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If things were bad at school--and they were--they were a hundred times worse at home. After mom died, there really wasn’t anyone left who actually cared what happened to me.

Nanny Jean pretended to, of course, but we both knew it was only because she was being paid. She wasn’t a Mary Poppins sort of nanny. We didn’t sing songs or play games or even really talk much. Most of the time she simply made sure that I made it home from school and got tucked away in my room before I could disturb anyone or break anything. And then she’d go back to watching her ‘Stories’.

In a way it’s a good thing we weren’t really close because a couple months after mom’s funeral, Father decided that I was quite old enough not to have a nanny. He figured I could probably walk from the service entrance and up to my room every day unescorted.

He overestimated me, as it turned out. I was obedient the first few days, but without Nanny Jean there to shepherd me, I had a habit of finding excuses not to go to my room.

The first time I ventured out, I made my way to the kitchens and spent the afternoon chattering with Cook. With Nanny Jean gone, there hadn’t been anyone at all to listen to me talk about my day even if it was only for the couple minutes between the door and my room. And it wasn’t like I had friends at school to talk to. So I was pretty psyched when Cook let me tell him all about everything--from how my music teacher Miss Forkin picked me to do a solo in music class. She even said I had ‘real potential’ if I would focus myself a bit, whatever that meant--to how upset I was when stupid Marco called ‘move in’ when it was my turn at kickball but how I showed everyone when I kicked it way past everyone and they all had to go running way out into the field while I made it all the way around all the bases before they got back.

And then of course I had to tell Cook all about the day before and the day before that and the movie I saw last weekend and...well, you get the idea.

So…the next day when I got home I was met at the door by Father’s assistant, Mr. Moore, and directed to go to Father’s office. He was in a meeting, but I was instructed to sit outside the door until he called for me.

After a short time talking to the Moore-Man, I was instructed to sit silently and wait until Father was available. And a few minutes after that I was instructed to sit silently and perfectly still. Which a couple minutes later I learned included not tapping my fingers in my lap or smacking my lips (which I wasn’t doing; I was lip syncing and playing air drums, thank you very much! Miss F. taught me to do that when I started getting too restless in class.) Mooresie was unamused with my performance, however, and he got even more irritated when I sat perfectly still and silent; staring as close to unblinkingly at him as I could.

Can’t win, right? I mean, I was just doing what he told me to do, but he just started…flipping out on me, you know?

Anyway, so Father’s meeting ended just about that same time and Moorelington went in to let him know I was waiting.

It’s weird, you know, because that was actually the first time that Father had ever invited me into his office. Usually I only got to be there when my mom took me in. Beyond that, I hadn’t really even talked to Father for weeks. I’d really only even seen him during Dinner, and we didn’t actually talk then. Etiquette dictated that at the table I was to be seen and not heard, or at least speak only when spoken to. Unfortunately Father was not one to talk while he dined, and he usually had business to attend to after dinner, so there just wasn’t time to chat.

So I was pretty excited when Mooredred finally came out and told me that Father was ready for me.

“Good afternoon, Father!” I greeted as I bound into the room, eager to talk to him. I couldn’t wait to tell him all about Miss. Forkin and kickball, and everything else that had happened since last we'd talked.

“Sit down, Anthony,” he commanded me.

“Okay, but first I just want to show you this--"

“I said sit down!” he barked.

I froze, and gaped at him wide-eyed. Why was he mad? What had I done wrong? I just wanted to--

“SIT!”

I sat, making sure to keep perfect posture and obediently placing my hands in my lap. He remained eerily quiet for at least a couple minutes while I did my best not to fidget. Not even playing air drums. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but knew that I wasn’t to speak until he indicated that I should.

“How old are you, Anthony?” he asked in a too quiet voice. I blinked. Didn’t he know?

“Eleven, sir,” I answered, wondering if this was some sort of trick question. He stares at me for a few moments and I could feel anger radiating off of him. I shrunk back in my chair. I may not have had any friends at school or anything, but it wasn’t like anyone actually hated me. But…the way he was looking at me--full of loathing and disappointment…

“Do you need a wet nurse, Anthony?”

