Summary:
Categories: Gen Characters: Anthony DiNozzo, Leroy Jethro Gibbs
Genre: Case, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: None
Warnings: Torture, Violence
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 3
Completed: No
Word count: 10270
Read: 7319
Published: 03/19/2010
Updated: 03/21/2010
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rated T for violence, mild sexual references, some language, and potential dark themes. Rating *might* change in future.
1. A Question of Honor by NuthatchXi
2. Thoughts They Cannot Defend by NuthatchXi
3. Roll in Like Thunder by NuthatchXi
A Question of Honor by NuthatchXi
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rated T for violence, mild sexual references, some language, and potential dark themes. NO SLASH.
"Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged man in ragged clothes
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow…"
â€"Starry, Starry Night by Don McLean
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
If there was anything James Bridenn hated, it was murder before breakfast.
Crystalline sunlight streamed through his wide glass windows, illuminating the office with its cheery light. When he'd accepted his promotion to head of Philadelphia PD's Criminal Intelligence department, Bridenn had insisted on this room. His days were often dark ones metaphorically; there was no need for them to be dark in a literal sense. Depression was always a risk in law enforcement, and such simple pleasuresâ€"a favorite food, a well-lit officeâ€"helped more than most people would ever guess.
Catching a glimpse of himself in the adjacent mirror, Bridenn heaved a sigh, and ran both hands through his lank dark hair. Deep set eyes, unusually shadowed. Pallid skin, pale even after Baltimore's hot summer. No wonder he felt the need for light. He was too vampiric by half already.
Such was the price of obsession.
Bridenn took a huge bite of his donut, savoring the sweetness of his favorite glaze. Cases were never supposed to be personal. But this…
Finished with his makeshift breakfast, James wiped greasy fingers on his napkin. His obsessionâ€"Macalusoâ€"hadn't started out as personal. Or rather, it had, but only in the vague way that dealing with the Mafia always was. The way that even pursuing Girelli, the previous and low-profile Mafia boss, had been. But Bridenn defied anyone, following this case as he had, step by step, year after year, to be unaffected by the sheer brutality of Mike Macaluso.
Not that anyone could ever prove that Macaluso was responsible for the rash of increasingly savage killings that had been sweeping through Philadelphia for the last five years. James grimaced, tapping the morning paper with rigid fingers. A whisper, a rumor, a witness (mysteriously refusing to testify by the date of the trial)â€"these he had in spades. A few low-level informants. Or, like today's newspaper loudly proclaimed, a blood-soaked and mangled body, sprawled in a dark alley where Macaluso's men were known to frequent. But proof? That was something he was desperate for, something he had no real way of obtaining.
The familiar buzz of static that always preceded his receptionist's call drew Bridenn's from his thoughts. After a moment, Linnie's voice crackled over the line. "Sir, Sergeant Watson wishes to speak with you."
Sergeant Tom Watson. Chunky and balding, he looked every inch the mediocre, insignificant cop loved by anti-police dramas. In reality, he was one of Philadelphia's most effective men. "Thank you, Linnie. Send him in."
After a moment, the reinforced office door squeaked open, revealing Watson's rumpled figure. "Good morning, sir."
He soundedâ€"cheerful. Almost ebullient, in fact. James scrutinized him in mild dismay. Even ignoring the grisly murder that Philly Metro detectives had been working all night to investigate, it was rare for Watson to display anything but intense focus. The occasional smirk, perhapsâ€"but actual cheer? It was unnerving. After all these years of training and recruiting officers and detectives for undercover work, had the man finally cracked?
"Morning, Tom," Bridenn answered, unable to keep an uneasy note out of his voice. He really hoped the man had merely had a rollicking good time with his wife last nightâ€"though that was an image disturbing enough to make him wish he hadn't thought of itâ€"or won the lottery, or discovered a source for latex gloves that would save Philadelphia PD thousands of dollars in needless rips. He couldn't afford to lose the valuable members of his department to such an unexpected foe as insanity. "How can I help you?"
"It's more how I can help you, sir." There was no doubt about it. Watson was practically bursting with excitement. Bizarre. "I received a request from one of our homicide detectives for an undercover assignment."
In general, something to be pleased about. But hardly life-altering enough to make Tom act like a girl on the night before prom. "Who?" Bridenn asked, curious.
When Watson answered, it was with the air of one unveiling a priceless gift. "Officer Anthony DiNozzo."
"DiNozzo?" The name was familiar, but it took Bridenn a moment to place it. After a moment, a hazy image of a young man with a wicked grin swam to mind. "Peoria transfer. Homicide division. I remember." Motioning for Tom to take a seat, James nodded to indicate he should go on.
He sat, but leaned forward towards me with an intensity that was every bit as characteristic as his excitement wasn't. "He's good, James. As an investigator, the kid's on fire. But as an undercover operativeâ€"I've wanted him ever since I did an interview with him when he first transferred from Peoria PD. I heard a few things about ops he did back there. He's only twenty-seven, but the kid's made for undercover work." Watson frowned, the expression pulling wrinkles across his florid brow. Bridenn eyed him curiously, but no explanation was forthcoming; after a moment, the other man shook it off. "Now he's offered. James, I swear, DiNozzo's got it all. Never seen anything like it."
"That's good to hear," Bridenn said slowly. "You have an assignment in mind?"
"He asked about Macaluso."
He'd been half expecting it, really. All the same, James found himself on his feet, flooded with adrenaline. He strode quickly over to the window, just for something to do.
"You think he can do it?" The words came out fastâ€"almost too fast. His tongue didn't seem to be working right.
There was a smirk contained in his friend's response. "Oh, he can do it. If anyone can do it, it's DiNozzo. Speaks three languages, one of which is Italian. The kid is Italian. Doesn't give off a cop vibe at all. He's got enough cojones to take on the Chinese Army, but enough savvy to temper it. Born chameleon, too. He's perfect for Operation Hawkeye. Don't know about God, but somebody up there must like you, James. It's Christmas come early. All wrapped up in a shiny bow."
Elation was rising like a tidal wave, but Bridenn forced himself to ask. "Too shiny?"
A cryptic question at best. But Watson knew him well enough to guess at the meaning. "He won't turn, and he won't crack under the pressure, if that's what you mean, sir. DiNozzo's shiftless in his personal life, but when it comes to law enforcement, he's got an iron will."
Tom slapped a folder down on his superior's wide desk. "Take a look at it, James," he urged. "See what you think."
The soft sound of a door pulling shut signaled Watson's departure, but Bridenn still stood frozen by the window, his eyes unseeing as they tracked the movement of the cars below.
He would look at the folder, because it would be negligent to do otherwise. He'd try to remain impartial as he scanned through performance evaluations. He'd sift through recommendations and stories of bravery without allowing himself to be stirred by them. And mostly, he would try to forget how very young DiNozzo still was, because Bridenn already knew that the answer was yes.
