Tony’s arm hurt and his head hurt, but most of all his heart hurt. He sat and listened as the others talked about the meal they’d had at Ziva’s the night before and the wonderful evening they’d had, and his heart cracked a little bit more with each passing moment. Chin up, DiNozzo, he thought, fixing the mask he always wore back in place. “Sounds like it was a lot fun, Boss,” he said, gathering his stuff up and offering what he hoped was a nonchalant grin. “Ziva, sorry, thanks for the offer of the drive and dinner, but I actually have plans tonight. I’m gonna grab a cab to the restaurant — I don’t think Candi would be too pleased if I showed up there with another woman.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, and was rewarded with a sniff and a look he was very familiar with — the one that told him exactly what Ziva thought of him at that moment.
He saw Gibbs’ eyes narrow as he stared at his senior field agent, and Tony stared back, still grinning. He hoped that he could pass muster, that Gibbs couldn’t see his true feelings — the hurt and rejection he’d tamped down. It must have worked, he thought, for after a moment Gibbs just nodded and said “Have a good weekend, DiNozzo, and rest that arm. See you Monday.”
Once in the cab Tony sighed softly. He didn’t really want to go home right away, his “date with Candi” being something he’d made up on the spot to get away. He gave the cab driver the address of a jazz club a few blocks away from the National Mall, far enough from NCIS that he wasn’t likely to run into anyone he knew — which was one of the reasons he liked the place. The bartender, a dark-haired man who looked slightly older than Tony, smiled as he walked in a grabbed a seat.
“Hey, Tony, long time no see. You in a beer or wine mood tonight?” he asked.
Tony thought for a moment before replying. “You still have any of the 2001 Pio Cesare Barolo, Sam?” he asked, naming a very expensive Italian red wine. This was another reason he liked Ellington’s — they had one of the largest and most eclectic wine lists in Washington, and that was saying a lot.
“Not by the glass, I don’t — not even for you.” Sam looked hard at Tony, noting the sling on his arm and the sadness in his eyes. “I assume, given the condition of that wing of yours, that you’re not driving, so do you want the full bottle? If not, I’ve got a nice Chianti by the glass…”
“Only if I can get a piece of liver and some fava beans with it,” Tony interrupted, smiling. He was already feeling less heart-heavy than when he’d walked in. “I don’t think I’m up to a full bottle tonight, Sam. Any other suggestions?”
Sam smiled — he had purposely mentioned the Chianti expecting the movie reference, and he was pleased to see that it had had the desired effect on Tony’s mood. “How about a glass of the Castelluccio Sangiovese, then? And, of course, a plate of Ellington’s Fettucini Carbonara, since I suspect you haven’t eaten yet?”
Tony nodded appreciatively. “Sounds good, Sam.” It took very little time for his food to come from the kitchen, and as Tony savoured the pasta and wine and listened to the jazz trio on stage he felt the stress of the day slipping away.
“You wanna talk about it, Tony?” Sam asked quietly during a lull in the music, after refilling Tony’s glass.
Tony hesitated. He’d talked to Sam before after rough days at work, the old cliché about bartenders being good listeners holding true in the other man’s case, and the easygoing bartender usually had a perspective on things that Tony sometimes lacked. “It’s been a pisser of a day, Sam,” he started, taking another sip of his wine. “First I get locked in this storage container with Ziva…”
“Ziva’s the Israeli Mossad chick, right? And how the heck did you get yourself locked in?” Sam asked.
“Can’t tell you that — classified. Needless to say it was a bit more exciting than just sitting around the office talking about dinner parties, which is probably a good thing.” Tony’s voice was bitter as he spoke the last sentence, a fact that Sam picked up on as he raised an eyebrow quizzically. Tony sighed and continued, modulating his voice back to a softer tone. “So we finally get out after hours in there and, once I get my arm patched up, end up back at the office ‘cause Gibbs has to have the reports written right away. I mean, I’m a pretty terrible typist at the best of times, but one-handed? Anyway, I finally get that done and Ziva starts going on again about this dinner party she had, which apparently I wasn’t invited to. And then, to top it all off, I find out…”
At that moment one of the waitresses came storming over to the bar. “Sorry to interrupt you guys,” she said, flashing an apologetic smile at Tony, “but I need your help, Sam. That FBI guy’s insisting on another drink, and he won’t take no for an answer. I know you’ve already got his keys, but any more and I’m afraid he’s going to pass out over there.”
“Well, at least he’s a quiet drunk, not an angry one,” Sam muttered. He clapped a hand on Tony’s good shoulder as he came out from behind the bar and headed past him. “Hang on a mo, okay? I just have to get this guy poured into a cab and then I want to hear the rest.”
“Let me give you a hand, Sam.” Tony fell in beside Sam. As the bartender stared pointedly at Tony’s arm, the NCIS agent laughed. “Hey, if this guy’s as drunk as he sounds, even I should be able to handle him tonight. ‘Sides, the FBI never was a match for NCIS.”
Sam just shrugged and headed towards the table, Tony right behind him. As they got near, the occupant looked up. He was shielded from Tony‘s view by Sam’s tall form. “Hey, there’s the innkeep!” he called, raising his glass in a mock toast. His words were slurred from the alcohol had he consumed, but he was trying to speak distinctly, his efforts almost comical. “Innkeep, ’nother one, if you please. I wanna ‘nother toast to my boys,” he said, waving a photograph he had clutched in none-too-steady hands.
Tony frowned, as he tried to place the familiar-sounding voice. Coming up beside Sam, his eyes widened in surprise.
“Fornell?”
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End Note: The 2001 Pio Cesare Barolo wine is a real wine that costs about $70 US/bottle — Pio Cesare being the vineyard and Barolo being the grape variety. Chianti and Sangiovese are (usually) less-expensive grape varieties primarily from Italy, although Sangiovese is also grown in California. The 2006 Castelluccio Sangiovese Le More costs about $15 US/bottle. The “movie reference” that Sam recognises is, of course, a reference to Hannibal Lecter’s signature line from “Silence of the Lambs”.
Story Notes:
Yup, it’s another “Boxed In” tag/continuation. I don’t know why, but the whole Tony/Tobias (ToTo?) friendship thing just sort of wormed its way into my mind for some reason, and this first chapter almost wrote itself. I’ve always felt that Tobias likes �" or would like to like �" Tony more than he lets on, and this is my take on why he won’t open himself up to that and what would happen if he did.
Legal Stuff: I don’t anything except for the jazz club that is the main setting for this chapter. Ellington’s is all mine �" it’s the sort of place I’d love to find for myself, but haven’t been able to yet.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Tony is hurt and heartsick after the events of Boxed In. Will helping someone even worse off than him help ease the pain?
Chapter End Notes:
Yup, it’s another “Boxed In” tag/continuation. I don’t know why, but the whole Tony/Tobias (ToTo?) friendship thing just sort of wormed its way into my mind for some reason, and this first chapter almost wrote itself. I’ve always felt that Tobias likes �" or would like to like �" Tony more than he lets on, and this is my take on why he won’t open himself up to that and what would happen if he did..
Legal Stuff: I don’t own anything except for the jazz club that is the main setting for this chapter. Ellington’s is all mine — it’s the sort of place I’d love to find for myself, but haven’t been able to yet.
Legal Stuff: I don’t own anything except for the jazz club that is the main setting for this chapter. Ellington’s is all mine — it’s the sort of place I’d love to find for myself, but haven’t been able to yet.