‘What a great exit, bravo Anthony DiNozzo! A drama queen couldn’t have done it better. Next worse step would be bawling your eyes out,’ Tony berated himself. If it hadn’t been for the weight in his arms, he would be tempted to bang his head against the door frame. After looking around and making sure that nobody witnessed that particular outburst, of course. He had provided the gossip mongers with enough material for the next week, he didn't want to extend it to a month.
Where should he go now? The squad room wasn't an option, he couldn’t lay her down beside his desk like an inconvenient sack of potatoes. The other agents wouldn’t give them any peace. It wasn't like he could he carry her up to MTAC for his meeting with Vance either. Tony shifted the lax body in his arms and tried to find a more comfortable way to hold her. Sam might not weight much, she seemed to consist mainly of bones, eyes, unkempt hair and sharp elbows, but her sleeping form was awkward to carry. His girl had very earnestly informed him at their fifth meeting that her height was above average for her age. Picking her up had only woken her up long enough for her to sling her arms and legs around his body and now she was dead to the world again.
Sam had to be completely at the end of her energy to sleep this deeply, normally she fought the Sandman tooth and nail. Tony had been told by the school nurse that he shouldn’t be shocked by the sheer activity of his child. It seemed as if a healthy child burned up everything you fed them in record time and later drop like the dead when those reserves were depleted, only to get up in the morning, fresh and hyper. As a newly minted and clueless father he had once made the mistake and asked Sam if she wanted to rest a bit after one of their outings. It had earned him a derisive eye roll and a sneer at the thought of taking a nap in the middle of the day. She was a big girl, not a baby, thank you very much. But not, never, big enough for the adventures of this day. Even if he was the only family (and thus sole option) she had now, it still filled her dad with both terror and warmth that Sam sought him out for help. Terror, because it was courageously stupid for a child to travel alone across DC, warmth because it showed Tony he had done something right the last few weeks.
One of her pigtails lay pressed against the side of his face and it was tickling him. His hands were of no use to remove the strands, he needed them to hold the slipping girl. Tony had to shift his grip again and his shoulder sent him a reminder that he wasn’t twenty anymore. His hands and arms were steadily growing stiffer and more tired and he was still standing in the middle of the corridor like a doofus with no clue about how to proceed. And he was providing something he had tried to avoid, entertainment for all passing NCIS personnel.
A tall red haired man was coming down the corridor, a cardboard box full with reems of paper in his arms. The man couldn't seem to avert his eyes from the picture Tony and his clinging child provided. Tony had never worked a case with this guy, Simon Alber- something? Whatever. Nobody of importance, Tony seemed to recall the guy was new and worked on the cold case team. If he was this easily distracted he would never make it to full field agent. Tony sneered at him. Just a little bit more and the guy's eyes would pop out of their sockets. And Froggy Globes should use them for more productive things, like checking where he was going. Otherwise it was very easy - yep, there went the box tumbling to the floor - to miss the open door to the elevator and crash into a wall.
“Oh dear Lord, I have to speak to his supervisor.” Ducky's deceptively mild words spoken in his cultured accent interrupted Tony's gleeful contemplation that at least someone else was having bad luck today too. Tony had completely missed the sound of a door opening behind him. A hasty peek over his shoulder assured the suddenly nervous Tony that he was not accompanied by Gibbs. Wouldn't that be great, another round of being told that he didn't know his own mind and was talking ... shit... .The boss must be still in the conference room chewing on the challenge Tony had thrown in his face.
“Poor Agent Albrighton seems to be in dire need of an optical exam if he has such major problems navigating the corridors.” Tony couldn’t help but grin. You could always count on the Duckman and his dry humor to lighten any situation. And he gave good advice, something the younger man was in desperate need of. “Ducky….achoo!” Sam’s hair still tickled him and he had to sneeze.
Ducky reached up and freed the captured strands of hair, arranged them over Sam’s shoulder and then patted Tony on the arm.