I swallowed hard, and feeling that my eyes were getting wet I blinked rapidly a few times as I cautiously answered, “No, sir.”

“When I get reports like the ones I did this morning and then again just now, I wonder,” he replied back to me. What was he talking about? “I will not have you disturbing my staff,” he informed me sharply.

“Disturbing…?”

His glare hardened and I snapped my mouth shut. I honestly didn’t know what he was talking about until he spelled out to me how Cook had apparently complained to him about my presence in the kitchens and Moore had told him how insubordinate and incorrigible I was in the waiting room. I wasn’t too surprised about Moore; he was grouchy and there was no way to please him. But I didn’t understand about the other. I hadn’t disturbed Cook. He’d been interested in my stories; I was sure he’d been! He wouldn’t really have threatened to quit if I ever went back down there. When this was done with, maybe I should go talk to him and clarify what was wrong…

“And,” Father continued my angry tear down, “I got your mid-term report today.”

I brightened. I didn’t normally care about such things as grades aside from the fact that every time when she saw all the “A” marks, Mom would always take me out for a movie, ice cream, and a gift of my choosing. She was always so proud.

Father, it turned out, was not pleased.

Which teacher hadn’t given me an A? I wondered silently as he continued to lay into me. By the time he was done, I actually wished he had just spanked me or something instead of making me feel as though I was the most worthless kid in the history of kids.

When it was over, he pushed me bodily out of his office and threw the offending report card after me. I lowered my head when I saw the way Moore was smirking at me. It was too late for him to not see the wetness on my cheeks or the redness of my eyes, but I couldn’t bear seeing the satisfied look on his face.

I almost just left it, but curiosity got the better of me and I snatched the report card from the floor and fled with it to my room where I could view it in private.

When I did view it, I understood Father’s tirade even less. Every single one of my grades was an A. There wasn’t even a single A-. I knew that grades weren’t everything, but how was I supposed to do better than all As?

Maybe it was *too* good, I speculated. Showed him how much of a geek I was? All Bs would probably be a better way to go, I figured. Amidst his ranting, Dad had actually called me a geek, just like some of the kids at school did. So I had to do better about being more average. Except DiNozzos were never average, I remembered him declaring on more than one occasion. So I had to be better than average without going into Geek territory. Aim for Bs, then.

And then I spotted something else that probably played a part in angering him. The comments section. My heart sank as I read through them. Most of my teachers said something that was positively glowing about my capabilities, but…most of them also used some variation of ‘but needs to focus’ or ‘but needs to work on behavioral issues’, or ‘needs to stop fidgeting’.

Oh.

I sighed and lay down on my bed, mulling it all over. How was I supposed to fix that? I tried to stay still in class, I really did, but it just never worked out. And what was I supposed to focus on? I did the work. It wasn’t my fault I finished it a lot faster than my teachers planned on. What was I supposed to do? And it wasn’t like they gave us recess at the Jr. High/High School like they had back at Elementary. I couldn’t help it that I needed to move around a little bit now and then. Behavioral issues? Just because I always pointed out when Mr. Craig wasn’t explaining something right. Was I supposed to just stay silent when he got the wrong answers? And most teachers told us that it was good to ask questions. Was it my fault that I asked things that he didn’t know how to answer?

I sighed and threw the report card in my trash.

So. I was supposed to just come home and come back to my room every day. And under no circumstances was I to talk to any of the staff. I felt my eyes wet again as I considered that. Nobody wanted to talk to me at school either. It just…hurt. Why didn’t anyone like me?

I was good the first few days, going straight to my room and staying out of everybody’s way. I didn’t talk to anyone unless they talked to me first; and even then, I said only as much as absolutely necessary to answer their questions. I made sure on my quizzes to purposely start answering some questions wrong so that I could put my grade at a perfect solid “B”. Every test was scored at exactly 85%, so that I didn’t slip into the B- category, but also didn’t risk accidentally toppling back into the As.

I even tried to stay still at my school desk, though I just couldn’t; how was someone supposed to function like that?

