Season 11 AU. This is just another little break from Details in the those following that story, fear not. I've just had a lot of trouble writing it lately.
For the sake of this, we will assume that McGee's father eventually lost his battle with cancer.
disclaimer: disclaimed.
When he'd asked her to ride with him, he honestly hadn't been expecting the soft "of course, Tony" that had slipped from her lips (and she had the most goddamned perfect lips of anyone he'd ever known, really), but his look of surprise at her agreement must have been apparent, because she squeezed his arm slightly as she passed by him. He could still feel her warm touch there.
He'd been a bitch to everyone that week, which only made matters worse on everyone, but he didn't care. He couldn't help it. Jackson's death meant that, out of all of their fathers and out of all of their daddy-issues, his was the last one, and he honestly never saw that coming. Eli fell from the bullet wounds that had riddled his body, the Admiral had succumbed to the stage 4 cancer that had been consuming his body, and now Gibbs' father, the man he considered almost as a grandfather, was gone. How was that supposed to make him feel? He and his own father had their issues, yes, but they were…working on them. Slowly.
But the more he thought about it, the more he felt the need to speed up that process just a tad. Senior was getting older…the last time he'd visited, there'd been more wrinkles, and he'd moved a little stiffer, slower, and Tony hadn't wanted to admit it to himself because it was an awful thing to think, but people don't live forever.
So he'd been rude to everyone, Ziva especially, and he felt bad, because she was only trying to help. He knew that she knew his every thought without him ever having to voice them, but yet, he'd pushed her away.
He felt completely stupid asking her to accompany him on the drive to Pennsylvania, but if he was honest with himself, he knew he needed her there. Not to talk, not to listen, not to do anything but just be there.
Isn't that what love is?
Now, his car was idling in front of her apartment and a Starbucks mocha sat in what had quickly become her cup-holder while the late afternoon sun bathed her quaint, quiet street in a pleasant glow that was warm with the promise of the coming summer.
He shot her a quick text to notify her of his arrival, but her ninja skills had her coming down the front steps, overnight bag slung over her shoulder, before her phone even buzzed. Something inside of him had him out of his seat and jogging around the front of his car to open the passenger's side door for her, something uncommon in their relationship. He never did it, not because he wasn't chivalrous and she wasn't appreciative, but because it just wasn't them. And instead of frowning at the sight, she smiled and accepted the silent apology for his recent behavior that filled his eyes with a simple nod of her head.
"You did not have to get me a coffee, Tony."
"I wanted to."
Her eyes widened a touch, and that same, warm smile graced those lips, and that, honestly, was the thing that settled whatever uneasiness that sat in the pit of his stomach.
They were dressed casually for now, him in jeans and an old T-Shirt, her in same and not a shred of make-up, a look he hadn't seen in a while. She looked beautiful.
"I will pay you back for the hotel room," she offered as he pulled onto the main road, and he shook his head.
"Don't worry about it. It's probably not much to look at either, two beds and a bathroom. Stillwater's finest."
She gazed at him fondly, and they settled into the next round of silence.
Deciding to leave the evening before had been McGee's idea. It was 4 hours to Stillwater from D.C., and a round trip in one day with a funeral in the middle probably wasn't in anyone's best interest. Especially since they were all coming off of little sleep and a major case they'd been forced to hurry through, in which Gibbs had been absent. Tony had only seen the man three times since the team received the news of his father's death a week ago. And surprisingly, Tony himself had been the one to deliver said news.
"He went peacefully. Old age."
Silence.
"Gibbs is there now."
More silence.
It was Ziva's first tear that had him beelining for the elevator.
He couldn't do this again. Another death, another dad.
A familiar, sad tune filled the car, and his hand jutted out without a single thought and forced the music down with a little more force than necessary, and she glanced over at him again. He was staring hard out at the road, jaw tight, and he didn't even feel her hand at first.
But when her thumb began to trace his skin softly and her fingers rested comfortably against his arm, Tony exhaled shakily. He didn't mind her seeing him weak, and he knew then that inviting her along had definitely been the right decision.
"Thank you," he murmured.
She "mhmm'd" quietly, and continued to trace patterns on his arm for the duration of the trip.
It was dark when he pulled into the parking lot of the small hotel, and even after even after he killed the engine, he remained motionless.
"I'm sorry. I know this has been bad for you too. I'm sorry I wasn't with you more."
It needed to be said. And she knew.
"I understand, Tony."
And with that, he took the hand on his arm in his own and raised it to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "I don't know what I would do without you, Ziva."
She smiled wistfully. "You would be sleeping alone."
He chuckled and dropped their hands, but then…
"Wait-"
And she laughed. "You left the page open on your computer. But, I did not even need that to know you booked a room with only one bed. I know you, Tony."
Even in the dark, he knew she saw his face redden, but he laughed good-naturedly in spite of it.
"Now, let's get through this. Together."
He squeezed her hand and nodded his head in affirmation.
"Together."
Rest in peace, Ralph Waite.
I hoped you liked this little oneshot! Please tell me what you thought on the way out. Again, for those following Details in the Fabric, I have not abandoned it!