Note: This story was inspired by Kate Nash's "Don't You Want to Share the Guilt?" which is awesome and highly recommended. I don't want to call it a songfic, even though that's pretty much what it is; it follows the lyrics loosely because damn, they're just so perfect!
Starts post-Obsession but has other flashbacks as well. This one is heavily Jet Lag based. It'll be multi-chaptered, but I realize most of this will be completely null and void after Tuesday and I probably won't finish before then.
Also, this is my first fanfic, so hooray for that.
Barbeque food is good. You invite me out to eat it; I should go.
But I'm feeling kind of nervous and not quite myself, so I'm running late on purpose and I know this won't help.
How things have come between us, and if I go you'll give me hell. And that I don't know how to fix it is making me unwell.
Checking her phone at 6 a.m., she saw that his message was timed around 2. She knew Tony was upset and mentally berated herself for missing his call. He had probably gone to Gibbs; after he dealt with personal problems his pseudo-father had always seemed uncharacteristically exhausted at work the next day, downing more coffees than usual and even distributing Caf-Pows to Abby more liberally.
Yes, Tony went to Gibbs when he was distraught. Not her. Just when she thought things were getting back to normal, when things appeared to be settling down from the hell they had been, these little reminders screamed discontent, discomfort, distrust. She sighed and listened to the voicemail.
"Ziva, Ziva," he slurred. "Let's hang out. Let's do something. There's a new place in Georgetown. I mean not right now. Not now, it's late. Or early. However you look at it. Anyways, there's a new place in Georgetown. All the new places are always in Georgetown, aren't they? Let's go tomorrow. It's Saturday. Maybe lunch. Lunch-ish. Yeah. How about you just come over tomorrow at lunch-ish time? Just come over, and then we can go. Okay….bye."
She heard him fumble the phone before it cut off. Sighing again, she wondered why Gibbs thought it was appropriate to sufficiently intoxicate Tony and allow him to continue to make calls. The sun had barely peeked through her curtains and she was hesitant to believe the validity of Tony's inquiry, let alone think he would be ready any time around "lunch-ish." Having already been for a run, she sat down on her bed and contemplated what she was sure Tony would call her 'game plan' for the day. She could call him back. She could show up at his apartment as directed. But she knew he wouldn't remember. She could ignore the call entirely. But on the off chance he did have any miniscule recollection of the message, their situation could very easily spiral downwards from its already dismal location. His vulnerability made her decision all the more important. That girl had worn him down unnecessarily and his choice to call her, inebriation aside, could very well be the major step she needed to take to ease the tension at last.
There had always been tension. The attraction between them had been undeniable from day one. Of course he was drawn in by her exotic nature; she had unexpectedly been engrossed by his arrogant sense of entitlement and immature character. The surprise had really come when her position became permanent, and they became partners; they became friends. They would take up each other's space and get in each other's brain. Jeanne changed that. Michael changed that. Somalia changed that. By the time she followed him into the bathroom that afternoon, their relationship was in shambles. Once the holidays rolled around, she assumed everything was back to normal, or as close to normal as it would ever get after everything had happened.
Apparently she was wrong.
Light began to flood her room and she looked wearily at the clock. 6:30. She listened to the voicemail again, trying to come closer to a decision and failing. Part of her wanted to rush to Tony's place right then, to make sure he was fine. Another part—a part which was winning the battle with little difficulty—wanted to ignore the call, run her errands, and deal with Tony on Monday. But both parts agreed that decisions were better made after a shower.
As the water cascaded over her body, she thought of Paris. They both knew on the flight over that things would happen. The eight hours of silence without sleep was a testament to the inevitability of their actions. Ironic, she now chuckled to herself, since she had adamantly denied any certainty of the inevitable when Jenny died.
