For young Tony DiNozzo, Saturday morning in Syracuse was pretty much like a Saturday morning in just about any other town he'd ever lived in during his short life. Onondaga Park resembled several of the places he'd seen or played in and he felt oddly at peace in the lush surroundings here. It was a nice park, full of huge, old trees and acres of verdant grounds and was a perfect place to spend a few hours, or an entire day, if one was so inclined. To the west, a fairly large lake provided visitors with the means to observe a host of aquatic inhabitants, with a few areas even set aside for those in the mood for some recreational fishing. Most chose to enjoy the expanse of clean water by merely walking the pristine shores but some took time to traverse the surface by piloting one of the many brightly-painted paddleboats available for rental.

If he cocked his head to one side and listened hard enough, Tony could just make out the muffled sounds of voices raised in cheers, which arose sporadically from time to time, in the direction he was told housed the baseball fields and soccer areas. He knew there were probably organized leagues having their usual Saturday morning games, just like there was each Saturday in Manasas and, more than likely, in every other city in America, but he just couldn't muster the energy to think about anything other than his purpose for being in Syracuse on this bright, sunny day.

Today he was going to meet with his biological father, Frank DiNozzo.

Unable to contain his loud sigh as he thought about the coming conversation, Tony shifted on the rough stone support he was perched upon and stared back to where Candace and Jethro were sitting, comfortably facing each other at an old wooden picnic table under one of the nearby covered shelters. There were many shelters in Onondaga Park but this was the one closest to the only old, rock bridge that had been designated as the best place for today's meeting. From this distance both adults looked relaxed, dressed in their jeans and t-shirts and sneakers, but Tony knew they were just as edgy as he was, playing the part of casual observers without being too intrusive or obvious. He knew it was hard for them to stay back, to give him some distance, but they understood his aching need to talk to Frank DiNozzo by himself, compromising only by settling in to observe not too far away.

Tony grinned as he stared at Candace's profile, her head bent over some ratty romance paperback she'd thrown into her suitcase at the last moment before leaving home yesterday afternoon, the page still open exactly where it had been since sitting down at the table earlier. He knew she wasn't reading, never really intended to read, but merely wanted to support the relaxed illusion they were all trying to achieve. His grin faded as he thought of how she'd sustained him throughout this whole ordeal, especially since he'd shattered her sleep almost every night during the past week by yelling out while experincing the reoccurrance of his old nightmares from childhood. Her calm, unwavering affection and guidance had pulled him back to wakefulness and soothed his anguished cries, rocking his bigger body against her smaller one and quitely, but deliberately, reminding him he was no longer a defenseless little boy of six but a strong, capable young man now able to defend and protect himself from just about anything. No one could ever hurt him like that again, unless he allowed them, and Candace was quick to remind him of the fact. Without her, Tony realized, none of this would ever have been possible.

And then there was Gunny.

Sharp blue eyes were covered with a pair of dark glasses but Tony knew the agent was continually scanning the surrounding area, taking in every person that drew closer to the old, arched bridge he was now resting upon. No one was going to get close without Gunny's scrutiny: he took his role of protector very seriously, especially when it came to someone he loved. The teenager smiled again, a welcome warmth spreading up from his belly, because he knew his Gunny loved him...maybe not with the type of love he so wanted but with love, nonetheless.

Tony sighed as he thought about their strange relationship, watching the man slowly turn his head from side to side as he continued to look for some sign of Frank DiNozzo. Everyone thought Gunny was acting as a surrogate father, the strong male role-model, the discreet counselor and advisor...everyone except Josh and Cat. Tony's friends knew the truth, knew the depth of the teen's emotion, and tried to help their friend hold on to his dream of, one day, being recognized by Jethro as more than just a boy to protect. Tony wanted, craved, the affection of adulthood, the merging of the mind and the body, the chance to express his life-long yearning: he *knew* he was meant to be with Jethro Gibbs. That Jethro Gibbs didn't feel the same was a matter Tony contended with each and every day of his life.

Turning away from the duo at the picnic table, Tony forcably pushed those thoughts away and surveyed the bridge he was sitting upon. It was very secluded here, in this part of the park, and was a landmark of one of the most private hiking trails. The rough stone archway crossed a natural stream and he took a moment to lean forward, peering into the slow moving water that flowed beneath, and watched as the lazy swirls and eddys pulled small twigs and bits of leaves toward some unknown destination. There was a pair of wild ducks frolicking in the shallows, their soft quacks and muted feather-ruffling adding to the serenity of the tranquil scene. It was nice here but Tony couldn't help the building tension as the minutes continued to pass.

