A/N I do not own any part of NCIS and am making no money

BETA reader Mike 91848 He's good so all mistakes are mine

More Flashbacks ahead

CINDERELLA Revisited

Chapter Seven

I may have raced out of the parking garage at work, but I drove sedately enough through the dark streets that were still wet from an earlier rain. Too late to go for a swim in the unheated pool, too lonely in the spa without Margret, too tired to use the exercise equipment. Play the piano? Maybe, to relax before I tackled the next hurdle thrown at me.

I stopped for pizza realizing that I was, in fact, hungry. While I waited inside cozy Mama Leona's and had calmed down somewhat, I truly wondered how in the hell Matt Simmons had passed all the psych tests required to get this job. He practically set me on fire when he couldn't have been older than 17 or 18.

He was vindictive, callous and revengeful and held a mighty long grudge. How could none of those adverse qualities not been red-flagged by the examiners and how had he worked at NCIS for years without being reported for...something? Maybe he was bribing or blackmailing or both? Something wasn't right.

He had invaded my domain, but why? To keep an eye on me for Anton and the bitch? Please, that was ludicrous. A private investigator could have done a better job. I didn't recognize him. I had never seen him as an adult, just a guy in a dark room hissing curses and warnings in my ear, with hot flashes of pure fiery agony in his hand. That's my memory of Sims, not the guy who came to work every day dressed nattily in a blue blazer and designer jeans with mismatch colored socks, and who signed his name Matthew Simmons on his sloppy reports.

Pizza box in hand, I let myself in and did the routine things; storing my weapons, checking the mail, note from my gardener about some shrubs he wanted to replace. I wasn't stalling reading those papers Anton had so smugly thrown on my desk. I already knew what the smoking gun was so it just wasn't uppermost in my mind, but I would get to them.

There was a phone message from my attorney, CC. Strange, he never called me, just did what I asked and sent me a bill. We had been basketball teammates and were frat brothers and he was a very good attorney but he had a major problem with me.

He told me up front he thought I was a mealy-mouthed, yellowed-bellied, piss pants, cowardly, ignorant fool for letting my rightful inheritance, that my grandmother had wanted me to have, stagnate in court for more than half my life!

He said he didn't want to know me, talk to me or socialize with me until I grew some balls and got my head out of my ass and leave him be so he could go after Angela the bitch DiNozzo and the rest of those crazies and grind them into pulverized dust and let the hot wind take them back to hades where they shoulda never left!

So. That's where he and I stood for the last two years. He'd call every once in a while to see if I'd changed my mind and what the hold-up was, cuss me out when nothing had changed and hang up. It was always good to hear from him. Tomorrow, I'd make his day and let him do what he wanted and we'd finally fight it out in court. He was right. It had been 25 years too long that I let the bitch dictate my life to me!

The papers I had left in my jacket pocket were crumpled but readable. Basically, it was information from a private investigators firm reporting what they had found on one Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. These people had some McFurtive level snoopers on their side because this information had been truly hidden in plain sight. Somebody had used some major skills to find it. But it had been years and it had been inevitable.

The information they had gleaned appeared to make me, Federal Agent DiNozzo, a shady character on the take, and I had purportedly squirreled close to twenty million dollars in off shore banking accounts deposited under fictitious names. The report said they had not found the source of this income yet but they would keep digging.

Oh, come on! It was closer to thirty million, and the names weren't fictitious. Dummies!"

Someone had written on a little blue sticky note stuck on page two that said this information could remain personal and confidential and to expect a phone call on Monday morning regarding a previously discussed matter. Imagine that.

The doorbell rang just then and one guess who that might be. "Hey, Boss. Couldn't sleep?"

"I have no problem sleeping, DiNozzo, when my guts not telling me to get over here and kick your ass for keeping me awake."

"Your guts awake, Boss? Maybe it's hungry. I got pizza!"

"DiNozzo!

He wasn't in the mood, and suddenly, neither was I. He had come over here missing his sleep because he didn't want to wait 'til the morning to see what I had gotten myself into now.

"Sorry, Boss. Sit down. I want you to read something."

