NCIS FIC- Running -1/2 (DiNozzo/OMC- Pre-slash- PG)
Title: Running 1/2
Author: Matt
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG
Genre: Pre-slash, character study, (looks stealthily around and cringes) romance
Characters: DiNozzo/OMC, (slightly) implied Gibbs/DiNozzo
Warnings: Language
Disclaimer: This fic is based on most of the characters belonging to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: It’s been a long time. I almost said goodbye to fandom and, then, this strange idea kept poking away at my brain and wouldn’t go away. I think, partly, this is due to a truly rocking fic BC is writing for a different fandom. Her story has given me the opportunity to consider and examine the ‘softer’ side of relationships. I blame her and, frankly, thank her.
People run for a wide variety of reasons and, depending on who and when they are asked, the explanation can span the gambit from the extremely unsophisticated all the way to the seriously complicated. Some people justify running as a simple, unpretentious method of exercise…which it certainly is…or they defend running as a community-minded means of taking part in a local charity event, which occurs often in most major cities throughout the globe. They may run to catch the bus that takes them to work each day. They may run because they’re late for an important appointment or they may run to be one of the first in line at a special sale. They may even run to escape that angry, growling Rottweiller which is rapidly gaining ground, making snarling snaps at their retreating ass. Regardless of the motivation, there’s no doubt the physical, mental, and emotional rewards of running are boundless, and many people strive to make it an essential part of their daily routine.
Tony DiNozzo starts his mornings, as many runners do, hitting the streets early, before the motorists and dog-walkers and eco-friendly commuters can get in the way of his normal path. He likes to be up while the world is still blanketed in relative quiet, even before the birds begin to stir within their nests, weaving his way down familiar pavement and blacktop and, finally, onto the marked trails of a nearby park, arriving when the sun is only remotely thinking about easing up over the far horizon to mark the start of a brand new day.
He runs every morning to stay in shape, so the next criminal down the line doesn’t do a credible Roadrunner imitation, leaving him in a floating puff of dust, making him look like some damn, pansy-assed fool in front of his friends and teammates. He likes that he can still hoof it faster than McGee…and takes perverse pleasure in making sure everyone, especially their boss, knows of his ability to surpass the younger probie in something so simple. He runs to keep his scarred lungs strong and sound and, specifically, to minimize the occasional worried look tossed his way whenever he happens to muffle a cough in front of his colleagues. He truly hates that some still might consider him fragile and does whatever is necessary to illustrate how fit and healthy his body has become since that damn plague incident years ago. He runs to fill that eerie void of time, when sleep has inexplicably vanished and his body can no longer stay abed, his mind churning endlessly upon things he’d rather forget. He wishes he could sleep longer each morning, to rest while he can and get those highly prized, elusive, eight recommended hours of slumber the rest of the world seems to manage, but, more than anything, he wishes for those invasive, unwanted, unwelcome thoughts to just shut the hell up and leave him alone.
Specifically, DiNozzo runs so the silence and solitude and repetitive motion of sneaker soles hitting ground can purge those fickle demons lurking in the dark, barely hidden recesses of his mind, flushing his brain of all the unwanted accumulation, temporarily easing the still-lingering ache of regret which remains from all the mistakes he’s made in his life…and he’s made many…, including the ill-timed and poorly handled departure of Jeanne Benoit. He runs almost religiously since she turned and fled from their relationship and his life, the mindless, rhythmic exercise the only thing he’s been able to find that, for a short while, soothes the distant, echoing hurt which still loiters in his thoughts after all this time.
DiNozzo snorts softly and shakes his head impatiently, instinctively remembering to look both ways before traversing a poorly lit street half-way between his apartment building and the community park that’s his destination. He doesn’t want to think about Jeanne now…he doesn’t want to think about anything…he just wants to run.
Purposefully clearing his mind, he goes through the motions of simply placing one foot in front of the other. A lot of people do their best thinking while running…or so they claim…but DiNozzo thinks that’s nothing but a huge pile of horseshit. Thinking while running just seems like too much work and, as far as he’s concerned, he rather give Ziva a free kick to his nads than have to ruin a perfectly good workout by spending it reflecting on past mistakes or meaningless self-evaluation or revisiting moments now long gone and impossible to recapture and rectify. No, running is so much better when his mind is blank and all he has to concern himself with is breathing, observing, and moving along at a reasonable pace…like now.
Turning a corner and pushing those grim thoughts all the way to the back burner of his brain, DiNozzo automatically takes notice of a couple of young joggers moving toward one of the park entrances and ups his pace. He’s not the only one who runs the gauntlet early each morning, can easily recognize the regulars who always turn out early, and he wants to get his circuit in before things get too crowded. On warm summer days like this, the park can get congested real quick. It takes close to forty minutes to make the complete tour of the runner’s path he likes, if he keeps to his regular pace, and another ten to get back to his apartment complex, so he concentrates on breathing steadily and keeping the rhythm smooth and easy.
Still, that persistent, non-threatening ache in his chest tenaciously holds on, it’s sharp, claw-like grasp digging in and obstinately refusing to let go. Frustratingly, the memory of Jeanne just won’t be silent this morning.
He knows there was just no good way for it to end between them, especially when everything they’d had was built on a lie, but it’s that one, singularly significant lie that periodically keeps popping back up to darken his mood when he least expects it, filling his head with a myriad of ‘what ifs’ and ‘almost hads’, reminding him of the possibilities now forever lost. He knows, at this point in his life, his chances of finding that ‘one special person’ is rapidly fading away with each passing day but, when Jeanne had arrived on the scene, he’d actually thought he’d been given a reprieve. He doesn’t carry a biological clock like many women supposedly do, their bodies and souls craving the connection which forms through marriage and/or childbirth, but he understands and appreciates the concept. For him, something is literally nipping at his heels right now and it isn’t some damn, slobbering, angry Rottweiller. It’s time itself…and there’s just no way to outrun it anymore.
He’s recently spent many a lonely night, contemplating the reasons he’s never put his foolish, philandering, Casanova characteristics aside and examining what he now refers to as his repeated failures at intimacies. No, that wasn’t exactly true. Not all were merely failures…some have been close to catastrophic in nature.