Sighing again and stretching his back in an effort to relieve some stress, Tony lifted his gaze and let his eyes drift back toward the shelter, comforted by the presence of the two adults. He frowned as Gunny dipped his head and angled his arm to check the time. Tony took a second to glance at his own watch and saw it was now ten minutes after the hour. Frank DiNozzo was late. The teen saw Jethro and Candace exchange some words and knew the woman was venting her frustration: Candace hated to be late for anything and believed those who arrived after an appointed time were being disrespectful and inconsiderate. He'd learned that lesson early in their relationship and adheared strictly to what was now common courtesy. Always. Besides, it made sense.

Suddenly, the two adults were turning to face something, or someone, and the fine hairs on the back of Tony's neck rose in anticipation. There was a man approaching from the west, his long legs easily eating away the distance as he strode purposefully across a wide expanse of lush grass, ignoring the posted signs that clearly prohibited several items, including foot traffic. He was tall, lean, and moved with a fluid grace that spoke of an awareness of physical activity and was dressed like many others enjoying a day in the park. His faded yellow oxford was tucked haphazardly into a pair of well-worn jeans, the sleeves of the shirt rolled enough to expose tanned forearms and a dark mark that might just be a tattoo. Unlike most others in the park today, his feet were shod in a set of old, brown hiking boots, the scuffs and stains telegraphing their continual use. He looked like he could be almost anyone, except for the manner in which he was striding toward the teenager on the bridge: with purpose, with single-mindedness, with...anger.

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw Jethro swiftly rise and move a few steps away from the table, his alert eyes tracking the man's movements, but he stayed well away and allowed the individual to continue to the foot of the bridge unimpeded. Tony took the opportunity to slowly unfold his legs and ease down from his perch, standing tall and remembering Gunny's lectures about good posture and how it could wordlessly convey the impression of self-assurance and confidence. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and met the man's questioning gaze.

"You Anthony?" The lean man asked, eyeing the youth suspiciously but continuing before Tony could respond. "Jesus, you look just like your mother."

"Yes, I'm Anthony," Tony whispered and nodded, ignoring the off-handed reference to the woman who'd given him birth, eyes sweeping the man from head to foot and back again. "Are you...Frank?"

"I'm your father," he corrected quickly, mouth forming a hard line, an old-looking scar now apparent on his left cheek.

Tony bristled at the ridiculous statement but managed to cover it by shrugging and stuffing his hands deeply into the front pockets of his jeans. He suddenly didn't want to offer a handshake in greeting, the thought of touching this man almost offensive.

"If you say so."

Frank DiNozzo took an angry step closer, eyes narrowing at the teenager's tone. "Is that the way it's going to be? You ask to meet with me just to bust my chops over something that happened a dozen years ago? Fuck, I should have known it would go down like this."

Tony bit back another reply and tried to focus on the man and the answers he held. He noticed the strands of gray peppering the mostly brown hair and the cool hazel eyes and knew he had to make some attempt to set things back on track. It was just so hard when he could plainly see the animosity radiating off the man's body.

"You can't expect me to call you 'dad'. I don't even know you."

"I didn't tell you to call me 'dad'," Frank spat back angrily, "but I did have a little something to do with bringing you into this world. I am your father...get use to it."

The two DiNozzo males matched glares and frowns until Frank, finally, turned to gaze out over the stream, digging nervously into a pocket to fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "So, what the fuck do you want?"

Tony licked his lips and watched Frank light his tobacco, trying to figure out how to begin. "I've got some questions..."

"Jesus! I fucking knew that already," Frank snarled. "Don't waste my time, Anthony. I got plenty of other things I could be doing today besides this."

Tony shook his head at the hostility he was facing. "I can ask you anything, right? And you'll be honest and tell me the truth?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Frank was already impatient, toe of one boot tapping against the stone wall. "Just ask so we can fucking get this over with."

Emboldened by the hateful attitude, Tony frowned and began. "I want to know about my mother first. What was she like?"

"I would have thought old man Hathaway would have told you all you wanted to know about his sweet little Gloria. You do talk to him, don't you?"

Tony nodded. "I use to ask him about her, when I first started seeing him, but he only wanted to show me pictures and talk about her as a child."

"Figures," Frank was shaking his head, sucking in a long drag, and flicking ash into the water below. "He didn't care much for her, or so I heard, once she became a teenager. Too hard to control, I guess."

"Do...do you have any pictures of her as an adult?" Tony asked, stepping closer to the stone support.

