Author: Zee Viate PM
Tony's past good deed complicates his present life. Father/son undercurrent.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Leroy Jethro Gibbs & Tony D. - Chapters: 7 - Words: 12,222 - Reviews: 27 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 41 - Published: 08-18-12 - id: 8440918
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: For a number of different reasons, I posted NCIS stories under different pen names. I'm re-posting this one because I want to bring all my stories under one name.
Until now, I've re-posted all the stories as one chapter. But, I've gotten PMs saying the stories would be easier to read posted in individual chapters. So, I'm going to post this and the other WIP as requested. I hope to post more to at least one of my WIPs soon and to eventually finish them all.
Roger closed the bedroom door behind him and pulled the newspaper from where it had been hidden under his jacket, held pressed snug against his body. She couldn't see it or it might set her off. If the photo had caught his eye, it could just as easily catch hers.
He had been shocked then thrilled to see the small picture on the bottom fold of the front page though the joy had been dampened by concern when he read the writing underneath, NCIS agent wounded in hostage rescue.
He'd been relieved to read that the injuries weren't life threatening and he was expected to make a full recovery. It would have hurt to know that that bright spot in his past had died even though it wasn't a memory he examined often. Bright spots were so rare and should have been precious. But, to consciously treasure them was to force a compare and contrast with the rest of his life that was so painful to endure that he rarely deliberately chose to remember.
There were so few, too few, bright spots among the gray and black of the preceding years and the present . He fought that thought, that oppressive fact that led to despair and anger, fearful it might unleash the mood that could drag him to the dangerous place. Shaking it off, he sat at his desk and laid the paper flat to stare again at the face.
It had been over twenty years, but the face was still recognizable underneath the age. A very different expression in the agency id photo; serious, almost defiant. Not the fizzing effervescence, the huge, cocky grin he remembered. But, the Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. of back then still showed in the Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. of now.
His mood sank a notch as he realized the same couldn't be said of himself. The Roger Walker of back then was gone, buried under, even using the most lenient online body mass calculator, at least 67 pounds of excess pale and wobbly flesh. Buried and dead. The Roger of back then who still had hopes and aspirations was long gone.
One of those hopes had been that he would see Tony again, that the connection he'd felt in the twenty-nine hours he'd spent with him would carry on and grow and become a part of his life. He had imagined being Tony's best friend, like a brother, being like Tony who was everything he would have liked to have been. It was a hope he'd clung to longer than most.
But, that hope had been dashed and eventually died like all the others. He'd never seen Tony again, the only mention of him outside his own private and silent wishes was her tirades of venom and blame. Roger didn't believe her but neither did he dare defend Tony to her. Roger had, even at that young age, already resigned himself to his fate and existed without rocking the boat on the outside and maintaining control on the inside. He'd managed to skim his way through life living with very rare exceptions to those policies, exceptions that had very nasty consequences. He recalled the price when those consequences were visited on him and the shame when he'd been the one to exact the consequence, lashing out from his dangerous place.
Seeing that face again, though, stirred in his chest a spark among long cold ashes. A daring desire to take a chance, wanting more; a life rather than an existence, a friend like Tony. The article said he'd been an agent in D.C for the past seven years, only 30 minutes from where Henry lived.
For seven years, an old hope had been that close. In spite of the difference in ages, he and Tony had hit it off back then. They should get along even better now that they were both grown men; the eight year difference wouldn't matter. Excitement and joyous anticipation bubbled into his consciousness, the feelings so foreign to him they struck him giddy at the thought of his wish finally coming true.