Losing his virginity at a relatively young age had caused a strange mishmash of emotional problems for DiNozzo, though at the time, he hadn’t considered it anything but an unexpected and very welcome windfall. What adolescent boy wouldn’t? The seventeen year-old daughter of one of his father’s business partners had gladly shown him a thing or two he’d never imagined…and he’d imagined a lot, like most hormonally driven males do…from just looking at the pictures on the glossy pages of a dog-eared, come-splattered, Playboy magazine he’d hidden from the maid under his mattress at home. But worldly Monica…sweet, luscious, instructive Monica…had quickly showed him the loose, messy, euphoric ropes of intercourse and then proceeded to break his tender, mostly innocent heart, leaving him confused and uncertain when she’d departed for college on the bulked-up arm of some well-known, rich, country club jock. He’d loved her…as much as any bewildered, naïve, young boy can love…and had thought they’d shared something special and lasting. But her abrupt exodus had sent him reeling and looking for some convenient, albeit, temporary comfort.
He’d tried, at the time, to talk to his parents about his feelings for Monica, hoping for some kind, understanding support, but that had been a disaster just waiting to happen…and another hard lesson learned. His mother had erupted into an unexpected crying frenzy, almost bordering on the hysterical, when he’d confronted her and confessed his rejected affections for the older girl. His father…well, his father had roared out his anger, sent his confused, stunned son to his room with orders to never speak of the incident again, and immediately broken off relations with his business partner, accusing the man’s daughter of molestation and threatening persecution.
Of course, nothing had come of the incident but DiNozzo had learned early not to expect any support from his parents when it came to matters of the heart.
The relationship between his mother and father had always been far from perfect…this he knew by comparing what he saw or heard from his friends at school to what he could see for himself at home…but he’d been under the misconception his parents would be together forever. Sure, they’d argued a lot when one or the other of them drank and they’d gradually spent more and more time apart, his father going on long business trips and his mother camping out in some high-priced spa but, in his own immature and mostly fantasy-driven mind, DiNozzo’d never expected their affection or expectations for him would ever alter. The DiNozzo clan came from a long line of achievers, self-made millionaires on both sides of the family tree, people who stuck together through thick and thin and stayed married…no matter what.
He’d been so young, so idealistic and…oh…so very naïve.
When news had suddenly surfaced of his father’s indiscretions with his young, busty, gold-digging, executive secretary, the household and his mother had been thrown into a state of total disrepair. Drinking at all hours had become a prevalent activity and the sporadic, controlled, pre-secretary arguments had escalated into raging, screaming affairs that lasted well into the night. Worse of all, was the yawning chasm of silence that settled over everything after all the hurtful words had all been expelled and exhausted. DiNozzo had been at a loss at what to do for his parents during that hurtful time, confused again by the unexpected withdrawal of affection. There’d been photographs and news reports and classmates who’d whispered slanderous words behind his back, the teens merely repeating the words they’d heard from their own parents. But hardest of all for the young boy to understand, the two adults had retreated into their own shells and left their only child to drift aimlessly in the resultant, emotionless abyss of rejection.
DiNozzo had done everything he possibly could to make his mother smile again, dressing carefully in clothes he knew she’d like, sitting awkwardly on the edge of her large bed as often as he could, regaling her with tales from his school day, speaking of movies he’d watched, or explaining ideas he’d had…but never once had she responded to the boy or turned away from the wall to look directly at him. After several weeks had passed, he’d learned not to expect anything further from her.
His attempts with his father had been no better, the older man remaining stoically distanced, both physically and emotionally, leaving his bewildered son’s care to those who had no personal interest, openly disregarding the boy’s blatant appeals for attention and affection. DiNozzo became like a ghost in his own house, a pale, elusive reminder of a marriage gone wrong and of a love no longer shared.
The sudden, questionable death of his mother in an automobile accident and the subsequent total alienation of his father had been the final blow. The boy had hardened his heart and made a vow never to fall for the foolish whims of love again. There was just no way he was ever going to end up like his parents. He’d believed if he could just run hard enough…and far enough…he’d be able to escape their fate.
Boarding school had been a real eye-opener for DiNozzo. Away from home and out from under the relentless disregard of his father for the first time, he’d discovered he enjoyed the company of both males and females and could be friends and/or casual sex partners with either, finding it easier to wallow in the resultant physical comfort without complicating relationships with needless emotional ties. What was the point? In his short but significant experience, those you really cared for would ultimately turn away…or die…and he had no desire to ever feel anything like that again. No, he’d quickly decided to stay a ‘free agent’ and, in the process, protect his cautious, damaged heart.
College had been just as spectacular and he’d chased skirts and jogged after jock straps between the variety of classes, work, and athletics, learning to guardedly protect himself from those who were, in his eyes, nothing more than narrow-minded homophobes. Not that DiNozzo ever considered himself homosexual; no, DiNozzo thrived on the fact he could enjoy a larger selection by swimming in both ends of the pool and couldn’t help but feel sorry for those who limited themselves to merely treading with one sexual preference. In his mind, he doubled his chances of getting laid by being bi and he’d never found himself lacking for company when he desired it.
There had been several girls…young women actually…who’d looked for and expected more from him during that exciting time in his life but he’d quickly quashed those relationships as soon as he’d recognized their true intent, hustling rapidly into different territory, breaking a few hearts as gently as possible, and steadily building a reputation as a real Lothario. That label hadn’t bothered him at all…at the time. While many around him slowly began to form more lasting associations with partners, a few even taking the step of getting engaged, DiNozzo had been perfectly happy splashing away in his crowded pool, determined not to get sucked into a situation that would force him to drop his guard and get emotionally involved. He’d seen, firsthand, how unhappy his parents had been in their marriage, knew most of his friends came from divorced homes, and just couldn’t understand why two consenting adults would choose to ruin a perfectly good relationship by exchanging expensive rings and useless vows. Ultimately, the only winner in a situation like that would be the divorce attorney.
Fraternity life had opened new horizons for him and he’d found kindred spirits within that tightly knit, brotherhood alliance. Many had thought as he did and reinforced his beliefs. Yes, there’d been parties and panty raids and everything hard-working parents feared but there’d also been purpose and drive and lessons in respect and loyalty. He’d listened and observed and learned, opening his guarded heart to the friendship they offered, reveling in the deep connection they provided. The affection he’d felt for several of his frat brothers was as close to love as he’d ever allowed himself to get but there was never anything remotely sexual about those feelings. Combining sex with friendship, in his experience, was nothing but a sure recipe for pure failure.
And without a doubt, his biggest failure, so far, has been Jeanne Benoit.
Jeanne had been smart and funny and, in his mind’s eye, everything the perfect woman could and should be, focused on her profession but clearly willing to open her heart and her arms to a good man willing to give her the respect and affection she deserved. She’d been charming, delightful, beautiful, inside and out, and it hadn’t taken DiNozzo long to feel that old, dangerous pull he’d so resolutely turned from all his life. Resistance had cracked and slowly crumbled but old habits and lingering memories had prevented him from taking the next, logical step as quickly as he should have.