"You got to be fucking kidding, right?" Frank laughed in surprise and then saw how serious the boy was in his inquiry. "No, God damn it, I don't have any pictures of her. Why would I? I keep telling you, that was a long time ago. Ancient history. Shit."

Tony scowled in disappointment. Gloria Hathaway was going to remain a mystery. He tried a different tact.

"Grandfather said some pretty awful things about you and my...mom. He said you were an alcoholic and was worthless."

Frank barked a harsh laugh. "Is that all? Fuck, I'm sure he was holding back. The few times I ever had to be around that bastard, he called me every name in the book, threatening me, telling me to stay away from Gloria. The old man's got a real foul mouth on him, Anthony."

"He said...he said my mother was a whore," Tony gritted the hateful word out and met Frank's eyes, looking for some sign of denial. There was none. Tony swallowed thickly and looked away.

"Fuck, what a bastard that guy is," Frank spat in disgust. "I don't know why it should surprise me but I actually thought he might want to sugar-coat the truth a little for you."

"I don't have anyone to get the truth from," Tony's face twisted with a flash of pain. "That's why Gunny found you for me, why he called you."

"Gunny?" Frank looked confused for only a moment before understanding who Tony was speaking about. "Oh, you mean that fucking ex-jarhead with the bad attitude. That him over there?"

Tony looked the way Frank was pointing and was a little surprised the man had even noticed the two adults hovering near the shelter. "Yes, that's him."

Frank grunted. "So, who's the broad?"

Tony suddenly stepped close and lowered his voice, feeling the urge for violence bubbling up, the need to protect Candace from this man's slimey-feeling attention rearing up. He clenched his fists on top of the rock wall.

"That's the woman who took me in and has raised me since I was six years old and you are never, and I mean *never*, to refer to her as anything but Candace. Do you understand?"

Frank puffed up and looked at the teen and, even though he had an inch or two in height on Tony, he could see the fire and spunk in the kid's angry, green eyes. The boy just might be dangerous if pushed too far and it looked like the woman in the shelter was a definate sore spot. They stood, toe to toe, for several long heartbeats before Frank nodded and stepped back.

"Fair enough," he agreed and put the cigarette back to his lips. "She been good to you?"

"What do you care?" Tony hissed, not willing to share anything of himself with this man. "You gave up your right to know about my life long ago."

"I don't need this shit," Frank flicked the remains of his smoke away and watched it tumble into the reeds near the ducks, clearly intending to bring the meeting to an end. He began to turn away.

"Wait," Tony started to reach out to grab the arm closest to him but abruptly stopped the movement. He saw Frank hesitate and arch an eyebrow. "Look, I'm...I'm sorry, okay. Just...just answer my questions. You don't need to know about Candace or Gunny or anthing else in my life now. Please."

Frank peered into the young face and slowly raised a hand to touch one unblemished cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, Tony couldn't help the minute flinch when bare skin met skin. He felt compelled to knock the hand away and wipe the feel of the cool fingers from his flesh but forced himself to endure until Frank withdrew.

"You really do look an awful like her, you know? Same hair, same eyes, same mouth. She was a real looker. But you're tall like me. Got some of both of us in you, right?"

Tony withstood the continued touch and, when it finally ended, thought he saw something in the man's eyes he hadn't expected to see. "You loved her."

"What?" Frank flinched back and turned to look down into the water once more. "Love? Are you fucking crazy? I didn't love that bitch anymore than she didn't love me."

Tony frowned, not understanding. "Excuse me?"

"Look, Anthony..."

"Tony. My name is Tony," the teen stressed.

"Whatever," Frank brushed it off like it didn't matter. "Gloria and I didn't do that 'love' shit. When I met her, she was all of maybe nineteen, ready to take on the world. She was rebellious, hard-headed, trying to find an easy way out from living with her up-tight parents." He shook his head at the memory. "What a spitfire. And beautiful. Could have had any guy she wanted and she usually did. All she had to do was shake those tits and spread those long legs and she could have had the Pope if he'd been available. I saw her at a party one night and knew I had to get me some of that."

"Is that all she was to you?" Tony couldn't hide the sick, aching feeling building in his stomach. "Just some piece of ass?"

"What did you expect to hear from me?" Frank shot back, obviously not concerned what his remarks about the boy's dead mother were doing to the teen. "We didn't do hearts and flowers and all that other crap. There was no love, Tony. It was more like lust. We filled a fucking need with each other: she got to get away from her folks and I got laid anytime I wanted. Things were going pretty good until she got knocked up that first time."