God help him if he sent the kid to his death.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Shooting had always been cathartic.
Widening his stance, Tony DiNozzo took aim. Crack. The bullet ripped into his target's chest. Barely pausing to aim, Tony released again. One. Two. Three. Four. With each shot, he could feel himself relaxing further. Patterns. The steady rhythm of aim-fire-aim. They were more soothing than they ought to be, for a Detective who had seen precisely how much damage such a missile could inflict. But to Tony, guns meant safety as well as danger. A gun in the hands of a criminal meant death or coercion. A gun in the hands of someone elseâ€"a cop, a woman facing an assailant twice her sizeâ€"could avert a crisis, or save a life.
At the moment, he'd rather see a thousand bullets than another knife wound. Tony's hand trembled just slightly as he pulled the trigger, but it was enough. The shot went wide, scoring the target's shoulder instead of its chest. Memories drifted before his eyes, crystal in their clarity, and for a moment the stench of blood and death filled his nostrils.
Get a hold of yourself, Anthony.
Thrusting further images of the morning's mutilated victim far from his mind, he fired in rapid succession. It shouldn't bother him so much. God knew he'd seen enough bloodshed since he first became a cop in Peoria. But even the sour-faced medical examiner Aaron had seemed queasy when examining Julia Municello's body. And he'd never seen her alive.
Tony had. God, she'd been a rough-edged thing, with overly tanned skin and a cigarette-hoarse voice, spewing obscenities like Tony spewed innuendos. A Mafia girl turned informant. They'd booked her two weeks ago, with the excuse of drug dealing chargesâ€"manufactured for convenience, but probably true. She'd been clean, though, and whenâ€"for reasons that he hadn't understood at the timeâ€"Tony had been assigned to hear her report, Julia had been delighted. She'd been looking forward to running roughshod over the young officer, no doubt, plying her sharp tongue and making him blush. In truth, if any young woman could have made him stumble, it was this one.
But there wasn't a woman alive who could intimidate Anthony DiNozzo.
The phrasing made him wince. Lowering his gun, he left the training grounds, ignoring the shouted phrase that followed him out. He didn't know what the officer had said, but he didn't have to; there would have been nothing complimentary about it. Unlike in Peoria, he'd never been popular here. Philly cops weren't looking for hotshot young investigators to tell them how to do their jobsâ€"even when the suggestion was a polite one. And he had been polite, Tony assured himself virtuously. At first. If after the first few months (weeks) he'd been frustrated by their minimal (complete lack) of receptivityâ€"well, he'd never been good at keeping his mouth shut.
Julia had been like him, that way. They'd sniped and flirted their way through the interview, staying just barely within the bounds of propriety. He'd enjoyed the game, and so had she, but when she turned to go there was something more in her eyes than lust and anger. Something that had made him both relieved and oddly sorry that there was no way they could ever get involved without ruining them both.
It added an extra twist to the bitterness. Tony closed his eyes, just for a moment, as he made his way into the parking lot, fighting off a wave of something that might have been grief. Vacant hazel eyes stared back at him from her pristine faceâ€"the only part of her not slashed, lacerated or covered in bruises. Or broken, DiNozzo, his mind taunted. Her pretty legs, snapped like twigs. Bone poking through her fragile copper skin…every finger shattered, one…by…one…by…one…
They'd wanted her identified. A message. She'd been made, no doubt. It was like all the rest of the Macaluso killings since he'd come to Philadelphia. The head, the faceâ€"untouched. The rest…not so much. Tony would know. Somehow, his team always was assigned the suspected Mafia cases.
The first case, he'd thought nothing of it. The second, he'd put down to coincidence. The third sent suspicion crawling through him; the fourth brought certainty. By the fifth, his partner was openly glaring at him, and he was wondering why he'd even bothered leaving Peoria in the first place.
But DiNozzos couldn't be out-stubborned. That was one of his father's rules, though an unspoken oneâ€"and one of the few rules Tony had actually managed to follow. So he'd gritted his teethâ€"taking solace in the fact that even gritted his teeth were still the nicest in the entire police forceâ€"and put his foot down. And hung on for dear life as brutal murder after brutal murder came down the pipeline.
After a while, as their closure rate went from the highest on the task force to the lowest, his partnerâ€"once a friendâ€"stopped glaring. And started ignoring, instead. Which hurt more than Tony would ever admit.
He'd had enough of being ignored in his life.
In retaliation, he'd set his DiNozzometer from Mildly-Annoying-But-Charming (the default setting) all the way up to Impossibly-Irritating. (Tony stopped just short of Apoplexy-Inducing-Infuriating, because, frankly, he couldn't afford to get fired right now.)
Six official reprimands later, his partner had indeed stopped ignoring him.
The bodies, however, had kept coming. Combined with the now hellish situation that was his work environment, it was almost enough to make Tony give in. But no one, not even Sergeant Watson pulling strings, was going to force him into this.
Not after Peoria. Not after he'd seen how long-term undercover jobs could destroy someone. Not after Alicia.
But he'd be damned if he thought of that now. He was stronger than her, more experienced, with a whole hell of a lot less to lose. So what if he'd finally given in. He'd be alright.
He'd have to be.
Tugging on the door handle of his car, Tony sighed. He'd forgotten his keys. Or his partner, Keyes, had stolen them again. For an old fogy, he fought pretty dirty. Tony smacked the car in frustration. On a different day, he might feel obligated to give Keyes a little creditâ€"for sheer obnoxiousness, if not for originality. But tonight? All he wanted was a shower, long and hot enough to forget that once Julia's skin had smelled like smoke and cinnamon instead of sweat and gore.
He really needed to have an extra set of keys made. Then he could just tell Keyes to keep the keysâ€"appropriate, really. Perhaps, if he was itching for another reprimand, Tony could even tell him precisely where he could keep them. The idea was more tempting than it ought to be. Because, God he missed having a partner who actually gave a flying fig whether he made it home all right. Alicia would have driven him home, and found an excuse to hover until she was sure he wouldn't drink himself into a stupor.
"Hey, DiNozzo!"
Flinching violently, Tony whipped around, hand automatically brushing his gun. His green eyes met familiarly wry brown ones, and instantly he deflated. Running wobbly fingers through his perfectly arranged hair, Tony attempted a smile. For him, it was an utter failure. "Steve," he acknowledged.
"Gonna shoot me?" The words were teasing, but the expression on the burly man's face was concerned. "Getting jumpy. Were you this jumpy when you came here, because I gotta say, you seem like you're getting worse the longer you're in Philly."
"Trying to haze me?" Tony's voice was dry. It was hard not to like Steve. "Three people today have suggested I should go back to Peoria. Trying to join the ranks?"