“Anthony, we do not want to hinder Agent Albrighton’s quest for collecting all this spilled paperwork, so how about taking the elevator down to my office? All this excitement has made me thirsty, there is a cup of tea down there with my name on it and I would love to have company.” The older man led them around the cold case agent who still couldn't avert his eyes into the elevator. “I have a blanket for Sempera and it is quiet down there. For some reason I cannot fathom most people avoid coming to my floor if they do not have to.”
Tony grinned faintly at the M.E. and could have hugged him. At the moment all he was able to do was bow his head and utter a joking, but heartfelt, compliment. “Dr. Mallard, your patients, at least the dead ones, might not appreciate you fully, but let me tell you, you're a life saver!” The older man just smiled.
“Have I ever told you about one of my first ah, clients as a Medical Examiner? A very unfortunate gentleman as it turned out. The case caused quite the commotion. It started as a typical day, I was- as I told you - new at the job and nervous. My mentor, a very good backgammon player, I never managed to beat him, wanted to let me earn my first spurs on a pretty simple case. On the subject of spurs, do you know that the expression is a very old one, Anthony? Far older than cowboy legends. In fact, it goes back to the middle ages where ‘to earn one’s spurs’ alluded to being knighted for some act of bravery. I wouldn’t compare my first solo autopsy to riding into battle but it had me trembling nonetheless.” Ducky smiled in remembrance. “My mentor selected a fairly easy first battle for me and even if it is disturbing to contemplate, there aren’t many things simpler than death by decapitation. I was told to do the autopsy, but imagine my surprise…” The elevator doors opened again and Tony followed Ducky, listening with half an ear to the lengthy and convoluted story. The cadence and accent of the Brit’s voice were soothing. Ducky never expected his audience to actually remember his anecdotes and he didn’t seem to be put off by their interruptions and groans.
Dr. Donald Mallard was a fixture and very well regarded in his field, other M.Es sought his advice and opinion. Tony knew that he was regularly asked to speak at forensic conferences. Sometimes it seemed as if everyone knew the quirky doctor. Wherever the team went and encountered law enforcement personnel and forensic specialists, the chances were good that someone would know Ducky. Ducky's office was one door down from the autopsy lab and filled with cabinets full of journals and files pertaining to his job. A refrigerator-counter-washbasin combo and office chairs completed the interior. More files were arranged in various piles on his desk. If there was a system to this paper jungle, Tony couldn't decipher it, but some of it looked like correspondence.
Tony had once asked him about why Ducky had so many hard copy files in his office, instead of using his computer, he had seen him handle state of the art tools in the morgue without difficulties. Ducky had answered, that he preferred paper to virtual files if he was trying to figure out a problem. But in contrast to their technophobic team leader, the M.E. had no difficulties with modern technology, which was funny because the M.E. couldn't be that much older than the Senior Agent. If he had to guess, Tony would say that Ducky had to be about ten years older than Gibbs. He could be wrong, it was hard to judge his age correctly, there was less gray in Ducky's hair than Gibbs'. It was more the way the older man moved and acted that gave the impression of a man slightly past his prime instead of at the peak of his game.
Now, where to put his sleeping princess? Paper piles made for damn uncomfortable bedding. Tony should know, he had woken up at his desk with the imprint of paper stacks on his face (and a slap induced pain at the back of his head) often enough.
“… and it taught me to always keep a warm blanket at hand. Where did I put it? Here it is.” A fluffy blanket in the most toxic green and blood red plaid ever was unfolded and triumphantly held up for inspection.
A gurgling laugh fought its way past Tony’s dry throat. “Ducky, that’s an eyesore.”
“But warm and comfy.” The older man arranged the blanket on the floor and gestured for his visitor to lay Sam down into the makeshift nest.
.-#-.
