NCIS: Best Shots

Chapter Eleven: Hell Is For Children

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. There was now time to sit back and relax. The team's last case had been a day ago, and so far there hadn't been any calls to report a murder victim, a kidnapping attempt, or a terrorist attack in planning. Yep, life was looking pretty good right now, Tony thought, studying Ziva, who was bent over trying to retrieve something she'd dropped. He could practically feel himself salviatating already as his mind scanned through every fantasy involving him and Ziva alone in a dark room.

That is, until McGeek's fingers slipped again on the keyboard and music filled the room. Tony groaned as he recognized the opening chords. I hate this song.

They cry in the dark so you can't see their tears
They hide in the light so you can't see their fears
Forgive and forget, all the while
Love and pain become one and the same
In the eyes of a wounded child

Suddenly, Tony was no longer in the bullpen.

He sat in the dark corner of the basement, his arms around his knees. Tears streaked eight-year-old Tony's cheeks, and every part of him ached.

The basement door opened, sending a shaft of light pooling onto the floor. Tony scurried out of range as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. A second later, his mom's head poked around the corner. She seemed surprised to find him there. "Tony! What are you doing down here?"

Tony flinched as if he had been hit and clammed up.

Because hell
Hell is for children
And you know that their little lives can become such a mess.
Hell
Hell is for children
And you shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh.

"TONY!" Ziva yelled in his ear, jarring the senior field agent out of his memories. Acting on reflex, Tony's arm shot up and brought Ziva's head down close to him. He held her like that for a second, then released the former Mossad officer.

Ziva winced, rubbing her neck. "What was that for?"

"Have you not been listening to the song? Besides, I was walking down memory lane when you oh so abruptly brought me back to earth," Tony replied testily.

"Oh." Ziva relaxed, then stiffened as she listened to the song. DiNozzo braced himself for another flashback.

It's all so confusing, this brutal abusing.
They blacken your eyes and then aplogize.
You're daddy's good girl, and don't tell mommy a thing.
Be a good little boy and you'll get a new toy.
Tell grandma you fell off the swing.

"Dad, no!" he cried, holding up his arms to shield himself. His father ignored him, lashing out for a final time. Pain exploded along ten-year-old Anthony's eyes, and a hiss escaped him.

"Oh, sorry, Junior," his dad apologized, taking in the damage. Tony just stood, shivering. He couldn't understand why his father abused him so brutally. DiNozzo Senior's voice interrupted his train of thought: "Now, be a good little boy and you'll get a new toy. Tell grandma you fell off the swing."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and shut it. He'd just be beaten again if he didn't do as Dad said.

Because hell,
Hell is for children.
And you know that thier little lives can become such a mess.
Hell.
Hell is for children.
And you shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh.

"She's right about that," Gibbs remarked, but the team's deputy barely heard him.

He ran along the side street, not caring where he ended up. A gang of boys his age blocked his path, but Tony didn't see them until he crashed into one of them, a gangly kid with shaggy blond hair. The blond boy turned and looked down at Tony, who was on his rear end, green eyes glaring up defiantly.

"What are you doing here?" the kid asked as Tony scrambled to his feet.

"What's it to you?" Tony shot back.

Blondie shook his head. "Kid, get out of here. Trust me, you don't want to be here when the fuzz show."

"I'm not going back there," Tony insisted, crossing his arms in front of him.

By now, the other four boys had come over and were regarding the newcomer with wary and suspicious glances. Then an African-American kid stepped forward. "Your parents beat you, don't they?"

Tony nodded, then recoiled as sirens sounded close to where they were. All hell broke loose as the gang scrambled for cover.

No, hell is for children!

Hell!
Hell is for hell!
Hell is for hell!
Hell is for children!

Hell!
Hell is for hell!
Hell is for hell!
Hell is for children!

A light touch on his shoulder brought Tony out of his memories with a jolt. He glanced up to see Ziva looking at him, her face etched with worry. "Are you okay, Tony?" she wanted to know.

"What?" He blinked in confusion, then as it cleared, he replied, "No. I"ll tell you later."

Her brown eyes softened. "It's the song, isn't it?"

"Something like that."

Hell!
Hell is for hell!
Hell is for hell!
Hell is for children!

Hell is for children!
Hell is for children!

When the song was over, Ziva went on the other side of his desk so she was facing Tony. She leaned over his desk so she was looking at him eye-to-eye. "Tony, what's wrong?"

The senior field agent found it hard to meet her eyes. "When I was a little kid, my father used to beat me. This song brings the memories back."

Ziva's lips lifted in a sad smile. "I can relate to that. Remember who my father is and what Saleem did to me?"

"Vividly."

"Hey, you two!" Gibbs's voice preceeded the infamous Gibbs-slap. "I said to grab your gear two times now! We have a kidnapped daughter of a Naval commander to find."'

The two field agents exchanged looks that were half-amused, half-exasperated before following. Gibbs had commanded and they must obey.