"Yeah, like they need my help." Steve came to stand next to him, crossing his arms. At six foot six, he towered over the entire police force. "'Misplaced' your keys again, DiNozzo?"
"Must've dropped them by mistake," Tony said glibly. His grin was disarming, but he knew Steve would catch the ironic gleam in his eyes. "You know how it is. Can't help fiddling with my valuables over grates. Dangdest thingâ€""
"Oh, cut the crap," the other officer grumbled. "Like I don't know your partner's been taking them. I just don't know if he's doing it because he knows how much you love your car, or if he thinks the pun is funny. Gotta lame sense of humor, that one."
Since Tony had in fact thought the pun, at least, was funny, he wasn't sure how best to respond. Steve decided for him by continuing. "Why don't you complain?" He demanded, steering his friend away from the car with a forceful arm. Tony cast his Mustang a wistful look, but didn't resist. Fighting against the force of nature that was Steve Kraut, he had learned, was an exercise in futility.
"Good idea," Tony answered promptly. "I made a sandwich for lunch, but the bread was stale and the meat was kind of funny tasting. My favorite shampoo has been discontinued, and I've got to say, even hair this nice needs to be given its proper treatment. There was a cute blonde on the street today, with the shortest little skirt you ever saw, but I didn't get to flirt with herâ€""
As predicted, this litany had Steve rolling his eyes. "About Keyes, you moron."
"Oh, Keyes," Tony responded, face lighting up, as though the connection had only just occurred to him. "Well, that's a funny thing. I'm glad you asked that. You've reminded me of a question I had for youâ€""
"I don't know why I even bother," his friend sighed, pressing the unlock button on his own set of keys. His car's headlights flashed from across the parking lot. "Come on, Tony, I'm worried about you. Someday this hazing is going to turn into more than just hazing, and you know it."
"No, it won't," Tony disagreed, feeling more exhausted than he had in long time. "Steve. Not tonight."
Steve looked more than ready to argue, but something in Tony's face must have told what Tony couldn't bring himself to. Scowling, Steve shoved the smaller man towards the passenger door of his own car.
Tony sank in gratefully, closing his eyes as the car started. It felt so good to lie here, for once near someone he trusted. The car was musty, but it was a comforting scent. It lulled him, much like the thrumming of the engine.
It was a long time before Steve broke the silence. "Tony, are you sleeping?"
No, because sleep would mean oblivionâ€"at least for a little whileâ€"and he was still thinking thoughts about Julia's death that he never wanted to think, ever again. But it was a whole lot easier to pretend he was asleep than to pull up his barriers against the older man again, so he said nothing.
A long and gusty sigh issued from Steve's corner. "You probably need it."
Silence stretched. Tony focused on keeping his breathing even, and tried to steel himself against the sympathy. If he came apart now…
He'd never be able to pull himself back together.
When Steve's voice came again, it was in tones so low Tony had to strain to hear it. "I don't know if you're really sleeping. I never have been able to tell with you. But I wanna say one thing, because this is probably the only time you'll shut up enough for me to get a word in edgewise. You're a good man. I can see that, even though you don't want me to. I don't know why you keep everyone at arm's lengthâ€"though Philly can't have helped you with thatâ€"and it doesn't matter. But someday, Tony…someday you're going to meet a friend you can't run circles around. And they're going to see through that smoke screen of yours, to the man inside. I hope they can do a better job at helping you heal than I can, 'cause even I can see that you need it." The clicking of a turn signal interrupted his words. "God, you've got a lot of scars, kid."
Tony lay there, feeling like he'd been turned to stone, and wished with all his heart that his screw-ups weren't so very obvious. That he was as good of a man as Steve seemed to think he was. And mostly, that he had not been so stubborn, so selfish, so weak about refusing to help take down Macaluso that it had taken the death of a bright young woman to convince him to act.
Julia's cold, still face overlaid with Alicia's blood spattered one in his mind, and Tony wondered if it was possible to drown in regrets.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Notes: I know the show says Mancuso was a Mafia boss Tony took down in Baltimore. It does not, however, say that Mancuso was from Baltimore. Just trust me one this oneâ€"I need it this was for future plotlines, but it will be as technically canonical as possible! Also, I mean no offense to the hardworking cops of Philadelphia PD.
This is my first NCIS storyâ€"I'd love to hear what you think. Thoughts? Criticisms? Compliments? Bring 'em on. :) I will be posting a new chapter (or two) every day until I reach chapter seven. I have not yet written eight.
End Notes:
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rated T for violence, mild sexual references, some language, and potential dark themes. Rating *might* change in future.
Thoughts They Cannot Defend by NuthatchXi
Chapter warnings: T for a potentially disturbing violent sequence (and a mother load of flirting.) No gore, I promise.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Gazing at people, some hand in hand,
Just what I'm going through, they can't understand
Some try to tell me thoughts they cannot defend
Just what you want to be, you'll be in the end…"
---Nights in White Satin by The Moody Blues
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A month later.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There were advantages to cover IDs that came with a girlfriend.
Tony pressed the woman back against the couch, feeling the relentless beat of the music vibrating through his bones, and recaptured her lips with his. Running his hands through her silky black hair, he noted that she was kissing back rather more eagerly than the role required. It was enormously tempting to let his hands wander, but sheer force of will kept him still.
Clarity of focus was essential. This was the most crucial stage of the operation, and Tony couldn't afford to be distracted. Even when his distraction was big-eyed and well-endowed, and trembling with just enough nervousness to make him feel protective in spite of himself.
Not that Tony wasn't nervous. It was part of the reason he was allowing himself the pleasure of kissing her. So long as he kept his thoughts focused on sex, it was impossible to be overwhelmed by the stakes.
And did she ever have nice lips.
But he was getting carried away. Panting, Tony pulled back, and grinned crookedly at his ticket into the world of organized crime. Maria Donatti of the impossibly long lashes smiled back so slyly that he really, really wished that they were back in her apartment instead of in a crowded nightclub. Thoughts racing as he imagined how that pleasant but implausible scenario might pan out, Tony wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. Tony took the opportunity to scan through the crowd for any sign of Macaluso or his closest henchmen. Nothing. Plenty of shady faces, of course, many of which he recognized from their suspected Mafia lists; and a great many women squeezed into brightly colored dresses, but no sign of Macaluso at his favorite hangout. A passing waitress with a platter of hot pink cocktail drinks---and very long legs---winked at him as she passed. Tony grinned back appreciatively, and was startled by a sudden sharp pinch.
Maria pouted up at him with red-lipstick smeared lips, looking just a little bit miffed. Tony bit back a surprised laugh. So even fake girlfriends, who knew perfectly well that there was no way you could actually sleep with them, didn't like having your attention divided? Well, never let it be said that Anthony DiNozzo would deny a woman's needs. The detective leaned towards her, leering appreciatively at her low-cut blouse, and kissed her. Hard.