He’d actively resisted saying the ‘L’ word to Jeanne for as long as he possibly could and had been able to plainly see how his hesitation had deeply hurt her but had found it extremely difficult to speak words that, truthfully, had scared him totally shitless. In his experience, professing love was nothing more than a sure way to get your heart crushed and your soul shattered and he’d done everything possible to vigilantly protect himself from the likelihood of rejection.
It all boils down to rejection for DiNozzo.
Rejection has always been the antithesis of everything he craves in life and he does whatever he can to avoid being in that unwanted position again. Rejection strips away self-confidence and creates terrible feelings of inadequateness and worthlessness. Rejection makes him believe there’s something innately wrong with his personality or appearance or intellect. Rejection leaves him feeling adrift and hurt and terribly unsure of himself. Rejection has left him vulnerable and wounded and scarred.
Ironically, the only other person he’s actually said, “I love you” to, since his mother’s passing and before Jeanne’s arrival, has been his boss, Jethro Gibbs, and that was only because the older man had arrived bearing a pizza while DiNozzo had, at the time, been tailing their new Mossad liaison, Ziva David. The declaration had been a casual, offhanded announcement and Gibbs accepted it as nothing more than his agent’s gratitude at being on the receiving end of some hot food. But, ironically, DiNozzo had laid awake later that same night…and many nights since…examining his feelings for Gibbs and trying to comprehend why he’d let something he’d always worked so diligently to contain slip out so easily. It just wasn’t like him and, he knew without a single doubt, saying something like that to Gibbs again would be nothing more than the precursor to a real heaping helping of rejection.
‘Shut the fuck up!’ DiNozzo bellows silently to his blathering brain, unable to comprehend why he’s having such a difficult time controlling his rampant, rambling thoughts this morning. ‘Just run, damn it…just run.’
The park is fairly well-lit, even at this ungodly hour, and DiNozzo knows the strategic illumination is a specific deterrent to muggers and flashers and those interested in a little one-on-one, carnal companionship. Still, if a couple of people want a bit of privacy, it can easily be found off the common paths and closer to the densely wooded areas that purposefully dot the park. He’s sporadically seen a few men lurking around in the evenings, when he’s had to change his running schedule because of work, but he seriously doubts that would be the case so early during the morning hours. Those types of people are almost like vampires to him, shunning the approaching dawn and hurrying home to do whatever the hell they do when not looking for a quick, clandestine session or an easy, anonymous grope in the dark.
DiNozzo smirks at the idea of vampires trolling the park for a little bump and grind. ‘Gives a whole, new twist to the idea of getting sucked bone dry.’
Still, deep down, he can’t really blame those who lurk about the park for their latent desires…just their questionable choice of venue. Sex in a public recreational area? He just didn’t get the allure. But everyone gets lonely, now and then, and needs to feel the reassuring touch of another human being…even if it is with someone anonymous, in the dark, and behind a bunch of bushes where God or anyone…or the police…could see.
Stepping off the paved lane and finding the dirt trail that begins his regular circuit, DiNozzo feels a small, aching flare of need himself. For more than a year, he’s carefully shied away from his usual, pre-Jeanne, dating strategies, astounding his co-workers and, quite honestly, himself, focusing solely on his work, and settling for the occasional hug from Abby or the sporadic head slap from Gibbs as his only source of physical contact. It isn’t much but, for now, it’s all he needs or desires. He realizes the urge to connect sexually with another human being won’t be long in coming. He’s a relatively young, healthy man and healthy, young men have definite needs. Plus, he’s becoming more lonely. In DiNozzo’s book, that’s an extremely volatile combination. Lonely + needy = a disaster just waiting to happen.
The dirt path beneath his feet is hard-packed from use but is still a hell of a lot easier on the ankles and knees than pounding away on rigid concrete. DiNozzo can feel the first trickles of sweat beginning at the nape of his neck, under his arms, and at the small of his back and knows he’ll be thoroughly soaked by the time he finishes his run this morning. The humidity is already high and the weathercaster’s guarantee of showers later in the day seems, for once, to be true. The air is ripe with moisture and, as he casts a swift glance skyward, he thinks he can detect a murky cloud or two already rolling in from the southwest.
‘Great,’ he grumbles silently, refocusing his eyes on the dim trail ahead, ‘nothing like rain to make a rare weekend away from work even more appealing. Guess I’ll just have to spend the day doing laundry and vegging out in front of the TV.’
Rounding a gently sloping curve while absently wiping the sweat away from his brow with the back of one wrist, DiNozzo almost doesn’t see the shadowy figure squatting on the path before it’s too late. Side-stepping quickly to prevent a full-out collusion, he stumbles awkwardly on the edge of an exposed root, and ends up going face-first into a nearby tree, catching himself at the last moment to take the brunt of the inevitable impact against one cheek and shoulder. He can feel the rough bark peeling away a thin layer of skin, rebounds off the gnarly surface like a basketball slamming against a backboard, and barely manages to land less than gracefully on his ass, truly appalled and embarrassed by his total lack of coordination.
“Oh, my God!” A voice is stridently speaking from somewhere to his right. “I’m so sorry! Pepper got away from me before I knew it and headed straight for this path. Are you alright?”
DiNozzo doesn’t know who the hell Pepper is…doesn’t really give a rat’s ass at the moment…and brings a hand up to gingerly touch his injured face, instantly feeling the warm moisture on the tips of his fingers. Perfect. Even in this low light and without looking, he knows he’s bleeding.
There’s a strong, steadying hand on his uninjured shoulder but DiNozzo raises his eyes only far enough from he ground to cast his baleful glare toward a small, dark ball of fur that’s avidly licking away at his sweaty hand, its happy, hairy, whiskered, little face belying the fact it’s just caused a near calamity and has massively bruised a human’s ego. This could only be the notorious, aforementioned Pepper.
“Well, can’t say I’ve ever been laid so low by something that uses it’s tongue as a weapon and isn’t as tall as my knees,” he huffs out a shallow laugh, still trying to catch his breath, finally looking toward the man now crouching protectively at his side. The honest, concerned expression in the kind, apologetic eyes makes him bite back any further comment about the stupidity of allowing a dog off it’s leash in a public park.
“Ah, crap,” the man breathes with sincere regret, getting a partial look at the injury, “you’re hurt.”
“Just a scratch.” He plays it down, not really wanting sympathy from this guy. “Nothing major.”