That all lasted for a while, but after a few weeks, something had to give or I was going to go crazy. I was careful to follow all the rules at school, but when I got home, I just couldn’t stand being cooped up anymore. So I decided that every day when I got home, instead of going to my room, I’d explore the estate a bit. For the first time ever, I ventured out to see Dad’s putting green. I was careful not to step onto it as I had the feeling that he’d somehow know I did. Instead, I walked the perimeter, swinging my imaginary 9 iron (or should I use one of the woods? I didn’t really know that much about golf…)

On rainy days I knew better than to stay outside and risk tracking mud into the house, so I stayed in and began to explore the house itself. There were rooms I knew existed but had never been allowed to visit, and I made it my goal to explore at least one of those every single day. It wasn’t without risk, of course. I had to duck and hide in the shadows whenever any of the staff happened along (after the incident with Cook, I knew I could trust no one). I was also careful to smooth my footprints out of carpets and remove my shoes as not to leave scuff marks on the hardwood. Some days I was a Russian spy (Italian spies just aren't as cool), sneaking into the compound on a mission to obtain secret plans. Others I was in the CIA on a reconnaissance mission, or perhaps a cop performing a dangerous rescue.

I left Mom’s rooms for the last. It just seemed somehow wrong to break her rules now. But in the end, curiosity won out. Besides, if I was old enough not to have a nanny, I was old enough to step foot in the formal parlor.

That room turned out to be extremely uninteresting. And covered with a thick layer of dust, indicating that nobody else thought it was very interesting, either. Though if Father ever knew about the dust, I bet there’d be a staff turnover. The staff whose jobs I saved probably wouldn’t ever thank me, but I broke my rule about leaving no trace of my presence and carefully dusted the room. Who would ever suspect me of doing that, anyway? But it just…seemed like the right thing to do. Mom wouldn’t have wanted her prized parlor to look like that.

Which finally left me with just one more room.

I left it alone for almost a week, feeling oddly like if I went into that room, it would be closing the door on Mom’s memory for good. But each day I made my way down to the big double doors and just gazed at the ornate carvings along the doorway trim and the door handles. I stood outside the Grand Ballroom for half an hour each day, sometimes longer. Poised to go in, but not able to make myself take that final step. I would close my eyes and imagine Mom just on the other side of those doors. Dancing. Alive. I wasn’t ready to let go of that vision at first.

But after a few days, finally, I was. I stopped thinking about her dancing and started imagining that much like the way the parlor had been left to dust, the ballroom probably had been as well. And that just didn’t seem right. Not only did I bring along dusting supplies, but I even managed to secretly procure everything needed to wash and wax the floor to really make it shine for her.

Once again I stood on the precipice of the Ballroom and closed my eyes, but this time I reached forward and pulled open the door.

“Dance with me Anthony!” I swore I could hear her call to me as I swept into the room. I imagined the time she taught me to Waltz and though I’d never been any good at it, I imagined that I was as I glided across the floor, pretending that we were having this one last dance before I opened my eyes and she was gone forever.

And she laughed delightedly as I dipped her down…

My eyes flew open as I realized that I really could hear a laugh, but it wasn’t hers. Wasn’t hers at all!

I blinked a few times and knew that my mouth was open and I probably looked like a complete moron as I stared, but there, across the ballroom, she was…

**********

“…there, across the ballroom, she was…” Tony trailed off, his expression full of wonderment as he spoke the words.

Gibbs frowned, watching his agent as he talked. Unlike most of DiNozzo’s stories, he really wasn’t sure where this one was going. DiNozzo may have been prone to telling a few tall tales in his time, but somehow he just couldn’t imagine that he was actually going to tell some sort of ghost story here. He remained silent, though, as he waited for Tony to get to some sort of point. He waited patiently until it became apparent that the younger man needed a little prompting. “Tony?” he called softly.

“Sorry, Boss,” Tony apologized with a small chuckle. “Got a little bit lost for a minute there.” He looked up, an unusually bashful look on his face. “Looking back…she was a mess. All big hair and flashy sequins. But my God…she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”