Chapter Text
Disclaimer: These folks do not belong to me nor do I make any coin from this. I just like to play with these characters, dust them off and then put them back. But I don't think I'll ever be done...
Authors email: [email protected]
Also posted at http://cernicalo8909.livejournal.com/
Chapter 1
Tony dragged himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. First he relieved himself and then turned on the water. He refused to look into the mirror wanting no proof that he looked as pathetic as he felt. He moved into the shower and used the sandpaper washcloth to scrub away the makeup he knew was smeared around his eyes. Once he was done he proceeded to wash away every trace of the night’s activities from his thighs and ass. It had been hard and good at the time but now it was gone without even leaving the soreness he’d hoped to take away as a reminder that he wasn’t alone. The fact that he felt nothing except for the tingling left by the rough washcloth seemed to emphasize how fleeting his moment of fantasy had been.
Tony refused to use the ancient coffeemaker in the room opting instead to walk to the lobby for a cup of coffee. He tossed his bag into his car and squinted into the morning sun with a sigh. He was tired both physically and mentally and he felt old. How long, he wondered, could he keep this up?
In the office he poured himself a cup of bitter coffee and dropped his key onto the desk and wandered out to his car. Getting into his car he told himself again that this was the last time and yet he still looked at the hotels along the strip as though making plans for the next go round.
Tony got home a couple of hours later and although it was the same distance as always, the drive back seemed to take forever and by the time he walked in the door he was dreading his list of Sunday tasks. There was no choice, though. He’d be screwed if they got a hot case. He mentally went through his task list. He had some errands to run and some laundry to do. Plus he knew he needed to do some grocery shopping to get him through the week. He unpacked his bag and tossed his clubbing clothes into the hamper to be sorted later. It never occurred to him to turn the TV on. Normally it was the first thing he did to combat the quiet of his apartment but the last two trips out had left him feeling more out of sorts than ever, the depression that weighed heavily on him upon his return darker than that which originally drove him out to the distant clubs full of flashing light, throbbing music and sweaty, dancing bodies. And it had been awhile now that he’d finally realized that TV and movies couldn’t fill the void in his life.
He pulled the makeup case out of his bag and his face twisted in a grimace. He thought about his examination of his face as he readied for the night back at that hotel. He’d noticed a few more wrinkles and a gray hair here and there. At the time the promise of the night let him refuse to acknowledge what the mirror told him. He was getting too old to play the role of boy toy. It was getting harder and harder to get the guys he wanted interested in him. But he’d pressed forward regardless telling himself that the dim lighting in the club would hide a lot. So what if he did have to use a bit more cover up to hide the lines around eyes that had seen a bit too much of the darker side of humanity or to hide the shadows from too many sleepless nights. But here, now, in the light of day he found himself acknowledging the truth. He was quickly approaching the age range of those he sought for himself and he wondered if he would become one of those men with the silver hair searching for a hard body to pull close for a little while, to try and remember what it was to feel young and invincible against the rages of time. No, he wouldn’t. His fantasies always centered on an older figure but they were fantasies driven by desire for another, not fear for himself. So, with this realization, would his fantasy change as well? Would his fantasy change to that of someone his own age, someone his equal rather than someone dominant who would fuck him through the floor? Or could his fantasies accommodate the changes time wrought upon that one person he dreamt of, making the sex a little slower…maybe more tender…? And with a deep sigh he knew they would because every day brought another instance, another facial expression in that older face that would continue to fuel his imagination and feed his yearning. And he accepted that because, in the end, it was all he had.
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By Monday morning Tony had himself psyched up for the new week. Unfortunately, he was psyched up at 3 am and decided he may as well get up and get to work. Despite the way he felt about his personal life, his professional life was still one of excitement and deep satisfaction. He loved his job and, yeah, a lot of it had to do with the fact that he was still Gibbs’ Second. He just loved working for the man. So much so that he again turned down an offer of his own team even though it had been in sunny Florida. He thought back to that day when he’d been given the offer.
He had actually considered that assignment that afternoon and again later that night. He’d gone home, checked his mail and ‘whoo-hood’ in glee when he saw the latest issue of Playboy which only added fuel to the thought of scantily clad nubile flesh on a hot, sunny beach. Yeah, all those sweet young coeds partying it up at spring break. Mmm, mmmm! He’d taken the issue upstairs, grabbed a beer and sat down to peruse the magazine. Then he looked at the latest Playboy spread and found himself trying to force away those thoughts that kept trying to sneak in lately but they were too strong. He looked at the firm breasts and slender thighs and then felt slightly creepy. God, when had the girls gotten so young? He looked at the centerfold’s vital stats and realized that the current flavor of the month was born after he’d graduated from college. He had closed the magazine and tossed it on the coffee table in disgust and knew he would never accept the job offer. He wasn’t his father, perpetually chasing younger women in an effort to keep his own youth. But that wasn’t the major issue. No, the biggie was that he’d faced a certain truth about himself a long time ago. He ran a hand over his face. His truth. A truth that said a woman’s touch could never meet his innermost needs. But then, if he was honest, there was only one touch that would meet those needs and he’d eventually realized that it would never happen which left him…where?