Pulling away slightly, he placed his lips by her ear. "What a fiery Italiana, " Tony breathed, voice husky. "Too bad we're breaking up."
She chuckled, a throaty sound. "We can always make up, Antonio. And you know what comes after that."
The suggestion was clear, but for once Tony didn't bite. There was no way he could get involved with this woman, any more than he could have gotten involved with Julia. Not only would it be unwise, it also didn't fit in the least with the operation. Their "relationship" was a ploy---and a ploy only. As the sister of a trusted (and now deceased) mafia member, Maria had every reason to bring her new Italian boyfriend to Macaluso's hangout. But she was taking a substantial risk. Passing information was dangerous enough. Deliberately installing a mole into Macaluso's organization…
Tony was in no doubt of what would come to pass if her betrayal was discovered now. He would not be responsible for that. Instead, once the organization had been convinced of AntonioFlorentino's loyalty, he and Maria would have a "falling out," leaving the window open for Tony to obtain a new girlfriend---a cop this time. It was a traditional strategy, but not so common that Macaluso should be overly suspicious.
"Should,"of course, made a tenuous basis for safety.
"Maria, Bella," a warm male voice remarked from his left, "You are always a sight for sore eyes."
Maria tensed every so slightly, and Tony felt a tidal wave of adrenaline crash over him. Then the woman pulled to her feet, smiling, every sign of nervousness wiped from her face. "Buona sera," she replied, pleasure clear in her soft voice. "How are you?"
And Tony looked into the eyes of Mike Macaluso.
The man smiled, planting a chaste kiss on Maria's cheek. He was handsome in classically Italian way, with swarthy skin, dark eyes and a smile that looked like it could be as predatory as Tony's. But there was a hard edge to him entirely incongruent with his current genial expression. Tony regarded him warily, and tried not to be jealous of the man's designer suit.
"I am very good indeed, Topolina. Better now that I have seen you in your sexy heels. Gucci?" Macaluso gave her an up-and-down look that to Tony's sharp eye seemed almost cursory, and smirked when she planted her hands on her hips. The conflicting messages in the interchange might have confused Tony, if he hadn't known the two were cousins.
"Mike, no flirting," Maria scolded, lips twitching. "You would say such a thing in front of my ragazzo?"
She was good. Almost too good for comfort, which wasn't really what he'd been expecting, though maybe it should have been. If she decided to turn back to Macaluso's side, Tony wouldn't be able to tell until it was far too late. He could only pray that her motives were sincere.
Recalling her convulsively trembling body as it pressed against his, he was inclined to think they might be.
Macaluso swiveled towards Tony, slightly scraggly eyebrows rising in what appeared to be casual surprise. The detective couldn't help but be impressed at the dissembling---no one reached that level in the Mafia by being unobservant. That Macaluso was able to convincingly pretend to be told volumes.
A dangerous man.
"So this is the New Yorker who has captured the lovely Maria's interest," Macaluso said, extending a hand. "Antonio Florentino. I have heard a lot about you."
Tony took it. The hand was cool, dry and as smooth as a lady's. Tony memorized the feel of it without even meaning to. Had these pampered fingers, so clearly unused to labor, held the knife that ended Julia's life?
Tony grinned, darting an impish glance at Maria. "Reeeeallly, Ria?" Turning back to Macaluso, his expression eased from flirtatious to friendly. "My uncle speaks of you very highly."
"I always had the impression he thought me, what is the word, a reprobate?" Macaluso commented, mouth quirking wryly. His eyes gave none of his feelings away.
Tony laughed. His mind was racing. Had their intelligence been wrong? "An effective reprobate."
Suddenly, a hand clapped on his shoulder. Macaluso was grinning himself, now. "True, my friend. And that is the best way to be, yes? Come." And Macaluso was steering him away from Maria, who was smiling in a way that made him think their intelligence hadn't been wrong. "You must lend me your boyfriend for a while, Maria. I want to learn about the man who is dating my cousin."
"Be nice, Mike," The lady in question called out, voice amused, and blew an airy kiss to Tony. "I might even keep this one!"
The crowds parted easily as they made their way to the back of the club. Clearly, no one here was under any illusions as to the importance of this man. Uneasy, Tony tried to read their expressions. Some gazed at him in frank curiosity. Others' eyes skittered away as though they didn't want to be seen taking notice.
He wasn't sure how to read that.
"Where are we going?" Tony tried, keeping his face casual and unconcerned. The hand on his shoulder patted once. Twice.
"To a place where we can talk, away from snoopy people," Macaluso said easily, leading him towards a small exterior door. "Yes. Here we are." Extending his hand, Macaluso grabbed the handle, and pulled. A rush of cool autumn air swept inside, and Tony caught a glimpse of an almost pitch black ally before he was ushered into it.
Stomach churning, he turned towards Macaluso. The door slammed shut, plunging them into darkness. Vision still dazzled by the flashy lights of the club, Tony could see nothing. But he could sense movement around him, far too close for comfort.
"This your conference room?" Tony began, refusing to let himself step backwards. "Gotta say, I liked the club better---"
An arm wrapped around his throat. Something sharp pricked his jaw line.
Tony froze.
"Don't move," A new voice rasped, the breath hot on his ear. Tony didn't really think he needed the warning. Alone, without backup, and unarmed aside from wholly inaccessible knife tucked into his shoe, he'd never felt less like moving in his life. Harder to resist was the temptation to mouth off, with every nerve screaming at him that he was helpless, powerless…
"There is no need to be nervous, Antonio," Marcuso's smooth voice announced from a few feet away. A sudden flare of light illuminated the alleyway---a cigarette lighter. The flame cast his face into sharp relief as he lit a cigarette and stepped forward.
"Oh, well, that's all better then," Tony commented, as boldly jovial as the scrape of the blade against his neck allowed. "I mean, I was really worried there for a moment. But nowâ€""
The knife pricked more sharply. Tony fell silent, unimpressed. That his captor had taken so long to recognize the sarcasm in his tone didn't speak well of the man's intelligence. It was so very cliché---the dramatic lighting of the cigarette, the dumb-as-a-post henchman---that Tony found himself almost disappointed. He could think of a half dozen movies which had utilized a scene not unlike this. The least the mafia boss could have done was come up with something that Tony hadn't already experienced on film.
Of course, Tony had seen a great many movies.
Macaluso was smiling, an unnervingly amused expression. "A clever tongue, Florentino. Not unlike your uncle. But truly, I mean you no harm. It is simply that I am not…convinced…that you wish me the same in return." Shrugging, the man took a drag of his cigarette. "I am sure you understand. It is a difficult world, Antonio---no. Tony. Not Antonio." Macaluso moved closer, shaking his head. "The name does not suit you. My grandfather was named Antonio. He was an insufferable old bore. You are, like me, a reprobate." White teeth flashed in the darkness. "A rascal."