I handed over the two sheets of paper while I got him a beer and put the box of pizza on the coffee table. He sat on the sofa and reached for a piece while I went to my room and got my lock box from the closet and the key from my sock drawer. The box contained letters from my loved ones, and correspondences from ones not loved, and some from lawyers I hated worse than Gibbs hated lawyers, except for my frat brother of course and he just told me what he thought about me loud and clear over the phone.

I don't know what expression Gibbs saw on my face when I sat down across from him but he put the half eaten slice of pizza back in the box.

"That's an awful lot of money, DiNozzo. Can you explain it to the internal revenue service so they don't get the wrong idea?"

"Yeah, I can, Boss."

"Good! So is this what you wanted to show me?"

And just like that, everything was alright between us, no explanation expected unless I wanted to explain it. No going off half-cocked, judgmental and condemning already convinced of my guilt like Anton and his mother were. Granted, he needed to know where the money came from, that was his job. But he'd hear me out first, that was his job also.

"That, and...just read this, Gibbs." I handed over the letter my mother had written to my father when she was finally freed from her purgatory. I had never shown it to anyone before, except Margret. When he got to the part where she wrote that she hated me and wished I had never been born, and how she had made them put her to sleep so she wouldn't have to see me and how she didn't care what happened and I was an abomination, well, anyway, you get the picture.

Gibbs looked at me after reading that part as though he wanted to say something but just shook his head instead and continued reading. I reached for the letter when he was done and put it on the table.

He never says much so it wasn't surprising when he didn't offer empty platitudes or apologize for something that wasn't his fault. He rubbed his chin and mouth and then cleared his throat, sure signs of discomfort in a man who never gets nervous.

"How did you get this, Tony? How old were you?"

"Oh, about 8 or 9. I thought my mother was dead otherwise why would she leave me alone in that hell-hole? So I got up the courage to ask my father if I could go see her grave and pay my respects, maybe bring her some flowers. I know she didn't love me but I remember someone reading me a story or telling me about when you give a flower that means that you love that person, or that person could love you.

"So anyway, he had a good laugh about it and told me to read the letter she had left when she dumped me on him. So I stood there and he made me read the letter out loud and when I was done, he told me to keep the letter and he hoped I had learned something from it. He said that my mother hated me and that he had no feelings for me, either. But I still can't say that I learned anything from the letter after all this time."

I said all of this matter-of-fact because it didn't matter anymore. But I guess it still mattered because Gibbs was affected by it.

"Jesus Christ!" Gibbs uttered gruffly.

"Yeah, well...You okay, Boss?"

"Tony...God…that was criminal! To give that to a child...your father needs to pay for that!"

"Come on, Boss. That was a long time ago. Let me get through this so you can talk to Vance tomorrow."

I wasn't used to seeing Gibbs being so outwardly affected by anything before. Stoic was his middle name except when bad things happened to children so I guess he was being true to form, I had been a child when this bad thing had happened to me.

"I'm not stopping you, DiNozzo, just get on with it." but there was no heat behind his words.

There, that was the Gibbs that I know and love. So, now that that was out of the way, I started to tell him what had happened to me in Philadelphia and after, and how it all related to the letter.

Flashback

17 years ago

Philadelphia, City of brotherly love, the Ritz Carlton 5-star hotel, top floor luxury suites. I read the note left on my desk while I was picking up a suspect with my partner, Edwards. The department was offering overtime for guys and gals in uniform or for detectives like me who wanted to don a uniform for this special detail.

There was a rumor the Vice President would be in attendance and confirmed intel that several heads of the armed forces would be there. Big business would also be represented with CEO's from companies with Government contracts.

All of this activity stemming from efforts to strengthen anti-terrorism legislation. And also to expand law enforcement powers to help combat increased terrorism, treat the threat of bin Laden and his fatwa with greater diligence, among other things.

The police departments were most interested in improving the effectiveness and communication of intelligence and law enforcement and its effects on business.

My partner said he'd get his old uniform cleaned and squeeze into it to see how the rich and famous big-wigs partied. He didn't need to squeeze into it though he had kept in good shape. The detail would last from Thursday to midday Sunday. I could use the OT myself, my car had been acting up, and I was thinking of moving into a bigger place.

So, my partner and I were assigned to stand guard at the main entrance inside the hotel as a show of police presence. If the vice president and his wife were here, they had been scurried through the back entrance and into the service elevators to their suites and we had not been made privy of it.

