"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, 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.