"Ah, you've been reading up on me," Tony managed to grit out through the pressure on his throat. "Did you hear about the drinking game I invented? You start with some good Italian wine---"
A laugh, a full-throated one. "Yes. Most inventive, Tony. I will have to try it. But I imagine you begin to see my dilemma. When someone is so very clearly a scoundrel, it is hard to imagine them doing anything for purely altruistic means. And why would a successful man," Macaluso loomed even closer, cigarette glowing red in the dark, "Drop his entire life for a girl he has known barely a month?"
"Well, Maria's a wonderful woman," Tony said firmly. Macaluso's eyes flashed.
"Not a good enough answer, my friend."
The mafia boss lifted his hand, and Tony recognized what was coming, but it was too late to react, impossible to flinch away, and the cigarette butt seared into the sensitive flesh above his collarbone.
White hot pain shot through his body. A meaty hand clapped over his mouth, muffling his yell. Tony kicked backwards, struggling, but the man behind him held him in a viselike grip.
Then it was over.
The detective swallowed hard, trying to gain control, feeling nausea rise in the back of his throat. God. He'd forgotten what that felt like.
Macaluso reached out again. Instinctively Tony recoiled, but the other man merely laid a hand against his captive's soft cheek. "Easy, Tony," the mob boss murmured. "Easy."
There was a long silence. The burn throbbed, stinging viciously.
"For what it is worth, I am sorry. You are what---twenty seven? Very young. Very foolish, and so, I will help you. I understand your reluctance to seem forward, but that would have been a very good time to mention that you also wish for a place in my organization. Ah, you see. Maria has already told me. It comes down to complete honesty. A very important thing in this life of ours, as I have no doubt your uncle has explained to you. But sometimes lessons have trouble sticking."
Macaluso ran a gentle hand through Tony's hair, ruffling it almost affectionately. "We won't have to repeat this lesson, I hope."
He stepped away, dropping the arm. "Not that I disagree with your statement, you understand." Suddenly there was humor in Macaluso's voice. "My little Maria is a most excellent woman. I very much hope you are sincere in your motivations towards her. Not only would I be angry that you had broken my favorite cousin's heart, but it would also force me to reconsider your motivations for coming to Philadelphia." His voice dropped, softening. "And we don't want that, do we, Tony?
"So the question becomes, how much do you want in? I take care of my own, Florentino. If I find you trustworthy, there is a great deal to be gained for working with me. Wealth….security…" Again his tone gentled. "…a family. But as in families, sometimes you must suffer for those who care for you. As they will suffer for you if there is ever need. Are you willing to suffer for us?"
And Tony knew, this time, the answer that was expected from him. "Yes."
For your victims.
"Good."
The pain came swiftly, an agonizing burn against the underside of his wrist. He could hear the skin sizzling, but this time Tony bit his lip, and not a sound escaped. When it stopped, his captor released the pressure on his neck, and stepped away.
"A brave man." Macaluso dropped the cigarette, grinding into the dusty ground with his toe.
"Strong. I like you, Tony." His smile was odd, a mixture of pride and something harder to pin down. "Go home, clean up. Let Maria fawn over you, she likes that. I'll make contact. Get some rest, Florentino."
Macaluso vanished through the door of the club. His henchman followed like a shadow, silent and inscrutable.
And Tony was left alone. Stumbling, the detective made it to the wall just before the shakes hit. As he waited for his body's reaction to the adrenaline to subside, his thoughts churned darkly---was this what Alicia had gone through, day after day? Month after month? Straightening, Tony became aware of a source of discomfort apart from his burns---small in comparison, but unexpected. He touched his thumb to his mouth, and encountered wetness. Blood.
He'd nearly bitten through his lip.
Carefully, Tony sucked the liquid off his finger, burying a sensation of horror and disgust. For the victims, he reminded himself dully, pushing off the wall.
For Julia.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tony twisted the key in the lock, hearing tumblers shift and fall into place. His fingers still trembled with aftershock; he pulled the key loose, only to promptly dump it on the carpet below.
Cursing softly, Tony bent to grab it, before tucking it back within his designer leather wallet. His real wallet, all smooth and well-creased and familiar, though of course emptied of anything remotely connected to Anthony DiNozzo. The detective caressed it, smilingâ€"he'd always loved that walletâ€"before squaring his shoulders.
Room 216. His home until…well. Until he found evidence that could take down Macaluso. Or, of course, until his cover was blown and he ended up somewhere with his chest and legs cut to ribbons. Whichever came first, Tony supposed wryly, drawing on a humor so dark that it neared pitch black. Just as long as you give it a gaming try, DiNozzo.
Tony pushed the door open quietly, wondering what he would find inside. Darkness, probably. No doubt Maria had beaten him home, but by now she'd probably feasted on last night's leftover Chinese Takeout and stumbled into bed---
Or not.
Tony stopped short, green eyes widening. Soft music filtered through the apartment, a jazzy tune he recognized as Sinatra. Bright light issued from the kitchen; the dining area was haloed with a soft glow he suspected was candlelight. A delicious scent floated to his nose---
something cheesy and slightly sharp. His mouth watered.
The detective adjusted his rumpled dress shirt the best he could without brushing the circular burn on his lower arm, and sauntered into the kitchen.
Maria stood leaned over in front of the oven, dressed surprisingly casually in worn jeans and a hot pink polo shirt. An apron and hot mitts protected her hands and clothes from food splatter and heat as she reached into the oven, removing something hot and bubbling.
Tony waited in silence, not wanting to startle her. Plus, he was enjoying the view. The tight jeans suited her curvy build perfectly, as far as he was concerned. Rrrhow.
Sighing, the woman placed the dish on the counter, and removed her hot mitts.
"You look cute in an apron," Tony said, grinning when she jumped. "But that one clashes with your shirt."
Maria stuck her tongue out, a response so delightfully immature that Tony fought down a laugh. She was fun to tease. He'd seen glimpses of that over the last month, as they consulted over how best to set up Operation Hawkeye, but he'd never actually seen her completely relaxed. It seemed he was seeing it now.
"Then buy me a better apron, Antonio," she retorted mildly, reaching behind herself to untie the strings. "And if it says anything lewd, I'll make you wear it."
"Ha ha," Tony said forcefully. "Very funny. Does kiss the cook count?"
Maria darted a sidelong look at him. "Well, that depends on who's doing the kissing."
Well, indeed. Tony's grin widened into something far more predatory. The motion pulled on his cut lip. Wincing, he let his smile drop. "Ria---"
"Your lip." Maria's demeanor changed abruptly, from coquettish to grim in an instant. She shoved her apron onto the counter and came to stand in front of him, taking in the puckered burn mark on his neck with bleak eyes. "So cruel," she whispered.