The participants had started to arrive on Thursday to attend different seminars and they were in and out of the hotel all afternoon. Today was the Friday night welcoming ball reception and the place was already packed with the tuxedoes and ball gowns and snooty noses in the air, and perfectly put-on smiles on made up faces.

My partner and I were like two blue bookends on either side of the revolving door, making sure the traffic kept moving, and some of this traffic could not have been in their right minds because otherwise how could they mistake me for a doorman? Come on, I had a badge and carried a gun. So if I heard one more, "Get my bags, sonny." I was going to pull said gun and use it.

The little pieces of paper with telephone numbers from the women who came through that door were intriguing and flattering. I had met most yesterday and some of them were too old for me; even grandmotherly in age, but fun, looking for a young, handsome, stud like me to parade around with. I chuckled under my breath at my own fanciful ego.

The other pieces of papers, though, with names like, Candy, Susie, Brandi, were well worth taking a second look at later. My partner started calling me Tony Stallony after he found out what Stallone meant in Italian. I laughed and told him he was just a happily married jealous fool.

The revolving doors started turning again and a group of people stepped out and paused a few steps into the elegant lobby blocking anyone else's entry. Someone was going to have to tell these nincompoops to get their butts moving but right now they were involved in snooty conversation and high society gossip crap.

My partner felt the same way and he wasn't about to put up with hoity-toitiness in silence so he very politely said, "please keep moving," and two of the heads turned to see who had the nerve to speak to them like that. When I saw their profiles, I almost choked on my tongue.

It could not be!

Just, no!

I felt my breathing quicken, my heart rate accelerate, my mouth go dry.

Anton DiNozzo had turned to glare at my partner. Angela DiNozzo glared, huffed her irritation and turned back around.

I hadn't moved from my spot by the door, not a muscle. I was paralyzed with...I don't know. I couldn't get myself to move, could hardly breathe, now. I stared straight ahead and didn't blink. My eyes were burning for lack of a little moisture. I just stood there hiding in a corner like I used to do. The things I hated most in this world were all standing there in their finery and I couldn't confront them with any backbone to do something or say anything! I just wanted them or me to vanish.

When the revolving door started revolving again, I shook myself free of the ice cube I felt encased in and turned and lowered my head so my cap concealed more of my face. Just as I turned, another man and woman stepped out and the man looked at me briefly and turned away. The double-take came a second later when Antoney, the traitor, DiNozzo looked back at me and blinked. He stumbled into the female in front of him, his eyes opened wide in shock.

I kept repeating in my head, please don't, please don't, but he did.

"Tony?"

Could this get any worse? I pulled everything dark I had from inside of me like I used to do back in that Gehenna house and straightened my back and wiped any expression off my face like I was made of granite. I was the original dead man walking.

The group all turned as one to stare at Antoney who was staring at me.

You could hear a pin drop in that noisy, loud and unpleasant moment it took for the rest of the group to recognize me and unite for a common purpose; to make my life a living hell. I was a police officer, God dammit, a detective with a gun in the name of the law!

"My partner said to keep moving! Please keep moving out of the way of traffic!"

My voice was as cold as the inside of an iceberg, as my sire's had been to me all of my life. My dead eyes reflected back at him had no spark of light shining through and no indication or sign whatsoever that I knew him or any of them from a hole in the head. And wonder's, the man flinched ever so slightly as though something I did caused that reaction in a man who had only shown me his hate.

I saw the grin start on Anton's smug face and heard his mother's gleeful laugh of decadent joy as they stared at me. The man who had spawned me out of distaste and disgust stood next to her, his expressionless face rivaling my own.

Anton was laughing outright now, mocking, taunting, with his finger pointing at my uniform like he was still that 9-year-old fat spoiled brat in a dressy cashmere suit with short pants, laughing at the sight of the boy zombie bumbling with his hands on the wall, clumsily stumbling down the stairs in a filthy, torn suit and flappy shoes, a caricature of the well-dressed adults in the room who stood at the bottom of the stairs gaping up at him.

I thought of my waking nightmares, my periods of absence of self, and my real desire to put a bullet in each and every one of their heads surfaced from the recesses of my mind. I had a gun with more than enough bullets, it would be so easy. I could taste it.

