Disclaimer: I'm not Bellesario or CBS, so I don't claim to own them.
Challenge: ncis_drabble; Challenge #78 - Red
Word Count: 5 x 100
Crossposted: ncis_drabble; ncisfanfic; ncis_haven; tonydinozzo
Summary: Tony has associated the color red with many different things throughout his life...
Red. Growing up, I associated the color with the deep maroon of the office chair in my father’s study; some would probably call it blood red. At first, the chair terrified me just as much as the man that sat in it. But as I got older, I realized he used it as a tool to intimidate. I hated to admit that it had worked well on me. The day I put the thoughts of that chair behind was the day I stood looking down at the poor excuse of a man and told him I was going to OSU.
Red. For four years of my life, red meant pride, pride in my school and teammates. Red became a staple of my wardrobe. Letter jackets, jerseys, sweats, you name it, I had it. The school had seeped into my blood until I was a true Buckeye. I joined a fraternity and had many friends and girlfriends throughout my time at Ohio State. Then, senior year, I blew everything. My chance at a pro career, the future I had plotted out disappeared with one broken leg. I still have the blood stained jersey as a reminder of what might have been.
Red. “PAST DUE” written in bold red lettering was the bane of my existence for those years right after college. I lived from paycheck to paycheck and I would be damned if I went crawling back to my father for money. I knew I could make it on my own, but it was going to take hard work. I gradually crawled my way out of debt as I climbed the ranks of the police force. The day the attorney showed up at my desk with information regarding a trust fund that had been created by my maternal grandfather, I smiled.
Red. I looked at the all too familiar red lettering informing me of my termination from yet another police force. As I crumpled the offending piece of paper in my hand, I looked up at the bastard of an NCIS agent in front of me and smiled. “Looks like I’m a free agent,” I said. He responded with, “Not anymore,” in the same clipped tone he had used with me all week. “This mean I get to call you Leroy?” I asked, as my smile grew wider. “Rule 10 DiNozzo, hell no,” he snapped as he turned around to leave.
Red. I don’t remember what registered first. Perhaps it was a combination of the splatter against my face, the redness I saw out of my peripheral vision, the soft thud of her body hitting the rooftop between Gibbs and me. It was an hour later that Gibbs handed me a wet cloth as I collapsed on the ground against the tire of the truck. Then, as I wiped it across my face, I saw the red stains start to form. I didn’t realize I was shaking until Gibbs plucked the cloth from my hand and placed his on my shoulder.