A/N: I came up with this idea in a moment of insanity. I have to say that each chapter will flip character viewpoints. It's just something I'm trying. It's a bit of an AU type, which I also don't normally delve into. I'm posting my 21st story on my 22nd birthday. So this is my birthday present to me I guess.
Disclaimer: As usual I own nothing pertaining to character or plot.
Aggravation
He walks to one side of the very small room. He usually likes the size and feel of his living room, but not today. The walls close in around him. He feels suffocated by the sheer pointlessness of it all. He reaches the opposite wall, pausing only to stare at the picture that hangs there. It's nothing special. Just a picture he had framed of him and Ziva at work. The corner of his mouth lifts a little as he does an about face.
He counts the number of times he crosses the room. He reaches number four before he admits to himself that he is pacing. Pacing is not a word that is supposed to exist in his dictionary. He is calm, cool, and collected. He waits to have a meltdown until after he has made sure that everyone else is on the upturn, to have a meltdown. It is something he has learned over an insurmountable amount of time. He just hopes it has not taken too much time.
His feet continue to work their way through the carpet. The woman downstairs will not appreciate his falling into her living room at three in the morning. Ziva's flight was initially supposed to have left at nine to take her to Europe. Where in Europe is slipping his mind at the moment. Europe is safe. Israel is not.
The airport she was supposed to have left from is small. A private jet had been ordered by her father. Once she got to Europe she would have made her way onto a commercial flight, flying Coach. Without the layover she would have been back late that night. With the layover or a delay she would have been back early the next morning. Either way he was supposed to have picked her up from the airport. His mind calculates 32 as he touches the wall just below the picture.
A brief vibration in his pocket brings his thoughts back to the present. He squints at the caller I.D. on his phone and immediately answers it. The voice is not the one he wants to hear, but he will take anything at the moment. He needs information, not stagnation.
"Boss?"
"Flight's been cancelled, DiNozzo. You have one in an hour at Dulles. Get there," he is told. An audible click can be heard, cutting off his only communication for the last few hours. He stops in the middle of the room to run his fingers through his already disheveled hair. It's sticking up in places he would normally make sure that it stayed flat.
He turns and sets his face to convey a determined expression. He has a bag ready to go in the car. He runs to his room to pick up something for her. She will want something of his when he gets there. She has been gone for three weeks now. It is something that she will need, especially after the day she is currently having.
The airport looms in front of him in record time. He is the last person on the flight. His seat separates a couple. The wife looks worried about flying without the comfort of her husband. He smiles and tells her that he will switch seats with her. Both thank him as he moves. Of course, he is left sitting beside an obese man, who gives him a pudgy smile. Nothing helps. He inhales a deep, calming breath. The flight to London will take long enough without all the distractions.
A/N: Let me know what you think.