Something must have shown on my face that was more than hate. I hadn't moved but maybe I had. My right hand could have twitched just the slightest toward my gun. Anton stopped laughing. Only my half-lidded eyes moved when I looked at him, and the evil thing that was his mother, and the spineless jelly, soft white-bread underbelly that was his father, back and forth, with my lifeless eyes.

"Tony?"

I heard my name called again, almost a plea. I turned toward the voice; Antoney, the traitor's. I stared without fervor into his eyes and spoke profound words directly to him.

"Keep moving! You're blocking the door! There are people still trying to get in, keep moving! And his face changed and his expression fell from light expectation to a shadowy dark disappointment.

After that it was easy. Even though eons had seemed to pass in slowed down time, it had only been a few moments. I came out of my funk and all I saw before me was a group of strangers, fancily dressed and ordinary. I felt nothing, not even the cold any longer or the heat of my anger.

"I'd liked to speak with you, Anthony. Come to my suites later this evening, around eleven."

Angela DiNozzo looked at her husband like he had lost his freakin' mind but no one could have been any more shocked and horrified than I to hear that hated voice, directed at me, coming out of that man's mouth. The sound made my skin crawl. The thought of being in the same room with him turned my stomach and I didn't try to hide how I felt. Anton saw my expression as they all did, and took an angry step towards me but his father's peremptory, "don't, Anton!" stopped him in his tracks.

When the doors started to move again I turned my attention to the newcomers and answered a question from a guest Senator's pretty daughter. The little note she slipped me was pretty pink and prettily scented. A definite call back. When I turned back around, the ordinary, dressed up strangers had vanished for places elsewhere.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. My partner Edwards had questions but he held them back. When my shift was over, I went home and prepared for Anton's visit with a loaded 9 mm pistol under my pillow and my Sig-Sauer in my hand. I slept soundly but when I woke up, my pillow was soaked. Had I allowed myself to cry in my sleep?

The next day, I phoned into the department and declined to work the overtime shift. It was Saturday and I took care of some things at home and did some shopping. My guns never left my side or my ankle. I broke a date with a beautiful girl because I wasn't sure when Anton would show up with his posse and I didn't want her to get hurt. I stayed alert and vigilant. If he showed up alone; but knowing Anton, he'd have his backup gang with him, but if he did show up alone, I'd fight him tooth and nail. If he came with reinforcements, I would be using deadly force to take the bastards down!

My mail had piled up so I was going through it while eating my Chinese dinner. My gun was resting on the coffee table next to the cutlery.

Another official looking envelope, God, I hated those. The letter was on white smooth textured paper from a law firm in England. Here we go again. Also enclosed was a small envelope made of very pretty yellow antique paper that had a faint but familiar scent, very elusive.

Okay, here we go. I psyched myself up to read this little ditty trying to think what I had left that ANYBODY else wanted to take from me but I got nothing. Until I read the letter. I sat in shock.

My grandfather, my mother's rich father, had set up trust funds for his grandchildren to be held in trust until the age of 25. I had turned 25 two weeks ago. My share of the trust fund was 27 million American dollars to be administered over a period of five years. I sat in the room until it got dark, my food forgotten, and sat some more. The phone rang and I let the answering machine record a message.

My maternal grandfather had never indicated in any shape or form that he held any interest in me. I use to wonder about my mother's people, could they all hate me as much as she did. Never found out, though actions speak louder than words and I never heard a word from any of them. So, the old guy setting up a trust fund for me, I was kind of overwhelmed.

After I digested that for a while I finally got up and turned on the light. The message on the answering machine was from Anton DiNozzo's extremely pissed-off psychotic self. Guess I had missed my 11 pm appointment with his big daddy last night. Not surprised that he had ferreted out my unlisted phone number and address, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't sitting in his limousine in front of my apartment building right now with his cadre of frat boy gangsters deciding who was going to hold me while he broke the other side of my face. Bring it on Pretty Fat Boy. Your next encounter with me will be your last!

After I used the bathroom and got a beer, I opened the small envelope that was included in my surprising windfall.

Dear Anthony:

Or do you prefer, Tony, as the servants fondly called you. The lawyer kindly allowed me to include this letter with your other correspondence because I was not sure you would read any letter I sent you.

I abandoned you with your father when you were three years old to run away to be with my lover and the love of my life. We married the day my divorce was finalized from your father and moved to Italy where my love brought me a Villa and vineyard near Milan which overlooks a beautiful lake.