“Well, it may not feel major to you right now but, let me tell you, from my viewpoint your cheek and shoulder look pretty rough, even in this low light. Can you get up?”
DiNozzo considers the question only for a moment and quickly takes an internal check of his body. Everything seems to be fine, other than the cheek and arm. “Sure.”
The hand on his shoulder slips smoothly down to cup his elbow, helping him rise, the grip strong but cautious. DiNozzo can instantly tell he isn’t going to be allowed to stand on his own until the stranger is satisfied with his balance, so he widens his stance and straightens his spine. Once completely upright and steady, DiNozzo takes a deep breath and nods his confidence.
“I’m okay,” he assures, spreading his hands out to either side. “See?”
The stranger gives a quiet noise of disbelief but reluctantly releases his hold. “What I see is you bleeding.” He bends easily and picks up Pepper, tucking the tiny dog under one arm. “Man, I’m truly sorry about this.”
“Hey, like I said, it’s nothing major.”
Turning instinctively so his back is to the nearest lamppost, allowing the light to spill across the stranger’s face, DiNozzo gets his first real good look at the contrite man and is pleasantly surprised by what he sees. Anticipating some nerdy-looking, lightweight dog-walker, this tall, fit man now facing him is the last thing DiNozzo expects to see so early this morning. Thin, wire-rimmed glasses cover the dark, regretful eyes but the sweet, remorseful, lop-sided smile shows a white flash of straight teeth even in the dim lighting. DiNozzo quickly ascertains they are of comparable height and weight and the strong, muscular legs falling from beneath the hem of much-washed, jean shorts speak silently of regular physical activity.
Nice.
DiNozzo is secure enough in his sexuality to appreciate the view but knows it’s rude to stare too long. Dragging his assessing eyes back up and meeting the stranger’s frank gaze, he sees a quick flash of sadness appear in the man’s expression before it’s quickly replaced with a more reserved look. The NCIS agent feels a small pang of regret but swiftly tosses it aside. He isn’t looking for a casual hook-up and this guy sure doesn’t seem the type to want anything like that anyway. Besides, the yappy-looking dog tucked under the arm just screams of female involvement because, in DiNozzo’s mind, no self-respecting man would ever own a dog like Pepper…except, maybe, McGee. He almost grins at the thought of his colleague scooping poop for a mutt like this but immediately quashes it down.
Before he can speak again, sudden movement from under a nearby bush makes DiNozzo flinch and silently wish for his weapon. He whirls, amazed as two medium-sized canines move to flank the stranger on either side, the dogs immediately dropping to their hindquarters to sit, looking expectedly up to the man in something almost resembling adoration.
“What the…?” DiNozzo breathes softly as he takes a hesitant step back.
“Oh, they won’t hurt you,” the stranger is quick to assure, deftly snapping a leash onto the collar of the small dog and bending to place it down near his feet, next to the others. He gestures at the newest arrivals. “These are mine, too. Well,” he nods to Pepper and tries valiantly to clarify, “technically, that little rascal belongs to my daughter but I get stuck with the early morning walks anyway.” He shrugs and gives a small, resigned sigh. “What are you going to do?”
“Yeah,” DiNozzo still isn’t certain of the circumstances but he doesn’t want to seem too much like a big wuss, “what are you going to do?” He’s never had much luck with animals but always thought dogs were pretty cool and these newest two are obviously very well-trained…not like that long-haired, fuzzball currently tugging frantically at the leash, trying its best to reach a small stick just out of reach. He eyes the two watchful, oddly marked dogs and offers a hesitant smile. “What kind are these? They’re really beautiful.”
The stranger’s grin returns ten-fold and it’s almost like the sun has suddenly decided to rise. DiNozzo feels a pang of attraction but resolutely pushes it down. Where there’s a daughter, there has to be a wife.
“They’re Border Collies,” the man says with obvious pride, squatting to stroke his hands lovingly over one of the alert animals. “Merle, to be exact.”
DiNozzo cocks his head to one side, a little baffled by the response. “Both of them have the same name?”
The stranger looks a bit confused for a moment and then smiles again, huffing out a kind laugh. “No. I mean their breed is Merle Border Collie. This one,” he tilts his head to the dog he’s petting, “is Finn and this one,” the dog on the left perks up when the man turns its way, “is Fiona.”
Slightly embarrassed, DiNozzo grins sheepishly, unconsciously flexing his injured shoulder. “Guess you can tell I’m a little canine-illiterate.”
The stranger’s eyes cloud, completely ignoring the self-depreciating remark. “That shoulder is hurting, isn’t it?”
“Ah,” DiNozzo waves off the astute observation, “I’ll be okay.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he rises and the dogs immediately get to their feet, still flanking their owner, alert and ready. “Look, I don’t know you from Adam but I feel responsible for what happened. If I hadn’t taken Pepper off his leash this never would have happened. I’ve gotten so use to Finn and Fiona being so obedient, I forgot how hard-headed that little rascal can be.” He looks momentarily torn but quickly makes a decision. “I only live a block away and I’ve got all the necessary medical supplies on hand. Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll fix you up.”
DiNozzo balks at the offer. Walking into some quaint, homey, little abode filled to the brim with domestic bliss…complete with dogs, a daughter, and a wife…just isn’t high on DiNozzo’s to-do list nowadays, even if his shoulder and cheek do hurt like a real son of a bitch. He shakes his head.
“Nah, that’s okay,” he sighs, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “You’ve got your hands full with the dogs and I’m not all that far from my home.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence. The stranger eyes DiNozzo carefully and then speaks bluntly. “Bullshit. You’re a terrible lair. I can tell you’ve been running for a while and, if my guess is right, you’re just partially into your regular workout. If you keep going now, you may just aggravate the injuries further. Please,” he steps forward and touches the injured man’s arm lightly, “do me a favor and let me make this up to you.”
“Well, I don’t…” DiNozzo waffles, not knowing whether to be offended or grateful.
“I’ll throw in a mug of fresh-brewed coffee and some home-made cinnamon rolls. How’s that sound?”
That seals the deal for DiNozzo’s stomach, which decides to grumble and gurgle loudly at the suggestion of food. Looking downward toward the traitorous region, he pokes the area with a finger and sighs with feigned resignation.
“Guess that’s your answer,” he grins sheepishly at the grinning stranger.
“Good.” The man extends his hand and offers another bright smile. “I’m Dan McKenna.”
DiNozzo immediately takes the offered hand into his own and returns the gesture, feeling a tiny flutter of pleasure in the pit of his belly at the simple touch. “Tony DiNozzo.”
