of a smile.

Tony had had enough of talking about the kidnapping and theorizing about Frank Beals' reason for calling Senior. "You know what? I want to move ahead as if the past couple of weeks never happened," Tony said. "We've got more important things to talk about, like getting this federal law against the conversion therapy passed."

"You mean…you still want to work with me?"

Tony smiled, rolling up his sleeves. "Of course I do. How about something to eat? I bought a dish of lasagne from the Italian restaurant downstairs, and no way can I eat it on my own." He was glad to see Rob relax, but then Rob's eyes lit upon Tony's wrists, which had become visible the moment Tony rolled back his sleeves. The bandages were gone, revealing the abrasions where the bindings had cut into his flesh.

"What did he do to you?" asked Rob. He stood, frowning in concern. "Tony…"

Tony rose to his feet, and prevented any further discussion or apologies by saying, "Hey, everything is healing. I'm fine. I'm fine, Rob." Tony slung his arm over Rob's shoulder. "C'mon buddy, I say we talk about something else…uh…sports and chicks, while we eat."

"Sports and guys," corrected Rob, with a relieved smile.

"To each his own," Tony agreed, raising his glass. He finished off his drink. Before he followed Rob to the kitchen, he stopped to pour himself another tumbler of bourbon. "You want another?" he called out.

"No, I'm set."

Tony slowly made his way to the kitchen, taking a drink of the bourbon as he went. His knees started to feel sort of wobbly, like they had when he'd been in the hospital, so he leaned on the counter as he moved around the kitchen. Rob helped him heat up the lasagna, but by the time they were ready to sit down, Tony's head was swimming and his fingers…

"What's the matter, Tony?" Rob asked, concerned.

Tony held up his hands and looked at his fingers. They were shimmering, like a mirage out in the desert. "My fingers…are…finging," Tony mumbled. "It's like a migraine…in my hands," he said to himself, gazing at his fingers. He could see them moving but couldn't feel them at all. Decidedly weird.

"Tony, are you okay? You look high. Maybe you shouldn't be drinking this," said Rob, taking Tony's glass away from him.

"I don't…I don't feel right. I'm…Look at them…Do these look right to you?" Tony wiggled his fingers, fascinated by them, and maybe a little scared that they might walk away on their own, like Thing in The Addams Family. He was only partially aware of the sound of a buzzer, and then a commotion in the distance. Rob was trying to get him to sit, but Tony didn't want to sit, so he twisted, getting annoyed when Rob didn't let him go. "No, let me go. I don't want to…"

"Get over here and sit down," Rob instructed.

Tony pushed Rob away, annoyed. "No, get your hands off me…"

Suddenly Rob released him, and Tony saw Rob falling to the ground, as if in slow motion. Tony took an unsteady step towards his friend to help him up, but someone came up from behind and grabbed him around the waist.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~