Interesting tourists visit the town for the beautiful gardens, old world architecture and charm. The ferries and boardwalks also attract the tourist. Visitors are welcome to our villa to taste our wines and purchase if they so desire. Our villa overlooks the lake and many days we can see the windsurfers at play. Fresh fish is available daily from the many tiny fishing villages around the lake. I have been blessed with this beautiful place to live.

My husband and I have also been blessed with four wonderful children, two girls and two boys. Giovan is 21 and is pre-med. His twin sister, Bexaida, Becky, we call her, graduated from college this year and is working as a cinematographer, which has always been her passion. Annamaria is 16 and Warren is 14, both still in high school. They are wonderful children, loving and kind and good to their parents. I have the most perfect life here. There is nothing more I could ask for.

I finished reading the first side of the single sheet of paper and really wasn't all that interested in torturing myself by reading any further the brochure-like leaflet of an ideal vacation home and Kinkade picture perfect family.

What I had read was devastating enough. So 'my mother' lived every little girl's dream, a princess with everything her little heart desired while I was being summarily crucified from the moment she left. Good for her!

The last time I had read something from her, the paper was soaked from my tears but I'd be damned if I was going to cry this time. Ironically, the pleasant odor that was so familiar was also present and I suddenly knew that it was my mother's perfume I was remembering.

After a while, I decided, what the hell, since there was no one else around to inflict severe pain and degradation on me, unless I went downstairs and hauled Anton and his cronies up here, I might as well go ahead and torture myself some more. So I turned the page over and finished reading the happiness message my mother felt she so urgently needed to share.

So, my dearest Tony, my first born child. I wanted you to see my life and that I have nothing to complain about for my actions.

And yet, my life, for which I sacrificed you for my own happiness, was the most selfish thing that a mother could ever do to her child.

I visit the priest every day of my life to confess my sin and to beg your forgiveness and Gods'. I know that I will rot in hell for what I did to you and I deserve no better.

I pray every night to sleep without seeing you in my dreams with a single flower in your tiny little hand sometimes bloody from the thorns that you picked for me and that you would try to give me and I would rebuff you every single time.

Because you kept trying to give me a flower to represent your love for your mother.

I left your father a letter in which I wished you had never been born. I know that he was cruel enough to show that letter to you but yet I hope and pray that he did not.

I am too much of a coward to inquire how your life turned out because if you tell me it was horrible I might as well shrivel up and die now because I already live a life of hell. My children and my husband begged me to contact you but I am so ashamed and filled with such guilt and fear, what is there I can say.

I am beyond redemption, this I know for leaving you behind. I have been living with the guilt for years and it taint's everything I do or touch. Please God let your life have good in it in spite of what I did.

I will accept your forgiveness or your condemnation the same, I don't deserve the first and you are a much better person than I if you deny me the second.

No matter what cruelty I have done to you, and whatever punishment you mete out to me, I still remain your mother, Louisa

I finished her letter and set it aside numbly. It wasn't more of the sugary crap that I was expecting and I can't say that I wasn't affected by it, but it was more on the lines of, too bad your life is a living hell, but you got what you deserved. I got paper and pen and an envelope to send her my answer.

Dear Louisa:

I am glad you are miserable and unhappy and that you are living a hell on earth. I hope that you do rot in a fiery hell when you die. Do not contact me again. I can never forgive you!

Anthony DiNozzo, Jr.

END OF FLASHBACK

Gibbs sat in silence for a minute, I presume to gather his thoughts, maybe to blame me for being so harsh.

"I'm sorry, Tony. You were a child, then a young man. You didn't deserve all of this. And just for the record, I don't know that I could have forgiven my mother at that time, either. Look how long it took me to reconcile with my father."

I looked at Gibbs a little warily, not liking it when he was nice AND verbal about it. And he had said, 'at that time.' His way of making me see that it might be time now to forgive?

"Thanks, Gibbs. But don't say sorry because, firstly, it wasn't your fault, and second, it's a sign..."

"Not in this case, it's not weak to wish you had had a better time growing up."

"Yeah, well...I'm using the bathroom and then making coffee. Don't worry I'll make it diesel fuel engine strength just for you."

