A/N: For some reason my muse always likes to take me back to Season 4, and to all the angst and sadness of the Tiva that season. I got this idea late last night and had to write it, so if it doesn't make much sense I apologize. For those of you who are wondering when I'm going to update 'Forever, I Am Yours', I'm still working on writing the next chapter. Hopefully, I will be able to update it in a few days. Anyway, this takes place during the summer that Gibbs was in Mexico, and what happened after he came back. I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: Nope. Never will I ever own NCIS.
The End of Their Nights
It all began rather quickly.
It had been his first day at playing the big boss, since original 'Boss' had fled off to some tropical paradise in Mexico, and he had been left to pick up the pieces of their broken family.
Everything changed after Gibbs left.
She could feel the change the second she stepped out of the elevator. Her eyes would travel to the desk across from hers; note that it lacked a certain personality. There was no 'Mighty Mouse' stapler resting in its sacred corner next to the letter opener with the sharp blade that never failed to make her insides tingle and her eyes dilate. Instead, there was a bright white coffee mug with M.I.T. written in bold lettering on both sides, and a stack of yellow sticky notes.
Plain yellow sticky notes – How McGee-ish of him.
Her head would spin quickly at the sound of a grunt, or maybe he had cleared his throat..? She was not used to seeing him there, leaning back in that chair as though it had never belonged to…someone else. They would be able to see each other from a side angle now, see what one another was doing behind their desk. That seemed so new and exciting, and intimate. The thought would frighten her, but in a most delightful way.
He would smile lazily at her as she would sit in her chair and start up her computer. "Morning, David." It sounded so formal, so much like Gibbs. It was then she realized that much more would change than just the seating arrangements.
They both ignored the slight stutter in her voice when she answered, "Good morning…Boss."
Believe it or not she had not been expecting his presence at her apartment that night.
His first day as the new boss had been, well, a challenge. The new probie, Michelle Lee was a bit of a handful; she tried, but she just couldn't get anything right, and her neat freak tendencies were getting on everybody's nerves. At least they hadn't been called out for a case, cause that would have made things much more challenging. Frustration and stress had marked their territory on his forehead, which was a look she wasn't used to seeing on him.
It was late when he knocked on her door, and she could care less if all she was wearing was a thin cream-colored Israeli cotton bed sheet. It's not like he hadn't seen her in less before, and if he, her new boss didn't like it, well that was just too damn bad.
His eyes would burn a hole through the sheet causing her to feel overly exposed, but she would still pour him a drink and scoot closer than necessary to him on the love seat. Halfway through their semi- awkward silence he would ponder out loud, "Wonder why they call it a love seat?" At first she wouldn't be sure if he was actually looking for an answer or if he already knew it and planned on telling her. Seconds later, the sheet would 'accidently' slip down her body, flashing him her 'goodies' as he sometimes referred to them. The excited gleam in his eyes told her that he knew exactly why a love seat was called a love seat. It took her a few more seconds than she really needed to pull the sheet back up, but believe me nobody was protesting about it.
They didn't do what you think they did that night; in fact, they did nothing. For two hours he stayed, they drank, they sat mostly in peaceful silence, and then he left. The only sex that happened that night was eye sex. There was no stopping those naughty pupils. Yes, their two sets of eyes had become one at some point, somewhere between his second beer and her peekaboo playing nipples.
She's not really sure why he came over that night, and she never expected that it would soon become a weekly occurrence.
After a few weeks of nighttime visits, they grew more comfortable with each other. He sometimes brought over dinner, she sometimes cooked. She recalls him saying once, while she stood stirring a pot of tomato sauce over the stove, that the nights when she cooked were his favorite because he liked to watch her hands move around as she worked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he'd downcast his eyes and effectively ruin the moment by comically stumbling out of his chair, mumbling something along the lines of "Gotta use the head." The phrase reminded her of Gibbs and she wondered what his reaction would be if he knew about their…about their what? What was it they had been doing exactly? They were just two co-workers that got together once or twice a week. They'd have dinner, sometimes watch a movie; they rarely ever talked about anything important, yet they both hated small talk. So, what were they doing exactly? They were not having an affair, but she could feel its promise every time she said goodbye to him.
That promise wasn't fulfilled until exactly one week before the end that she knew was fast approaching. The summer was coming to a close, but it felt as though a new kind of heat was just beginning.
Instead of his signature knock, he had called her.
The boyish quality of his voice made it obvious that he was smiling, and the familiarity of it had made her heart flutter in a way she had yet to feel. It surprised her when he had suggested they go out that night. They had never gone anywhere outside of work together. Whenever they would get together it would always be at her apartment. Funny how neither of them had ever thought about having dinner or watching a movie at his place, but something had told her that he preferred it if they didn't.