TBC
Author: Matt
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG
Genre: Pre-slash, character study, (looks stealthily around and cringes) romance
Characters: DiNozzo/OMC, (slightly) implied Gibbs/DiNozzo
Warnings: Language
Disclaimer: This fic is based on most of the characters belonging to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: It’s been a long time. I almost said goodbye to fandom and, then, this strange idea kept poking away at my brain and wouldn’t go away. I think, partly, this is due to a truly rocking fic BC is writing for a different fandom. Her story has given me the opportunity to consider and examine the ‘softer’ side of relationships. I blame her and, frankly, thank her.
People run for a wide variety of reasons and, depending on who and when they are asked, the explanation can span the gambit from the extremely unsophisticated all the way to the seriously complicated. Some people justify running as a simple, unpretentious method of exercise…which it certainly is…or they defend running as a community-minded means of taking part in a local charity event, which occurs often in most major cities throughout the globe. They may run to catch the bus that takes them to work each day. They may run because they’re late for an important appointment or they may run to be one of the first in line at a special sale. They may even run to escape that angry, growling Rottweiller which is rapidly gaining ground, making snarling snaps at their retreating ass. Regardless of the motivation, there’s no doubt the physical, mental, and emotional rewards of running are boundless, and many people strive to make it an essential part of their daily routine.
Tony DiNozzo starts his mornings, as many runners do, hitting the streets early, before the motorists and dog-walkers and eco-friendly commuters can get in the way of his normal path. He likes to be up while the world is still blanketed in relative quiet, even before the birds begin to stir within their nests, weaving his way down familiar pavement and blacktop and, finally, onto the marked trails of a nearby park, arriving when the sun is only remotely thinking about easing up over the far horizon to mark the start of a brand new day.
He runs every morning to stay in shape, so the next criminal down the line doesn’t do a credible Roadrunner imitation, leaving him in a floating puff of dust, making him look like some damn, pansy-assed fool in front of his friends and teammates. He likes that he can still hoof it faster than McGee…and takes perverse pleasure in making sure everyone, especially their boss, knows of his ability to surpass the younger probie in something so simple. He runs to keep his scarred lungs strong and sound and, specifically, to minimize the occasional worried look tossed his way whenever he happens to muffle a cough in front of his colleagues. He truly hates that some still might consider him fragile and does whatever is necessary to illustrate how fit and healthy his body has become since that damn plague incident years ago. He runs to fill that eerie void of time, when sleep has inexplicably vanished and his body can no longer stay abed, his mind churning endlessly upon things he’d rather forget. He wishes he could sleep longer each morning, to rest while he can and get those highly prized, elusive, eight recommended hours of slumber the rest of the world seems to manage, but, more than anything, he wishes for those invasive, unwanted, unwelcome thoughts to just shut the hell up and leave him alone.
Specifically, DiNozzo runs so the silence and solitude and repetitive motion of sneaker soles hitting ground can purge those fickle demons lurking in the dark, barely hidden recesses of his mind, flushing his brain of all the unwanted accumulation, temporarily easing the still-lingering ache of regret which remains from all the mistakes he’s made in his life…and he’s made many…, including the ill-timed and poorly handled departure of Jeanne Benoit. He runs almost religiously since she turned and fled from their relationship and his life, the mindless, rhythmic exercise the only thing he’s been able to find that, for a short while, soothes the distant, echoing hurt which still loiters in his thoughts after all this time.
DiNozzo snorts softly and shakes his head impatiently, instinctively remembering to look both ways before traversing a poorly lit street half-way between his apartment building and the community park that’s his destination. He doesn’t want to think about Jeanne now…he doesn’t want to think about anything…he just wants to run.
Purposefully clearing his mind, he goes through the motions of simply placing one foot in front of the other. A lot of people do their best thinking while running…or so they claim…but DiNozzo thinks that’s nothing but a huge pile of horseshit. Thinking while running just seems like too much work and, as far as he’s concerned, he rather give Ziva a free kick to his nads than have to ruin a perfectly good workout by spending it reflecting on past mistakes or meaningless self-evaluation or revisiting moments now long gone and impossible to recapture and rectify. No, running is so much better when his mind is blank and all he has to concern himself with is breathing, observing, and moving along at a reasonable pace…like now.
Turning a corner and pushing those grim thoughts all the way to the back burner of his brain, DiNozzo automatically takes notice of a couple of young joggers moving toward one of the park entrances and ups his pace. He’s not the only one who runs the gauntlet early each morning, can easily recognize the regulars who always turn out early, and he wants to get his circuit in before things get too crowded. On warm summer days like this, the park can get congested real quick. It takes close to forty minutes to make the complete tour of the runner’s path he likes, if he keeps to his regular pace, and another ten to get back to his apartment complex, so he concentrates on breathing steadily and keeping the rhythm smooth and easy.
Still, that persistent, non-threatening ache in his chest tenaciously holds on, it’s sharp, claw-like grasp digging in and obstinately refusing to let go. Frustratingly, the memory of Jeanne just won’t be silent this morning.
He knows there was just no good way for it to end between them, especially when everything they’d had was built on a lie, but it’s that one, singularly significant lie that periodically keeps popping back up to darken his mood when he least expects it, filling his head with a myriad of ‘what ifs’ and ‘almost hads’, reminding him of the possibilities now forever lost. He knows, at this point in his life, his chances of finding that ‘one special person’ is rapidly fading away with each passing day but, when Jeanne had arrived on the scene, he’d actually thought he’d been given a reprieve. He doesn’t carry a biological clock like many women supposedly do, their bodies and souls craving the connection which forms through marriage and/or childbirth, but he understands and appreciates the concept. For him, something is literally nipping at his heels right now and it isn’t some damn, slobbering, angry Rottweiller. It’s time itself…and there’s just no way to outrun it anymore.
He’s recently spent many a lonely night, contemplating the reasons he’s never put his foolish, philandering, Casanova characteristics aside and examining what he now refers to as his repeated failures at intimacies. No, that wasn’t exactly true. Not all were merely failures…some have been close to catastrophic in nature.