I know Gibbs needed to hear the rest but he was giving me a break, time to get my state of mind in balance. And he was right, after sharing some of my childhood with Margret and showing her the tortured, guilt-ridden letter from my mother, she had helped me to reason on things differently.

Together we had composed another reply and in it I told my mother that it had taken me 16 more years but I had finally forgiven her. I told her we would not rehash the past but if she wished, we would start a new beginning and that it was time she forgave herself.

She wrote back that she was grateful beyond words and that her prayers had been answered, and that only now could she try to let go of her guilt. She thanked me profusely for my forgiveness and when I was ready, she wanted us to arrange for a visit to her home or mine.

I brought coffee and a couple of apples and set them on the coffee table. Gibbs took a swig of coffee then finished off his apple in three or four bites. I was ready to move on and get the rest of this story over with.

"So, anyway Gibbs, I got another call from a DiNozzo psycho, Angela the bitch, this time, same old, same old. Their phone calls, hell, just their presence in my city, even just those three days, spoiled things for me there, and now that they knew where I was, it could only get worse. The letters from the lawyer and my mother coming at the same time, well, I just didn't feel comfortable or safe there anymore.

"I loved working in Philadelphia, Boss, and I couldn't ask for a better partner, but it was time to move on. My friend Danny was on the Baltimore Police department and he had already spoken to his captain about me. There was a job for me there, a step up to Detective 2nd grade so I took it. I was in Baltimore three weeks later.

"As far as the trust fund, I couldn't touch it, it was too soon and it felt tainted. All my years of suffering because none of those people cared about me, not my mother or my grandfather, the money just wasn't enough to make up for that. So I left it untouched for five years.

"Then I got involved in sponsor a kid for college. You know, help them out starting as far back as kindergarten. I had the money so I started out with one 5th grader, single working mother, already lost one young son to drive by shooting.

"Money goes into a trust fund for them in their name into bank accounts where the IRS has no authority. I pay the IRS out of the fund so the family has one less thing to worry about. I did the same for a family with eight kids. The husband was caring for four of his deceased sister-in-laws kids and his own four kids after his wife and her sister were killed in a car accident. The man had two jobs and a bad heart. The older kids were taking care of the younger ones and missing school. Anyway, with the trust funds set up, four of the kids are in college and doing very well. The father was able to have heart surgery and is doing very well, also. They moved into a better place and he was able to quit one of his jobs.

"All in all, Gibbs, the trust fund now helps support 28 kids from grade school to college. I took enough money to buy my duplex when I moved to DC. The fund is administered by a conglomerate from the business and medical fields. The IRS is paid their due just not by me, it comes out of the trust fund. So ostensibly, the trust fund is in my name, but I have no access to the money.

"If the private investigators had dug just a little deeper, they would have found this out. It's not like I was trying to hide anything. I'm happy the money can be used in this way to help those kids."

"You did good, Tony. Very good. I'd like the name of the organization that sponsors this program, it's something I think I'd like to check in to."

"Really?"

"What? Don't act so surprised, I like to help kids too, DiNozzo."

"Yes, sir!" I mocked him. "Don't get all defensive. McGee, Ducky and Abby have joined in the program. I thought about asking you but I never got around to it. They only found out about it by accident. Well...I was slightly inebriated and running my mouth and one thing led to another..."

"I got it DiNozzo. It better not have been a school night. Okay, I think we're done here. I'll present this to Vance tomorrow, see where he wants to go with it. What do you see happening about Matt Simmons?"

"Boss, he has harassed me for two years and I never had a clue why. I didn't even know who the hell he was. He's laughed and plotted behind my back. He's...Shit, he held me down while Anton pounded my face with a glass ashtray and broke my jaw.

"And don't look so surprised. I haven't told you and you don't need to know all of it, except the man showed no mercy when he stood over me with a lighter while I was on the floor and burned my flesh so bad my denim jeans melted into the wounds. And I had never done a damn thing to him except be on his best friends hit list. What kind of a man who does those kinds of things can be trusted to use a gun impartially? I'm going after him if it means his job, his badge and his gun, whatever."

Gibbs knew I was determined so he just shook his head and finished his coffee and left to get a couple hours sleep.

"See you in the morning and get some sleep, DiNozzo!"

A/N All for now. Thank you so much for reading. Each and every comment is greatly appreciated.