"Maria," Tony warned softly, eyes flicking around the roomâ€"are we under surveillance?
She shook her head. "Not tonight. Tomorrow?" Maria shrugged, leaning one-armed against the counter. "Probably. But not yet. Tony, I have some medical supplies. Antiseptic. Burn cream. Come on."
For some reason he didn't quite understand, Tony found himself resisting. "I can do it myself," he argued, setting his jaw. "It's just a burn." Though just felt an improper modifier, with pain radiating relentlessly from the spots.
"I know," came her simple reply, leaving him oddly defeated. "But I would like to help you. Won't you let me, Tony?"
That was fighting dirty. With her kind gaze locked on his, Tony found himself incapable of saying no. He told himself it was because she was a woman; inwardly, he knew it was something far more fundamental. A weakness he'd always had.
He followed her into the bathroom, scowling slightly. Tony gazed longingly at the bathtub---a long hot soak was sounding more appealing by the minute---but Maria was right, on one count at least. Untreated, burns could be nasty. Worse---to his vanity, at any rate---they could scar.
The last thing he wanted was a lifelong reminder of Antonio Florentino.
In the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, Maria looked pale and washed out. Tony caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as she rooted through the medicine cabinet, and grimaced. If Maria with her stronger coloring appeared washed out, then he was positively ghoulish. A dark trickle oozed down his chin, adding to the unpleasant image.
Not quite the Italian Stallion of lore.
"It would be easier if you took off your shirt," Maria said unexpectedly, her voice extremely serious. Startled, Tony jerked to look at her, but her face was turned away.
"The burns aren't on my chest," he returned, confused.
"Mmmmm." Through her curtain of dark hair, Tony still couldn't read Maria's expression, but something in the throatiness of her tone made him suspicious. It was almost…a purr?
"Minx," Tony growled playfully, catching on. Feeling rather better about the whole situation---though quite aware he'd just been manipulated into a better mood---he sank down on the side of the tub. And realized that, in fact, if he wanted to clean the higher burn properly, taking off his shirt would be the best way to go. Resigned, he tugged loose the buttons and wadded the fabric into a ball, dumping it next to the tub.
Maria turned around, a tiny smile hovering on her lips. Catching sight of him, she blinked, her eyes widening. Suddenly she giggled, sounding more like a schoolgirl than a twenty-eight-year-old woman partially responsible for infiltrating the Italian Mafia. Cheeks faintly flushed, Maria placed the bottles in her hand back on the sink. "I'll be right back," she murmured, and vanished into the hallway.
Grinning rather gingerly, Tony turned on the faucet. The water flowed into the tub, coldness rising off it in waves. Shivering, he splashed both burns with the water, clenching his teeth at the discomfort. He tried not to look as he cleaned them, his stomach turning at the sight of the scorched and weeping marks.
"I put a cover over the casserole," Maria announced, reentering the room. This time, she sounded perfectly normal.
But her dark eyes were still dancing.
"It should stay warm until we're ready to eat," she continued, swinging into place next to him on the tub, a jar of burn salve in hand. The musky scent of her perfume floated up to tickle his nose as she scooped a dollop of cream onto her fingers.
Tony sucked in his breath as she began applying it, though her touch was gentle. All the same, he found himself relaxing under her ministrations, the tension slowly ebbing out of him. It was new to him, this touching without an immediate sexual purpose. Almost…uncomfortable. Disconcerting, for certain. Tony fidgeted, twisting his torso away as she worked.
"There you go." To his intense relief, Maria's voice was brisk. "Now, here's some antiseptic. This may sting."
"I know that," Tony grumbled, snatching the cloth she handed him with a muttered thanks, and pressing it to his lip. It smarted sharply, making his eyes water even as he patted the area dry. But at least this way the area wouldn't become infected.
Taking a deep breath, Tony forced himself to relax, and smiled at his helper crookedly. "How about that dinner of yours?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter notes: Just in case anyone's wondering, this is not a romance story. It does contain a romantic element (of a sort, as you shall see) but it is not the main thrust of the story. I like Tony and Gibbs father/son too much (Gibbs is currently scheduled to appear in chapter 4, by the way.) Besides, I'm an action chick at heart.
Roll in Like Thunder by NuthatchXi
"Sometimes I wonder where you're coming from,
When you roll in like thunder, just to turn around and run…"
---It Doesn't Have To Be This Way by Alison Krauss and Union Station
~*~*~*~*~*~
Hollow eyed, Tony stirred his coffee with a listless finger. Lukewarm. He hated lukewarm coffee, with a level of disdain he usually reserved for people who had never watched Magnum. What was worse, Maria either didn't stock or was out of cream, and sugar only went so far to sweeten the stuff.
Tony regarded his drink morosely. Maybe he should buy the woman a new coffee maker, one that actually heated fully. Wasn't that the whole point of a coffee maker? He wasn't sure. Usually, he made a point to avoid the drink. Most mornings he was too hyper by half even without it. Certainly his partners---both Alicia and Keyes---had thought so. Of course, they assumed his energy came from either an undisturbed night sleep or the afterglow of the previous night's romantic pursuits. Neither had ever suspected that he was merely running on fumes, a struggle to pretend that his world was without shadows.
Sometimes, he wondered if there had really ever been any light.
But that wasn't true at all, really. He'd had his happy times. Young childhood, before his mother's long illness and its aftermath put an end to innocence. College, for certain. His deeply satisfying first year at Peoria---before everything went all to hell.
And there lay the problem, in its essence.
None of it ever lasted.
Sighing, Tony scrubbed at his brow. There was something to be happy about, at any rate. Philly had never been anything but the pits. Really, how far was there to fall?
Tempting fate, that thought, but it cheered him anyway. Feeling more awake, Tony took a bite out of his toast, savoring the globs of raspberry jam he'd used to muffle the burnt taste. For someone who liked to cook, Maria really had lousy kitchen appliances.
Simply saying that she liked to cook, of course, did the woman a disservice. Last night's meal had been positively delicious, a veritable feast of traditional Italian cooking. The marinated pepper salad had been painful to eat---the vinaigrette dripping onto his ravaged lip---but that hadn't stopped him from consuming a generous helping, in spite of his host's protests that he stop, that he needn't eat it for her sake….
She was a lot sweeter than he'd expected. Softer. Giving. Tony wasn't sure he liked it. Something about her patience rubbed him the wrong way, possibly because he wasn't used to having someone he couldn't irritate when he put his mind to it. Was her refusal to respond in kind an attempt to unsettle him, or was she honestly unbothered? Tony couldn't tell.
Which was itself annoying.
Either way, she liked him far too much. Last night had been…awkward, at best. Not dinner, because they had stuck to discussing the implications of the case, of Macaluso's wordsâ€"with Tony carefully skirting one particular topic. But sharing a bedroom…
That had been revealing.