He went back to the idea of leading his own team. It would happen one day he knew, especially if Gibbs decided to retire. He’d probably be offered the team. Could he take it? No. It wasn’t even a possibility. He would have to move somewhere else…anywhere else…once Gibbs decided to retire because he knew he couldn’t live in the same area as Gibbs if he’d never be able to see him. And the occasional stop over with a pizza and some beer just wouldn’t cut it.
Hmmm, starting over in a new location, in a place where he wouldn’t have to pretend to be something he wasn’t. Where he would make friends and acquaintances who wouldn’t know him for anything other than what he chose to portray. Like being undercover, only this time he would be as himself. Could he do it? Could he live his life as an openly gay man? The thought alone made his stomach clench. He’d lived his life so far in the closet first because of his family and then because of his career choice that the thought was terrifying. But things were changing…he could be truthful…couldn’t he? He looked at the magazine. Maybe, in a new place where no one had any preconceptions about him, where he didn’t have to hide behind an image and he wouldn’t hurt or disappoint those he cared about. A memory of the disgust and disappointment on his father’s face flashed through his mind followed by the looks on his fellow officers’ faces when confronted by a member of the force who was openly gay. NCIS was different. He wasn’t a beat cop or a detective who might call for backup and be left hanging. It was possible to find some level of happiness; he had to believe that, even if his only option was to start over someplace new. He got up and tossed the magazine into the trash. He couldn’t think about this anymore because he simply wasn’t ready. He couldn’t leave Gibbs, yet, so in a typical DiNozzo move, he simply turned down the offer and refused to think about it.
He pulled into his parking place and sat there for a moment reliving the emotions his memories reawakened and he again found himself second-guessing his actions. Should he have taken the job? He stared blankly at the concrete wall in front of him. He’d found himself doing this a lot more lately, thinking about where he was in life which would inevitably lead to contemplating the day to come…or more like getting his game face on. With a deep sigh he knew it was the latter more than the former. He was looking forward to seeing Gibbs. That was a given. But could he keep doing this? God, wasn’t he getting too old to be the loyal St. Bernard or, he thought with disgust, more like an abused and pathetic little puppy, eager for any attention he could get. He shut his eyes as a surge of humiliation rolled through him. Did anyone else see him as pathetic as he felt he was? God, he couldn’t take that, couldn’t take his co-workers’ pity or scorn and then he had the sudden conviction that if he looked closely enough, that would be exactly what he would see. It was no wonder neither Ziva nor McGee had any respect for him. Why hadn’t he seen this before now?
“Gaaagh!” he said in disgust at himself. Slow down, DiNozzo! You’re psyching yourself out and you can’t do that…it’ll blow the whole game. He leaned back and took a deep breath. Yeah, a game…one he’d been playing for years and he had a hell of a lot invested in it. And he wasn’t about to give it up, yet.
He twisted his head, popping his neck slightly to relieve the tension he felt in his shoulders. Remember who you are. You are Tony DiNozzo, Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. Game face on he let out a slightly forced laugh and then grabbed his backpack to start a new week.
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Monday morning dawned bright and clear but it had no effect on Gibbs as he made his way up to the bullpen after another uneventful weekend that consisted only of hours spent working on his boat and a bit too much bourbon while denying to himself that he was waiting for DiNozzo to show up. Watching the numbers change on the elevator panel his first thoughts were also the same as usual. How tired would DiNozzo be this morning? What young female kept his Senior Field Agent occupied all weekend long? Who and Where? Those were two very typical questions for any investigator except for the fact that this wasn’t an investigation, and yet he still he wanted to know. He didn’t know Who because Tony had already been gone on Saturday when he’d found a reason to drive by Tony’s apartment only to find his car gone, and that added When to the Where already on the list.
His face darkened because he was sure he’d hear all about it as soon as he entered the bullpen and the thought just pissed him off which lent itself to the typical Gibbs glare when the elevator doors opened causing two would-be passengers to scurry away rather than face that glare head-on. It gave Gibbs a sense of satisfaction as he silently approached the bullpen and paused to listen for that voice to tell the tale that would make his stomach churn and he had to wonder who the new woman was in Tony’s life. And there had to be one because Tony had never let so much time pass without dropping by so obviously she was keeping him busy. That thought darkened an already dark countenance and Gibbs felt the need to pause a bit. Feeling like he was right now he knew that if he saw Tony he’d just bite his head off so he detoured to the break room to get a cup of that horse piss they passed off as coffee. And maybe, if he was lucky, he’d miss the usual morning conversation.
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