Tony cradled the precious Wedgwood teacup in his hands, careful not to spill the tea or chip the bone china. It was a beautiful piece, off white with a dark blue and silver pattern, the surface smooth and perfect. The liquid within was equally smooth and left a faint but pleasant aftertaste in his mouth. When Ducky had taught him in Tony’s first year at NCIS how to add milk and sugar to the bitter brew to make it delicious, the young agent had taken it as a sign that he had been accepted into the fold. Coffee was normally his beverage of choice but the act of preparing the tea and letting it simmer till it was just so had its own soothing charm.
As soothing as Ducky's company. They didn't want to disturb Sam, therefore Ducky had turned the lights down and only his desk lamp was illuminating the room. The doctor was reading through some of his files, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. One of his hands held the twin to Tony’s cup, the other made notes on a piece of lined paper. The older man didn’t ask questions, didn’t plague him with nervous looks, sarcastic comments or gruff demands; he just looked at Tony neutrally and offered a refill and some biscuits when needed.
A small sound drew Tony’s eyes to the third occupant of the room. He was ready to stand up but his girl just changed position and burrowed deeper into the blanket with a very unladylike snuffle.
“I always laughed when I heard stories about people who originally never wanted to have children taking one look at their newborn and promptly falling in love.” Tony took another sip of his tea.
Ducky shoved his glasses further up his nose. “You changed you opinion?” he asked gently.
Tony shook his head. “Still think it is mostly an urban legend. There are a lot of shitty parents out there who don't give a flying fuck about the welfare of their offspring no matter how long they look at them, pardon my French.”
“You love Sempera.” Ducky nodded at the sleeping child.
“Yeah, but I didn’t want or love her originally, not even after meeting her the first time.” Heat crept into his cheeks, Tony wasn’t proud about this, but it was so easy to talk to the older man. He saw no condemnation in the faded blue eyes, only interest. He wouldn't have ever been able to say something like this to Gibbs, Tony would have choked on his tongue. Tony would take bets that Gibbs was the type that just fell in love with his kid the first time he saw her. Tony checked again that Sam was actually sleeping. She couldn't pretend the same way a hearing child would, her eyes were her windows to the world around her. This conversation was not something he wanted her to see. “I went to the sperm bank on a dare, yes. But I never saw myself raising little DiNozzos so it was a good opportunity to do my part for the gene pool without the pesky responsibilities of raising a child.”
A new biscuit was delicately placed beside Tony’s free hand.
“The Social Services woman… she told me about Sam, about her being deaf and what happened to her parents, that I should think carefully about accepting the responsibility and the alternatives.” Tony dunked the piece of hard-as-stone pastry in his now lukewarm tea. “If she had still been a baby instead of an eight year old child, it would have been different, not so difficult to place her with a family but-" Damn it, he hadn’t caught the right moment and now he had crumbs in his beverage instead of a pleasantly soaked cookie. He sat the cup down.
“You worked some cases in Peoria and Baltimore that dealt with children in foster care.” Ducky mentioned softly.
Social Services did the best they could do, but more often than not they couldn’t prevent children slipping through the cracks. That was nothing he wished on any child. “Yeah.” Tony nodded and grimaced. “I thought that, even if I turned out to be a incompetent dad, I could at least make sure that - boarding school wasn’t always a pleasant experience for me but I enjoyed it myself and it was better than the alternative. And her holidays... I would have organized something for those. Then I met her a few more times, she actually grew to like me, and ��" as they say, the rest is history.”
He could still see Sam standing beside the case worker and the school counselor. Her Royal Sulkiness glaring at him and gesturing with her hands when both women had their backs turned on her to focus on him. Tony had only recognized one sign and it was one of the swear signs Abby had taught him, the equivalent for idiot. His little monster hadn’t been impressed by this guy who presumed to be her new dad and was visibly startled when Tony began to laugh as a reaction to her taunt. She hadn't expected the strange man to understand her at all. The next weeks hadn’t been easy. Nope, they'd been highly frustrating, but he would never regret his decision to get involved in Sam’s life.