And Tony didn't just mean her tantalizingly sheer nightgown.
At that moment the object of his musings shuffled out the bedroom, wrapped in a yellow silk bathrobe and not much else. Maria looked sleepy, her hair entertainingly mussed, but well-rested. Unlike him. In light of that injustice---and in hopes of putting off the topic he knew he needed to address---Tony thought it a good time to register his complaint.
"You know, for someone who likes to cook," Tony said, waving his toast vaguely in her direction, "You sure have lousy kitchen appliances. Your toaster nuked my breakfast."
Maria merely threw him a tolerant look before vanishing into the kitchen.
"Not even a 'good morning?' I'm hurt," the detective informed her loudly, taking another bite. "We're going to have to work on this morning thing. And your coffee maker stinks!"
The soft clatter of plates was his only response.
Well. So much for gaining a sociable roommate. Feeling rather piqued, Tony gave up on his toast. Lifting it above his head, he squeezed the bread until the jam began to drip his mouth.
"Goodness. Did your mother not teach you any table manners?"
Tony abandoned his wad of bread, wiping his fingers on a napkin, before turning to face a rather amused looking Maria.
"Actually, she used to play with her potatoes," Tony said flatly. "Before she flung them at me."
Maria burst out laughing, plopping into a chair across from him. "Food fights?" When the Tony merely smiled inscrutably, she shook her head. "Wow. She must be a pretty wild mom."
"She was."
A subtle correction, but a significant one. Maria stilled mid sip, mouth molding into a small oh. Lowering her drink, she looked at him hesitantly. When he didn't respond, she grimaced.
"I'm sorry."
"It's been a long time," Tony said shortly, returning his attention to his own coffee.
The table was silent for a few minutes, aside from the slight clink of silverware and the enthusiastic sound of Maria's drinking. The detective stared into his own cup, a bit flabbergasted. For someone who had the nerve to comment on his manners, Maria sure could slurp.
He debated slurping right back just to see if she'd actually get annoyed, but something stopped him. The surrealism of the moment, perhaps. Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd stayed for breakfast in a woman's home, even as crappy a breakfast as this. A tangle of panting and pleasure, a soft body pressed against his, then fleeing in the quiet before the dawn---that was what he was used to. Today…
Today he was out of his depth already, and he hadn't even slept with the woman.
Tony regarded his mangled chunk of berry-stained toast disgustedly. Maybe squashing it hadn't been the brightest idea in the world.
"There's nothing wrong with the toaster," Maria informed him, finally breaking the silence. In the soft morning light, red highlights shimmered in her hair. He hadn't noticed that before. "You had it set on three."
"So?" Tony protested, indignant. "I set my toaster on three every day, and it doesn't turn my bread into a smoking black carcass. That's what six is supposed to do. Take a toaster class, lady."
"My toaster only has three settings." The woman bit into one of her own perfectly golden pieces of bread. "My three equals your six."
Tony digested this piece of information.
"For an investigator, you're not all that observant." Maria sounded only very faintly smug. "Haven't you ever noticed that not all toasters have the same settings?"
"And the coffee maker?" Tony taunted right back, chagrined but unwilling to back down. "Is it really supposed to stop heating the water when it reaches room temperature?"
Now it was Maria's turn to look embarrassed. "The coffee maker," she admitted, "is a piece of trash. It was a gift from my dad. I swear he thinks I'll burn myself if the water is even slightly hot."
Grinning at the whine creeping in her voice---ha, so it was possible to irritate her---Tony extended his own olive branch. "Well, maybe we can pick up a new one when we go out today."
"We're going out today?"
"Sure," Tony said easily. "New live-in boyfriend? Always stuff to pick up. Coffee makers that work, a Flat screen TV---"
Maria rolled her eyes amiably. "Oh, you wish."
"---toasters with six settings. Maybe we'll even run into a friend while we're out. Doesn't your friend Gina work in an electronics store? I'm sure you'll both want to catch up."
The woman's gaze sharpened. She knew what that meant. "Do I have news to share with her, Tony?"
He would have to tell her eventually, but it was more fun to be unhelpful. "You're asking me? Seems like you women always have something to chat about. Like little birds. Twitter-twitter-twitter-twitter-tweet---"
"Tony, if I didn't know you were trying to be annoying, I would be annoyed," Maria returned tiredly, cutting off his spiel. "What, precisely, do you think we have to talk about? Nail polish?" The look she gave him was pointed enough---don't make me play games---that Tony gave in.
"Your new, charming Italian boyfriend," Tony said, flashing a smile specifically engineered to make women melt. Maria was far from immune; her answering smile, when it came, was wide and genuine. "And the fact he's moved in with you…to stay."
Maria's brows lifted; when she answered, her words were slow. "You've changed your mind. Why?"
Tony averted his gaze. He would have rather kept up the pretense. "Your cousin. He 'suggested' that if I dropped you like a hot potato, that he would question my motives."
"Ah."
A single word, barely uttered. Yet she still managed to sound pleased.
"It's nothing to be happy about," Tony snapped, shoving his plate to the side. "It's a disaster. It's dangerous. If I had any sense, I'd call off the whole damn thing."
Maria's eyes flashed, her cheeks suddenly blazing red. "You underestimate me, Tony. I can be your backup."
"You think it's me I'm worried about? I'm worried about the mission. I can't do everything that two cops could have done. Without Gina to back me up, I'm doing this whole flipping thing solo----"
"I can assist---"
"And I'm worried about you!" Tony bellowed, silencing Maria with his vehemence. Taking a deep breath, Tony forced his voice to just below a whisper. "Ria. You can't be snooping around, making him suspicious. You've been my 'in'; you've already done your share. And I know you've been giving us bits and pieces of information for years, I know you can act, but this…is…not…the same."
As suddenly as his fury had risen, it vanished, leaving him drained. Maria's face was concerned now, rather than angry.
"First of all," she began gently, her voice as quiet as Tony's had been, "You underestimate your worth to this investigation. I've talked to Detective Gina. She will make a good point of contact, but she is not the cop you are. Secondly, you don't need to count me in your concerns. I'm an adult, and I have always known what I was getting into. My life is mine to risk." She reached out, brushing his face with gentle fingers. "I'm not your responsibility, Tony."
But she was.
Maria rose to her feet, patting his cheek gently. "I'll go get dressed. Go make yourself some more toast. You need to feed those muscles." She sashayed back into the bedroom, full hips swaying a little more than was strictly necessary.
Tony put on an appreciative smirk until she turned the corner. Then he buried his head in his hands. He didn't want this. He'd never wanted this---had fought tooth and nail, in fact, to convince Maria against it in the early stages. But yesterday had forced him to reexamine the plan.