Losing his virginity at a relatively young age had caused a strange mishmash of emotional problems for DiNozzo, though at the time, he hadn’t considered it anything but an unexpected and very welcome windfall. What adolescent boy wouldn’t? The seventeen year-old daughter of one of his father’s business partners had gladly shown him a thing or two he’d never imagined…and he’d imagined a lot, like most hormonally driven males do…from just looking at the pictures on the glossy pages of a dog-eared, come-splattered, Playboy magazine he’d hidden from the maid under his mattress at home. But worldly Monica…sweet, luscious, instructive Monica…had quickly showed him the loose, messy, euphoric ropes of intercourse and then proceeded to break his tender, mostly innocent heart, leaving him confused and uncertain when she’d departed for college on the bulked-up arm of some well-known, rich, country club jock. He’d loved her…as much as any bewildered, naïve, young boy can love…and had thought they’d shared something special and lasting. But her abrupt exodus had sent him reeling and looking for some convenient, albeit, temporary comfort.
He’d tried, at the time, to talk to his parents about his feelings for Monica, hoping for some kind, understanding support, but that had been a disaster just waiting to happen…and another hard lesson learned. His mother had erupted into an unexpected crying frenzy, almost bordering on the hysterical, when he’d confronted her and confessed his rejected affections for the older girl. His father…well, his father had roared out his anger, sent his confused, stunned son to his room with orders to never speak of the incident again, and immediately broken off relations with his business partner, accusing the man’s daughter of molestation and threatening persecution.
Of course, nothing had come of the incident but DiNozzo had learned early not to expect any support from his parents when it came to matters of the heart.
The relationship between his mother and father had always been far from perfect…this he knew by comparing what he saw or heard from his friends at school to what he could see for himself at home…but he’d been under the misconception his parents would be together forever. Sure, they’d argued a lot when one or the other of them drank and they’d gradually spent more and more time apart, his father going on long business trips and his mother camping out in some high-priced spa but, in his own immature and mostly fantasy-driven mind, DiNozzo’d never expected their affection or expectations for him would ever alter. The DiNozzo clan came from a long line of achievers, self-made millionaires on both sides of the family tree, people who stuck together through thick and thin and stayed married…no matter what.
He’d been so young, so idealistic and…oh…so very naïve.
When news had suddenly surfaced of his father’s indiscretions with his young, busty, gold-digging, executive secretary, the household and his mother had been thrown into a state of total disrepair. Drinking at all hours had become a prevalent activity and the sporadic, controlled, pre-secretary arguments had escalated into raging, screaming affairs that lasted well into the night. Worse of all, was the yawning chasm of silence that settled over everything after all the hurtful words had all been expelled and exhausted. DiNozzo had been at a loss at what to do for his parents during that hurtful time, confused again by the unexpected withdrawal of affection. There’d been photographs and news reports and classmates who’d whispered slanderous words behind his back, the teens merely repeating the words they’d heard from their own parents. But hardest of all for the young boy to understand, the two adults had retreated into their own shells and left their only child to drift aimlessly in the resultant, emotionless abyss of rejection.
DiNozzo had done everything he possibly could to make his mother smile again, dressing carefully in clothes he knew she’d like, sitting awkwardly on the edge of her large bed as often as he could, regaling her with tales from his school day, speaking of movies he’d watched, or explaining ideas he’d had…but never once had she responded to the boy or turned away from the wall to look directly at him. After several weeks had passed, he’d learned not to expect anything further from her.
His attempts with his father had been no better, the older man remaining stoically distanced, both physically and emotionally, leaving his bewildered son’s care to those who had no personal interest, openly disregarding the boy’s blatant appeals for attention and affection. DiNozzo became like a ghost in his own house, a pale, elusive reminder of a marriage gone wrong and of a love no longer shared.
The sudden, questionable death of his mother in an automobile accident and the subsequent total alienation of his father had been the final blow. The boy had hardened his heart and made a vow never to fall for the foolish whims of love again. There was just no way he was ever going to end up like his parents. He’d believed if he could just run hard enough…and far enough…he’d be able to escape their fate.
Boarding school had been a real eye-opener for DiNozzo. Away from home and out from under the relentless disregard of his father for the first time, he’d discovered he enjoyed the company of both males and females and could be friends and/or casual sex partners with either, finding it easier to wallow in the resultant physical comfort without complicating relationships with needless emotional ties. What was the point? In his short but significant experience, those you really cared for would ultimately turn away…or die…and he had no desire to ever feel anything like that again. No, he’d quickly decided to stay a ‘free agent’ and, in the process, protect his cautious, damaged heart.
College had been just as spectacular and he’d chased skirts and jogged after jock straps between the variety of classes, work, and athletics, learning to guardedly protect himself from those who were, in his eyes, nothing more than narrow-minded homophobes. Not that DiNozzo ever considered himself homosexual; no, DiNozzo thrived on the fact he could enjoy a larger selection by swimming in both ends of the pool and couldn’t help but feel sorry for those who limited themselves to merely treading with one sexual preference. In his mind, he doubled his chances of getting laid by being bi and he’d never found himself lacking for company when he desired it.
There had been several girls…young women actually…who’d looked for and expected more from him during that exciting time in his life but he’d quickly quashed those relationships as soon as he’d recognized their true intent, hustling rapidly into different territory, breaking a few hearts as gently as possible, and steadily building a reputation as a real Lothario. That label hadn’t bothered him at all…at the time. While many around him slowly began to form more lasting associations with partners, a few even taking the step of getting engaged, DiNozzo had been perfectly happy splashing away in his crowded pool, determined not to get sucked into a situation that would force him to drop his guard and get emotionally involved. He’d seen, firsthand, how unhappy his parents had been in their marriage, knew most of his friends came from divorced homes, and just couldn’t understand why two consenting adults would choose to ruin a perfectly good relationship by exchanging expensive rings and useless vows. Ultimately, the only winner in a situation like that would be the divorce attorney.
Fraternity life had opened new horizons for him and he’d found kindred spirits within that tightly knit, brotherhood alliance. Many had thought as he did and reinforced his beliefs. Yes, there’d been parties and panty raids and everything hard-working parents feared but there’d also been purpose and drive and lessons in respect and loyalty. He’d listened and observed and learned, opening his guarded heart to the friendship they offered, reveling in the deep connection they provided. The affection he’d felt for several of his frat brothers was as close to love as he’d ever allowed himself to get but there was never anything remotely sexual about those feelings. Combining sex with friendship, in his experience, was nothing but a sure recipe for pure failure.
And without a doubt, his biggest failure, so far, has been Jeanne Benoit.
Jeanne had been smart and funny and, in his mind’s eye, everything the perfect woman could and should be, focused on her profession but clearly willing to open her heart and her arms to a good man willing to give her the respect and affection she deserved. She’d been charming, delightful, beautiful, inside and out, and it hadn’t taken DiNozzo long to feel that old, dangerous pull he’d so resolutely turned from all his life. Resistance had cracked and slowly crumbled but old habits and lingering memories had prevented him from taking the next, logical step as quickly as he should have.