Maybe he should take this whole situation as a twist of fate and start a completely different life somewhere else, ask Vance for a transfer. Thanks to the Witch of St. Margareth's, otherwise known as the Principal, he already had to search for a new school for his daughter. Reynolds would be very pleased to never see them again. After today, Tony would be please to never see her again either. He wouldn't trust that woman with a cat, never mind a child.
He had the summer holidays as a time buffer. Evelyn Peltier’s last will and testament had been pretty clear, social services was ready to give him full guardianship as soon as he established a fitting home environment and passed a final inspection. That alone should tell people how fucked up the system was. Ah well, they probably wouldn't be pleased about Sam being expelled but that couldn't be helped. There had to be better schools out there than St. Margareth's. What did it matter if he searched here for an appropriate school or, say, in Florida? Tony had never lived to Florida and it sounded nice.
He mentally made a tally of pros and cons. On the positive side, Florida would be sunny and warm, the beach was a nice feature, Tony loved to surf, girls in bikinis…. No Gibbs. If he didn’t work for NCIS he could search for job in a town far away from a naval base, a town with a low criminal rate. Just enough to keep him employed and busy but not so much that he had to fear for Sam whenever she sat her foot outside the house. Maybe it would bore him half to death inside a month, but he had seen enough dead navy men to not miss them. Probably. Okay, boring might be a point for the con side.
Tony’s hands picked up the cup and the saucer, they provided him with a visual for the mental balance he imagined in his head. The hand with the saucer rose slowly, the tea cup (and the mess inside the cup) sank down. Ducky looked on and sipped at his own tea.
On the negative side he had to count no Ducky and no Abby. He would miss both of them tremendously. The distance would make visiting them difficult. And as pleasant as more sun would be, Florida was also known for its thunderstorms and Hurricanes. And no Gibbs. The tea cup sank down again.
Thunderstorms, Hurricanes and no Gibbs. Tony shook his head. The man fit in there perfectly. Fast, surprising and able to leave devastation in his path. The younger agent had never been interested enough to find out how names were found for those violent storms, but if Gibbs managed to piss off more politicians than usual Tony could easily imagine one of the next typhoons being named Leroy or Jethro.
Wasn’t it typical that Gibbs featured prominently in both columns. No Gibbs meant no aggravating, challenging, demanding and intriguing boss to dominate his days and a good part of his nights too. Even if he was not present in person. When he came home, not minding if it was day or night just where his bed was, a very tired Agent DiNozzo would often find there was still the shadow of someone else in his bedroom. Or perhaps more accurately, a spectre of someone he wanted in his bedroom. His half sleeping mind would torment Tony with the ghostly touch of fingers on his flesh, a deep voice just outside his hearing range and the illusion of a tousled gray mop of hair resting on the pillow beside his own.
And pronto, what do you know, he was in territory he should avoid because it would only frustrate him. Such a pity that Tony had masochistic tendencies because when had admonishing himself to not yearn for something he couldn't have actually helped? Even if there had been -and it wasn't just his wishful thinking doing the evaluating here, Abby had commented on it too!- instances where Gibbs had seemed to react positively to Tony's playful attempts at discreet flirting, he didn’t think that the other man ever took it seriously. It was more likely that Gibbs just indulged him now and then and put it down as the playful shenanigans of his incurably flirty second in command. Leroy Jethro Gibbs couldn’t be called indecisive. If he wanted someone or something changed, he generally went for it, be it a criminal or a love interest. If he had taken the flirting seriously, Tony would either have found himself transferred to another team if it made his boss uncomfortable, been given a gruff but friendly put down or dragged to the team leader's lair long ago and- And there he was, back in forbidden territory.
Tony put down his improvised balance device carefully and smiled apologetically at his host. It was hard to make a decision.