When they arrived at the hotel, she raised her voice while accepting their single room with no argument, much to the confusion of the clerk. Her perfect French would be completely disregarded by Tony, so tone was the only way to prove her blatant lie when she told him the hotel was overbooked and they would have to share. The look he gave her then shot fear and guilt through her mind; surely he knew her bluff. If he did, however, he did not verbalize his thoughts and they carried their bags to the third floor in silence.
Silence, which she was labeling a central theme of their mission, continued as the pair noted the lack of another bed in the room. A small chaise lounge was facing the balcony; she unconsciously bit her lip as her gaze traveled from the lounge to Tony. Would he make a call? Be chivalrous and let her take the king sized bed? Whine about his back until she conceded defeat? Or, and she secretly hoped this would be the case, neither?
He shook his head, the motion nearly imperceptible except to someone like her, whose senses were trained to catch the details and whose adrenaline was surging enough for her to identify every tiny motion. Their eyes met as he dropped his bags unceremoniously on the floor and hers quickly followed. Darkness was slowly setting in; neither of them had eaten or slept in hours, but neither looked as if they cared.
As she turned up the heat of her shower, she recalled the focus with which he watched her. His steps were silent as he slowly—but at the same time so, so quickly—walked over to where she was standing, took her face in his hands, and slammed his mouth on hers. Her gasp, which was really almost a moan, of surprise was ignored by both of them, because it would have been ridiculous for either of them to honestly think this wasn't coming.
Her hands untucked his shirt and ran up his chest as he tangled his fingers in her wild curls and continued walking until he had her firmly pressed against the wall. Their kisses became more and more urgent until air turned into an unwanted necessity and they broke apart, gasping for air.
Tony stepped back from her, lips as swollen and red as she was sure hers were. He glanced at his watch and said, "We should…we should probably eat some dinner or something. I hear French food is pretty good actually." She laughed rather sardonically and grabbed her bag, mentally pleased that he had stopped the progression.
They ate at a café on the corner, in less silence than expected, and the mood lightened considerably. This is the turning point, she thought, as they strolled around nighttime Paris. The lights were embracing them, their happy laughter ringing through the streets.
They stopped on a bridge crossing the Seine and stood there, closely together, watching people walk past them, watching the river rush beneath their feet. Tony looked at her, his eyes searching, before turning away and heading back towards the hotel.
Entering the room, she checked her watch. Nearly midnight. Had they really spent that long roaming the city? Tony kicked off his shoes and fell back onto the bed, sighing happily. She smiled and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, watching him curiously out of the corner of her eye. He shifted up onto his elbows as she leaned down, and their lips met again with a slightly muted intensity, but the intent was still painfully there.
Clothes were quickly discarded as Tony placed searing kisses down her neck. Their bodies tangled under the sheets until both were too exhausted to do anything but sleep, contentedly wrapped around each other.
The water in the shower turned ice cold, a sure sign that the neighbors were awake and had eliminated the remainder of the hot water. She stepped into her foggy bathroom and wrapped herself in a towel before walking into her room to check the time. Still only 7. As she got dressed, she wondered about the time frame for 'lunch-ish.' Would it be around 11? Noon? The hours would not go by quickly enough.
Before she knew it though, noon had come and gone. If Tony did remember his offer from the night before, he would surely be angry for her unusual lateness. Grabbing her keys, she neared her door and paused. Did she really want to do this? Was she prepared to deal with an emotionally distraught Tony? Could she fix it?
She knew the answer to her last question. She had attempted to take his mind off of Dana. Clearly it hadn't worked. Even movie references, which previously would have made him shine with pride, could not break the resolve he had for finding her. Worried did not begin to describe her feelings; he was pining over a girl he did not know. Worse, she had died. His small success at finding her, of having that glimmer of hope, was extinguished within hours. Grief overwhelmed him and she was helpless.
With that thought, she slowly made her way to her car to face whatever Tony would throw at her. Maybe this was the real shift in their relationship, the real rebuilding of trust. She'd have to see when she got there.