He’d actively resisted saying the ‘L’ word to Jeanne for as long as he possibly could and had been able to plainly see how his hesitation had deeply hurt her but had found it extremely difficult to speak words that, truthfully, had scared him totally shitless. In his experience, professing love was nothing more than a sure way to get your heart crushed and your soul shattered and he’d done everything possible to vigilantly protect himself from the likelihood of rejection.
It all boils down to rejection for DiNozzo.
Rejection has always been the antithesis of everything he craves in life and he does whatever he can to avoid being in that unwanted position again. Rejection strips away self-confidence and creates terrible feelings of inadequateness and worthlessness. Rejection makes him believe there’s something innately wrong with his personality or appearance or intellect. Rejection leaves him feeling adrift and hurt and terribly unsure of himself. Rejection has left him vulnerable and wounded and scarred.
Ironically, the only other person he’s actually said, “I love you” to, since his mother’s passing and before Jeanne’s arrival, has been his boss, Jethro Gibbs, and that was only because the older man had arrived bearing a pizza while DiNozzo had, at the time, been tailing their new Mossad liaison, Ziva David. The declaration had been a casual, offhanded announcement and Gibbs accepted it as nothing more than his agent’s gratitude at being on the receiving end of some hot food. But, ironically, DiNozzo had laid awake later that same night…and many nights since…examining his feelings for Gibbs and trying to comprehend why he’d let something he’d always worked so diligently to contain slip out so easily. It just wasn’t like him and, he knew without a single doubt, saying something like that to Gibbs again would be nothing more than the precursor to a real heaping helping of rejection.
‘Shut the fuck up!’ DiNozzo bellows silently to his blathering brain, unable to comprehend why he’s having such a difficult time controlling his rampant, rambling thoughts this morning. ‘Just run, damn it…just run.’
The park is fairly well-lit, even at this ungodly hour, and DiNozzo knows the strategic illumination is a specific deterrent to muggers and flashers and those interested in a little one-on-one, carnal companionship. Still, if a couple of people want a bit of privacy, it can easily be found off the common paths and closer to the densely wooded areas that purposefully dot the park. He’s sporadically seen a few men lurking around in the evenings, when he’s had to change his running schedule because of work, but he seriously doubts that would be the case so early during the morning hours. Those types of people are almost like vampires to him, shunning the approaching dawn and hurrying home to do whatever the hell they do when not looking for a quick, clandestine session or an easy, anonymous grope in the dark.
DiNozzo smirks at the idea of vampires trolling the park for a little bump and grind. ‘Gives a whole, new twist to the idea of getting sucked bone dry.’
Still, deep down, he can’t really blame those who lurk about the park for their latent desires…just their questionable choice of venue. Sex in a public recreational area? He just didn’t get the allure. But everyone gets lonely, now and then, and needs to feel the reassuring touch of another human being…even if it is with someone anonymous, in the dark, and behind a bunch of bushes where God or anyone…or the police…could see.
Stepping off the paved lane and finding the dirt trail that begins his regular circuit, DiNozzo feels a small, aching flare of need himself. For more than a year, he’s carefully shied away from his usual, pre-Jeanne, dating strategies, astounding his co-workers and, quite honestly, himself, focusing solely on his work, and settling for the occasional hug from Abby or the sporadic head slap from Gibbs as his only source of physical contact. It isn’t much but, for now, it’s all he needs or desires. He realizes the urge to connect sexually with another human being won’t be long in coming. He’s a relatively young, healthy man and healthy, young men have definite needs. Plus, he’s becoming more lonely. In DiNozzo’s book, that’s an extremely volatile combination. Lonely + needy = a disaster just waiting to happen.
The dirt path beneath his feet is hard-packed from use but is still a hell of a lot easier on the ankles and knees than pounding away on rigid concrete. DiNozzo can feel the first trickles of sweat beginning at the nape of his neck, under his arms, and at the small of his back and knows he’ll be thoroughly soaked by the time he finishes his run this morning. The humidity is already high and the weathercaster’s guarantee of showers later in the day seems, for once, to be true. The air is ripe with moisture and, as he casts a swift glance skyward, he thinks he can detect a murky cloud or two already rolling in from the southwest.
‘Great,’ he grumbles silently, refocusing his eyes on the dim trail ahead, ‘nothing like rain to make a rare weekend away from work even more appealing. Guess I’ll just have to spend the day doing laundry and vegging out in front of the TV.’
Rounding a gently sloping curve while absently wiping the sweat away from his brow with the back of one wrist, DiNozzo almost doesn’t see the shadowy figure squatting on the path before it’s too late. Side-stepping quickly to prevent a full-out collusion, he stumbles awkwardly on the edge of an exposed root, and ends up going face-first into a nearby tree, catching himself at the last moment to take the brunt of the inevitable impact against one cheek and shoulder. He can feel the rough bark peeling away a thin layer of skin, rebounds off the gnarly surface like a basketball slamming against a backboard, and barely manages to land less than gracefully on his ass, truly appalled and embarrassed by his total lack of coordination.
“Oh, my God!” A voice is stridently speaking from somewhere to his right. “I’m so sorry! Pepper got away from me before I knew it and headed straight for this path. Are you alright?”
DiNozzo doesn’t know who the hell Pepper is…doesn’t really give a rat’s ass at the moment…and brings a hand up to gingerly touch his injured face, instantly feeling the warm moisture on the tips of his fingers. Perfect. Even in this low light and without looking, he knows he’s bleeding.
There’s a strong, steadying hand on his uninjured shoulder but DiNozzo raises his eyes only far enough from he ground to cast his baleful glare toward a small, dark ball of fur that’s avidly licking away at his sweaty hand, its happy, hairy, whiskered, little face belying the fact it’s just caused a near calamity and has massively bruised a human’s ego. This could only be the notorious, aforementioned Pepper.
“Well, can’t say I’ve ever been laid so low by something that uses it’s tongue as a weapon and isn’t as tall as my knees,” he huffs out a shallow laugh, still trying to catch his breath, finally looking toward the man now crouching protectively at his side. The honest, concerned expression in the kind, apologetic eyes makes him bite back any further comment about the stupidity of allowing a dog off it’s leash in a public park.
“Ah, crap,” the man breathes with sincere regret, getting a partial look at the injury, “you’re hurt.”
“Just a scratch.” He plays it down, not really wanting sympathy from this guy. “Nothing major.”