The new one wasn't great. In fact, it was just plain bad. If he and Maria never "broke up," he would have absolutely no backup, other than a mafia woman whom Macaluso told practically nothing. The department---James Bridenn in particular---would hate the idea, and with good reason. With no cops to back him, if things went sour, Tony would go downâ€"and go down hard. But Watson would convince Bridenn that it was fine, that Tony was good enough to get himself out of any straits…
Tony would have laughed at the thought, if it hadn't been so profoundly unfunny. Watson, with his puppy-dog like admiration! So convinced of Tony's excellence. On its face it was ridiculous---Tony had known since before he turned ten that he was a complete and utter mess. But more than that, it was fundamentally foolish. No one was good enough to talk their way out of any situation, and Watson knew it. Even so, he would back Tony, because he'd convinced himself that this mission was their only chance. That Tony was the messiah, the key that could not only take down Mancuso, but also reveal all of his secrets…
As if anyone could.
Tony fought down a wave of anger. Any success he had in this mission would be paid for tenfold, in sweat, blood, tears or worse. He was no superhero.
No matter what Watson believed.
Damn the man.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Maria might like to lounge in casual clothes, but there was no doubt the woman knew how to dress. Tony watched in frank admiration as she slipped out of the master bathroom, wearing a curve-hugging pencil skirt and a softly shirred red blouse. She'd pinned up her hair, up except for a few delicate tendrils, and the soft style suited her in a way that her loose hair hadn't.
She looked beautiful. More than that, she looked classy.
That was a problem.
Tony hadn't dated a wagon load of girls without learning a thing or two about danger signs. A skimpy outfit---that would have been alright. More than alright. He was perfectly content to engage in meaningless flirtations, asking for nothing and promising less. If she'd just been looking to impress him sexually---not that it would have taken much---she would have flashed a little more boob and a lot more leg, and he would have known precisely how to handle her.
But an outfit like this---gently seductive, sweetly attractive---signaled a more serious intent. Maria paused in her attempts to latch her necklace, and seeing him in the doorway, beamed. No doubt she was hoping he'd offer to help, but Tony stood unmoving, his heart sinking like a stone.
She couldn't possibly think this could work. Even Tony could see it was a train wreck waiting to happen, and he was hardly the poster boy for prudence. Mixing work with romance, emotions with impossibly high stress…it was so foolish that Tony could barely fathom the implications of it. And latching on to him, of all people…
Maria had definitely been alone too long.
Three years, precisely, since she had turned her back on her brother's and father's business. Tony watched as she applied a warm pink powder to her cheeks, her movements practiced. It couldn't have been an easy move to make, even aside from the danger. Walking away---literally or figuratively---from family was not a decision made lightly.
Tony knew that better than most.
"All done," Maria said finally, blotting her lipstick with the back of her hand. A leisurely smile crept onto her face. She rotated on the spot, hands on her hips. "So…what do you think?"
It was instinct to compliment her. With an opening like that, he could hardly refrain, unless he wanted to add an extremely ticked-off woman to his list of woes. But somehow he had to correct this misguided hope of hers, before it exploded in their faces.
"I think you have excellent taste in clothes."
An unmistakably lackluster response. Maria's smile slipped off her face, the coy light in her eyes faltering. Without a word, she snatched her purse of the bed and slipped by him.
He hadn't meant to hurt her. Tony hastened to pull the apartment door open, letting her walk through first---despite what the Philly female police officers probably thought, he could be gentlemanly when he put his mind to it---but she made no response.
Maria led the way into the elevator, her movements stiff. Tony supposed that could have to do with her form fitting pencil skirt, but somehow he doubted it. As the doors pulled shut, he risked a glance at her profile.
Rigid as stone.
Tony sighed, scrambling to think of something that would diffuse her hurt feelings. He'd certainly dealt with enough angry women to have some practice at it.
"It really is a nice outfit," Tony ventured.
"Oh, shut up," Maria said, voice acidic enough to burn through rock.
Evidently, practice hadn't much improved his skills. Giving up the attempt entirely, Tony left Maria to collect the hotel key and departed to the parking garage to pull up their car.
It wasn't there.
Instantly on guard, Tony glanced around, eyes tracking every car in the aisle. No one was in sight. Deliberately, he dropped his car keys. They hit with a jangling noise, sounding ten times louder than normal. Tony crouched down under pretense of collecting them, scanning underneath the cars. No feet.
Sweat tickled his brow. He swiped it away, angry with himself---this was no time for a fit of nerves---and paused. Somehow, he doubted this was a random car theft. And if Macaluso was behind it…
It was a test. Or a ploy. To what purpose, Tony wasn't sure. Unless, of course, Macaluso simply wanted to psyche him out. If so, it was working. Tony shivered convulsively, skin crawling with the sensation of being watched.
But it didn't really matter which it was. Either way, he wasn't going to play by their rules. He'd never played by anyone else's rules, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. If his hunch was right, and Macaluso was waiting for him to panic…well, then.
He'd simply have to panic.
Grinning sharply, Tony pressed down on hard on the electric key's panic button.
Across the parking lot, a car erupted in a volley of beeping, the sound echoing wildly off the concrete walls. The return to silence was almost instantaneous, which confirmed exactly what he'd suspected---not only was his car still here, but someone was in it.
A moment passed. Then headlights flashed from across the garage, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of an engine starting up.
His car appeared around the corner, driving slowly. Blinded by the lights, Tony stepped backwards, and not a moment too soon---the car sped up abruptly, screeching to a stop just inches from where he'd stood.
The window rolled down, revealing a calmly smiling Macaluso. "Sorry, Florentino. Sometimes I forget to brake." The mafia boss shrugged, still smiling oddly.
Possibly the most insincere apology Tony had ever heard in his life, and he'd grown up with Anthony DiNozzo Sr. In light of the fact he wasn't a grease spot on the concrete, however, he thought he might just take it.
"No worries," Tony said easily, matching the other man's shrug. "Musta startled you with that panic button, so I guess we're even. Sorry about that. So, what do you think?" He gestured at the car, the movement expansive. "Nice wheels, huh? You're welcome for the loan, by the way."
"It is not quite what I'm used to," Macaluso returned coolly, "And not in a good way. Get in."
"Yeah, I know. The brake sticks. For a rental, they didn't put much work into it. Think I should ask for a refund?"
From the look Macaluso was giving him, he was pushing his luck. He'd pay for that later, in ways he'd rather not contemplate, but something was keeping him talking. It was like tiptoeing through a minefield---no one liked to be made a fool of, but meekness would get him nowhere.
And either extreme could blow his foot off.
"Florentino. Get in." Macaluso's eyes were dark and glittering, though his voice was unruffled.
Tony swung into the backseat, letting his grin fade. He'd pushed it far enough.
He only hoped he hadn't pushed it too far.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Notes: Enjoy! I'll post chapters 4 and 5 tomorrow.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.