Tony swallowed convulsively, the sick feeling turning into a cramp. "The first time?"

"Bitch forgot to take her pills or someting like that. Shit, I didn't even know if it was mine. Didn't matter, though, because she went running right back to daddy real fast. He made the arrangements, had it taken care of all neat and clean, but made her stick around as punishment. Hell, that didn't last long."

"She...she had an abortion?" Tony choked, while Frank calmly dug out another cigarette.

He nodded like it was nothing. "Yeah, it was for the best. She couldn't be sure who the father was and neither one of us was going to have some brat tying us down. Hell, I didn't even want Gloria tying me down. She knew if she wanted to live with me she was going to have to let me roam when I wanted. And she did. I think she kind of got off knowing I was fucking others while we were together."

Tony placed his arms on the waist-high wall, leaned forward, and lowered his head to rest against the skin of his forearms. Jesus. It was bad enough to have lived all these years knowing he hadn't been wanted by his biological father but to find out his mother hadn't really wanted a child either was almost too much. He took several deep breaths before he could speak again.

"What happened?" He asked, head still down. "Why...why was I born?"

Frank shrugged, unconcerned with the boy's distress. "Gloria came back to me as soon as she could get away from Hathaway and, a few months later, told me she was knocked up again. She said it was mine but I didn't believe the bitch. Christ, what a fucking mess. She didn't want to do the abortion thing again so soon but didn't want the baby either. I told her it was her body, her decision, but *I* sure as hell wasn't going to be responsible for some crying-assed litte kid. It was all up to her. She kept insisting it was mine, over and over again. Fuck, I didn't know. She finally decided to have it...you...and said she'd give you up for adoption after the birth. It was okay by me.
Shit, neither one of us wanted you. It wasn't anything personal."

Tony had heard enough and reared up, facing Frank squarely, his disbelief and anger breaking loose. "Wasn't personal? Wasn't personal?! What's that suppose to mean? I wasn't even born yet and you two were trying to come up with ways to get rid of me, just because I didn't fit into your tight little scheme. Why couldn't you just keep your fucking dick in your pants?!"

Jethro was suddenly at the foot of the bridge, with Candace close behind, watching the two DiNozzo's facing off. The young agent had started forward several times, only to fall back when things settled down. But this was, somehow, different. He wanted to be beside Tony, to keep him from harm, but knew his interference could quickly mark the end of this meeting. *That* had to be done by Tony. Jethro held himself still and tried to hear what was being exchanged.

"I fucking wish I had!" Frank all but yelled into the teen's pale face. "I wouldn't have to be here now having this shit-of-a-talk with you. You wouldn't even exist, you worthless little punk! Gloria would probably still be around, maybe even with me, and I would still be a part of the family business. But, no, you came along and screwed everything up. Shit, I certainly wouldn't be in this arm pit of a town. The way I look at it, this is all *your* fucking fault!"

"What?" Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing nor the logic behind it. "You're blaming me? You're blaming me for being born? You...you think it was my fault she died?"

"She was never right after you came along," Frank was spitting into Tony's face, finger poking him roughly in the chest. "She never got her strength back, was always sick, always having to try to take care of you. She never had the energy to do anything. Shit, she didn't even want to fuck anymore. Who else should I blame?!"

Tony stepped back and leaned heavily against the wall, a strange echoing sound starting in his ears. He put his hands on his knees and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get his failing body under control. He could taste the bitter tang of bile at the back of his throat and swallowed quickly, determined to keep those vile fluids where they belonged.

The teenager heard Frank kick the stone wall roughly and focused on the scuffed, brown boots. The man attached to those feet was his father, a man who never wanted him, never really cared about his mother, and was probably going to go to his grave blaming the rest world for all the wrongs in his life. Tony knew, in his heart, he was not the reason for his mother's death and that this man only continued to perpetrate such a lie to absolve himself from any wrongdoing. Gunny had warned him...but he had still hoped for something better from his father. The teen looked once more at the old boots and slowly straightened.

"Frank," he gritted out the name of this stranger and looked him directly in the eye. "I'm sorry you blame me for my mother's death and I'm sorry you've been so inconvenienced by my birth and survival but the one thing I'm most sorry for is coming here to Syracuse to talk to you. I was stupid to think you'd ever be anything more to me than what you already where: nothing.

"See those two people over there?" He pointed to Candace and Jethro before Frank to get a word in. "There's my family. There's the only reason I'm alive and well today. They've given me more love and understanding in my sixteen years than you'd probably ever get in two lifetimes."