“Well, it may not feel major to you right now but, let me tell you, from my viewpoint your cheek and shoulder look pretty rough, even in this low light. Can you get up?”
DiNozzo considers the question only for a moment and quickly takes an internal check of his body. Everything seems to be fine, other than the cheek and arm. “Sure.”
The hand on his shoulder slips smoothly down to cup his elbow, helping him rise, the grip strong but cautious. DiNozzo can instantly tell he isn’t going to be allowed to stand on his own until the stranger is satisfied with his balance, so he widens his stance and straightens his spine. Once completely upright and steady, DiNozzo takes a deep breath and nods his confidence.
“I’m okay,” he assures, spreading his hands out to either side. “See?”
The stranger gives a quiet noise of disbelief but reluctantly releases his hold. “What I see is you bleeding.” He bends easily and picks up Pepper, tucking the tiny dog under one arm. “Man, I’m truly sorry about this.”
“Hey, like I said, it’s nothing major.”
Turning instinctively so his back is to the nearest lamppost, allowing the light to spill across the stranger’s face, DiNozzo gets his first real good look at the contrite man and is pleasantly surprised by what he sees. Anticipating some nerdy-looking, lightweight dog-walker, this tall, fit man now facing him is the last thing DiNozzo expects to see so early this morning. Thin, wire-rimmed glasses cover the dark, regretful eyes but the sweet, remorseful, lop-sided smile shows a white flash of straight teeth even in the dim lighting. DiNozzo quickly ascertains they are of comparable height and weight and the strong, muscular legs falling from beneath the hem of much-washed, jean shorts speak silently of regular physical activity.
Nice.
DiNozzo is secure enough in his sexuality to appreciate the view but knows it’s rude to stare too long. Dragging his assessing eyes back up and meeting the stranger’s frank gaze, he sees a quick flash of sadness appear in the man’s expression before it’s quickly replaced with a more reserved look. The NCIS agent feels a small pang of regret but swiftly tosses it aside. He isn’t looking for a casual hook-up and this guy sure doesn’t seem the type to want anything like that anyway. Besides, the yappy-looking dog tucked under the arm just screams of female involvement because, in DiNozzo’s mind, no self-respecting man would ever own a dog like Pepper…except, maybe, McGee. He almost grins at the thought of his colleague scooping poop for a mutt like this but immediately quashes it down.
Before he can speak again, sudden movement from under a nearby bush makes DiNozzo flinch and silently wish for his weapon. He whirls, amazed as two medium-sized canines move to flank the stranger on either side, the dogs immediately dropping to their hindquarters to sit, looking expectedly up to the man in something almost resembling adoration.
“What the…?” DiNozzo breathes softly as he takes a hesitant step back.
“Oh, they won’t hurt you,” the stranger is quick to assure, deftly snapping a leash onto the collar of the small dog and bending to place it down near his feet, next to the others. He gestures at the newest arrivals. “These are mine, too. Well,” he nods to Pepper and tries valiantly to clarify, “technically, that little rascal belongs to my daughter but I get stuck with the early morning walks anyway.” He shrugs and gives a small, resigned sigh. “What are you going to do?”
“Yeah,” DiNozzo still isn’t certain of the circumstances but he doesn’t want to seem too much like a big wuss, “what are you going to do?” He’s never had much luck with animals but always thought dogs were pretty cool and these newest two are obviously very well-trained…not like that long-haired, fuzzball currently tugging frantically at the leash, trying its best to reach a small stick just out of reach. He eyes the two watchful, oddly marked dogs and offers a hesitant smile. “What kind are these? They’re really beautiful.”
The stranger’s grin returns ten-fold and it’s almost like the sun has suddenly decided to rise. DiNozzo feels a pang of attraction but resolutely pushes it down. Where there’s a daughter, there has to be a wife.
“They’re Border Collies,” the man says with obvious pride, squatting to stroke his hands lovingly over one of the alert animals. “Merle, to be exact.”
DiNozzo cocks his head to one side, a little baffled by the response. “Both of them have the same name?”
The stranger looks a bit confused for a moment and then smiles again, huffing out a kind laugh. “No. I mean their breed is Merle Border Collie. This one,” he tilts his head to the dog he’s petting, “is Finn and this one,” the dog on the left perks up when the man turns its way, “is Fiona.”
Slightly embarrassed, DiNozzo grins sheepishly, unconsciously flexing his injured shoulder. “Guess you can tell I’m a little canine-illiterate.”
The stranger’s eyes cloud, completely ignoring the self-depreciating remark. “That shoulder is hurting, isn’t it?”
“Ah,” DiNozzo waves off the astute observation, “I’ll be okay.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he rises and the dogs immediately get to their feet, still flanking their owner, alert and ready. “Look, I don’t know you from Adam but I feel responsible for what happened. If I hadn’t taken Pepper off his leash this never would have happened. I’ve gotten so use to Finn and Fiona being so obedient, I forgot how hard-headed that little rascal can be.” He looks momentarily torn but quickly makes a decision. “I only live a block away and I’ve got all the necessary medical supplies on hand. Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll fix you up.”
DiNozzo balks at the offer. Walking into some quaint, homey, little abode filled to the brim with domestic bliss…complete with dogs, a daughter, and a wife…just isn’t high on DiNozzo’s to-do list nowadays, even if his shoulder and cheek do hurt like a real son of a bitch. He shakes his head.
“Nah, that’s okay,” he sighs, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “You’ve got your hands full with the dogs and I’m not all that far from my home.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence. The stranger eyes DiNozzo carefully and then speaks bluntly. “Bullshit. You’re a terrible lair. I can tell you’ve been running for a while and, if my guess is right, you’re just partially into your regular workout. If you keep going now, you may just aggravate the injuries further. Please,” he steps forward and touches the injured man’s arm lightly, “do me a favor and let me make this up to you.”
“Well, I don’t…” DiNozzo waffles, not knowing whether to be offended or grateful.
“I’ll throw in a mug of fresh-brewed coffee and some home-made cinnamon rolls. How’s that sound?”
That seals the deal for DiNozzo’s stomach, which decides to grumble and gurgle loudly at the suggestion of food. Looking downward toward the traitorous region, he pokes the area with a finger and sighs with feigned resignation.
“Guess that’s your answer,” he grins sheepishly at the grinning stranger.
“Good.” The man extends his hand and offers another bright smile. “I’m Dan McKenna.”
DiNozzo immediately takes the offered hand into his own and returns the gesture, feeling a tiny flutter of pleasure in the pit of his belly at the simple touch. “Tony DiNozzo.”
TBC