He had a lot of time on the books he could use to set everything up, stay at home, prepare. And avoid Gibbs. If the man allowed Tony to avoid him. Even though Tony wasn't likely to be staying at his current apartment with Sam, his boss wasn’t an investigator by trade and inclination for nothing, he would have no problem tracking both DiNozzos down to whatever hotel or new abode Tony found for him and Sam to reside in. A closed door wouldn’t stop him. Heck, Tony wasn't sure anything would stop Gibbs if he wanted a confrontation. Gibbs was like the pony express; come wind or rain or sleet, hell or high water, nothing stopped him if he was duty bound on something.*
If he wanted to, that was the key sentence. Tony had told the former marine that he would wait for him to make a move. If he wanted to, they could- What exactly? Go back to the way things were before the paradigm shift of Gibbs’ amnesia?
It was too bad he couldn't ask Ducky about his relationship with Gibbs. After all, the M.E. would be a good source for information about Gibbs, they knew each other and had respected each other for a long time. But the doctor would never betray something that had been told in confidence and Tony had too much respect for the older man to even ask for non sensitive information, never mind intimate things.
Sometimes he asked himself what he saw in Leroy Jethro Gibbs. What drew Tony to the man and kept him in his thrall even if things were bad? Then bullets flew around their ears, someone with more influence than sense tried to force a ethically questionable operation on them… someone tried to accuse Tony of a crime (again) and Gibbs would be there, steadfast at his six like no other person in his life. Tony could depend on Gibbs, he would never have to fear betrayal. Temper and attitudes, but never a knife in his back.
Yeah, if they could go back to the relationship they had before the coldness set in, it would be enough for Tony. A good professional working environment, his daughter safe at his new home, and Florida suddenly didn’t look as tempting anymore. If Tony was really lucky he might, now that the cat named Sam was out of the bag, have someone he could ask for advice about parenting. It all depended on his boss’ decision.
Well, he should also take care of the mess he made with his tea. Tony pulled a face, his mood much lighter than before and raised the cold tea to his lips and gulped it down, soggy floating dough in it not withstanding. “Uhg.” He coughed and Ducky had to stand up and carefully beat him on his back to dislodge the sludge again.
Both men chuckled.
“Ahem? Doctor Mallard? You door was closed so I didn’t know if I should…” Jimmy Palmer had stuck his head into the office and began to stutter when he saw Tony. “Oh, there you are Agent DiNozzo! I wanted to ask Dr. Mallard if he knew where but- uhm.”
Tony coughed a last time and turned around. “Yeah?”
“Agent Gibbs is searching for you. Uhm. Impatiently. He said that Director Vance will have time for you but…you should hurry.”
Tony took a deep breath, looked at the sleeping girl, at Ducky and then nodded. “Thanks for telling me, I'll go up there immediately. I have to clear something with Ducky first, it won’t take long.”
“I won’t have to tell Agent Gibbs that you need more time, will I?” The autopsy gremlin looked a little bit green around the gills at the prospect.
“Don’t get your no doubt tighty whities in a twist, I just need to ask Ducky for a favor.” Palmer was so visibly relived that he even didn't even seem to hear the taunt. Tony needed someone to keep an eye on Sam while he sorted out the mess they were in, and he could think of an ideal candidate, and it wasn't the Autopsy Gremlin. The agent gave his host the most charming smile he could manage.
Ducky just shook his head at the younger man’s antics and told his assistant that he should go back to work.
.-#-.
Tea-stains were hard to get rid of if you gave them the time to dry up. It was far easier to immediately wash the cups after use. Ducky carefully soaped the rim of one cup, he did not want to miss a spot, this was his favourite set. No heirloom, not at all, but he had bought it years ago when he visited … Well, that was a story for another time. The twin cup was already resting in its storage place on a shelf, carefully rubbed dry with a soft linen cloth, beside the two saucers and the pot.
It was always better to clean up a mess instead of covering it up, something two agents he knew very well should keep in mind.
Ducky finished his task and sat back down at his desk again. Sempera was sleeping peacefully as only the truly innocent or the completely wicked were able to do. Hopefully this young lady would never have to meet the wicked sort.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. 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.