"Just wait a fucking minute here..."

"No, you fucking wait a minute," Tony's face was flushed and his eyes awash with tears but he didn't back down. "The only reason I'm proud to be a DiNozzo is because of that woman and her dead husband. You and Uncle Robert," he choked on the man's name and had to take a ragged breath before continuing, "were the only other DiNozzo's I ever knew about and you gave me to him when I was just three years old. And why? Because you didn't want to be bothered with a 'crying-assed little kid'. Well, thanks a lot, *Dad*. Uncle Robert started me off real well. Taught me all kinds of useful things. Taught me not to cry when I was cold or hungry or if I got hit. That came in handy because Robert really liked to take out his frustrations on me. Did you know that? Did you? He also taught me not to scream when he fucked me." He saw a flash of disbelief in Frank's face. "Did you even care enough to check on me to see what he was doing? That's what I learned from Uncle Robert.

"No one taught me about love and kindness and goodness until Candace and Jimmy rescued me. No one. My life didn't begin until they took me out of that hospital and away from him. So, I'm sorry that you couldn't love my mother and I'm sorry she couldn't love you back. Maybe you'd be a better person now if you'd had some kind of love in your life. I don't know. And, right now, I don't care. All I do know is I never, *ever*, want to see you again."

And Tony turned and walked away, leaving Frank DiNozzo alone and unwanted on the old, stone bridge.

As he neared the place where Candace and Jethro waited, Tony's tears began to silently fall, each step taking him farther away from his hated past and a bit closer to his hopeful future. He stopped as he joined the two adults and took a deep breath, visibly relieved to be back with those who loved him.

"You okay?" Jethro asked quietly, slipping a supporting arm around the slightly trembling shoulders. Candace was pressing in from the other side. "Tony? You alright?"

"Yeah," he sniffed once and blinked, raising his face to look at them. He pushed the sadness away and forced a small smile. "Let's go home. Please."

Tony never looked back.

The trio walked quietly to the parking area and got into the rented vehicle, Candace and Jethro in the front and Tony stretching out in the back, the teen immediately closing his eyes and feeling the strees of the week. Sleep. He just wanted to sleep and forget. They made it back to the motel shortly before noon and Candace volunteered to take the car and go grab some burgers for their lunch while Jethro settled Tony into one of the ajoining rooms for some much-needed rest.

Letting his Gunny haul him from the car and guide him into one of the rooms, Tony sat on the edge of one of the two double beds and watched blearily as the man knelt and began to remove his sneakers. It was quiet and cool in the darkened room and Tony couldn't think of anything but the tender hands near his feet. He took a deep breath and sighed in contentment. Unable to think of the consequences, and not really caring about too much at the time anyway, Tony leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Jethro's shoulders, pulling tight, and feeling the strong body wobble at the unexpected weight, awkwardly trying to stablize himself in the sudden embrace. He knew Jethro would protest, so be spoke before the man could voice his objection.

"Gunny," he whispered, mouth pressed to one of Jethro's ears, "I know you don't want me to do this but, please, just hold me for a little while. Please."

There was a moment of silent indecision and then bliss. The strong arms snaked around and tugged the younger body close, snugging them chest to chest, Tony's legs spreading wide and closing to press against Jethro's torso. The firm hands began to move in leisurely patterns across the teen's back, sides, and arms, stroking and soothing, and leaving a warm, tingling path in their wake. Tony sighed and rubbed his face against the skin of Jethro's cheek, feeling the slight scrap of stubble, teasing and tickling. He eased his body even closer to the edge of the bed, bringing his groin in direct contact with the hard stomach muscles and heard a satisfied sigh. This is where he wanted to be...in Gunny's arms, kissing Gunny's neck and cheek and mouth and...

"Tony," Jethro hissed and pulled slightly back, trying to stop the youth's persistent mouth.

"Please, Gunny," Tony pleaded and pressed forward once more, covering the hesitant lips with his own, hips moving restlessly against the hard stomach. He felt Jethro turn his face a bit more. "Just this once...kiss me back. Please."

"Tony, this isn't right. You're upset right now."

"No," Tony moaned and pressed forward again, trying to capture the elusive mouth. "Let me do this just this once. Please, Gunny. Please."

The boy's continued advances were sweet and warm and sparked a need inside Jethro. He moaned softly and let Tony recapture his mouth, melting into the moment, torn by the need he sensed in Tony but also by the want firing his own blood. But this was wrong, wasn't it?

Why did it suddenly feel so right?


TBC