He had taken her, of all places, to a little hideaway of an antique store. At first, she didn't understand his purpose for taking her there, but then she remembered telling him a few weeks ago about how much she missed the shops back in Tel Aviv; in particular an old antique shop that used to be right next to where she lived. The owner of the shop, an elderly woman who she had referred to as "Bina," had become like a grandmother to her from an early age.
They were the only two people in the shop, other than the owner, who coincidentally turned out to be an old Jewish woman who resembled Bina so much it was almost overwhelming.
She had protested when he offered to buy her the royal blue china set she had been coming back to all evening, but he had insisted on getting it for her. So, they had decided to compromise. In turn, she had bought him the painting that he had stood staring at for an impressive eleven minutes. The painting was of a woman sitting on a stool in front of a mirror, her body was tastefully clad in a see-through negligee, and she appeared to be combing her long black hair.
While they were paying, he pretended that he didn't notice when the owner commented on how much the woman in the painting resembled the woman standing next to him. She didn't say anything, but after a second glance, she did have to agree with the old woman.
Nobody said it was a date, but in the cab ride back to her apartment when his hand had inched its way up her thigh, nobody said anything about that either.
That night would be the first and only time they would have sex that summer. He had been so gentle, which was something she wasn't used to when it came to sex. It felt unfamiliar, but not uninviting. It was new territory for the both of them, and it was the closest she had ever come to truly wholeheartedly making love to someone.
At work, they were strictly professional. As far as they knew, no one suspected anything, but every once and a while, McGee would, not so discreetly, watch them with a mix of fascination and realization. They did not panic, however, for McGee knew better then to ask them about anything so personal. Besides, she would not hesitate to put the probie in his place if he ever dared.
She knew that today would be the day that everything was going to end. It was only a matter of time. Yesterday, he had been fully striped of his duties as the boss and had been transformed into the senior field agent he had used to be. Now, everything would go back to the way it once was.
She prepared herself for when the elevator door would slide open and she would have to get out. She would have to see the gorgeous face of a man who could make her feel so many things, most of which she hated, but couldn't help feeling.
His head was held high and he made an effort to smile at her, but he was clearly unhappy.
Just when you start to get used to something, it all gets taken away.
At lunchtime when Gibbs went for a refill and McGee went to pick up Chinese food, she stood up from her chair and sat on the edge of his desk. He seems to be having trouble meeting her eyes, and it was clear now that their inevitable end had started setting in.
"Are you coming over tonight?"
It looks like he's running through an invisible datebook in his head before he stops suddenly. "Actually, I don't think I'll be able to make it tonight."
It's the same answer he gave her yesterday, and the day before that.
Before she can reply, McGee cheerfully enters the room carrying a bag that appears to be leaking soy sauce. McGee hands her a carton of low mein, along with a fortune cookie. She gives her boss…partner, he's her partner now, one last fleetingly pissed off glance before moving back to her own desk. They usually ate lunch together at his desk, but that was definitely not happening today.
The fortune cookie that McGee begged her to open just for the fun of it, read, 'A ship in the harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are built for.' The message made her snort. She didn't even know why she bothered opening the thing. Fortune cookies were stupid.
He had refused to read his out loud. He just grunted and shook his head before picking the little slip of paper up and tossing it in the trash.
McGee had bid adieu at six, Gibbs left at seven, and almost exactly at the stroke of eight o'clock his cellphone rang. She kept her eyes on her computer screen the entire time, but had to squeeze them shut briefly when he laughed joyfully at something the person on the other end had said.
"See you soon," he whispered to the unidentified caller.
He flipped his phone shut and shot up from his seat making a fast getaway for the elevator. "Goodnight, Ziva," he called behind his shoulder.
"Goodbye, Tony," she quietly replied and put her face in her hands.
Her feet carried her over to his desk and her hand dipped down into the trash can pulling out the tiny slip of paper he had discarded of earlier. She wasn't sure what to make of the words written on the paper fortune, or the fact that he threw it away either.
She did not fall for him, she tells herself. She would never make such a stupid mistake. She does not care. She does not give a flying fuck about him or the nights they spent together…but if that were true, then why does everything hurt so much.
She doesn't want to believe that he could possibly be seeing someone else; another women. Anything but that, please anything but that. She has no right to think such things. He was not hers to claim…anymore.
She tries to call him all night but doesn't get any answer until one in the morning. His voice is groggy, like he just woke up, but hers however is wide awake. "I need to talk to talk to you."
There is nothing for a few moments and then there is a noise that sounds like that of rustling bed sheets. "I'll be right over."
This time she is fully dressed when she answers the door. She is in no mood for teasing tonight.
"Mossad suspects that we are having an affair," she announces as he's pouring cream in his coffee.
He sets the coffee creamer down on the table with noticeably shaky fingers. "And what did you tell them?"
"I did not give them an answer."
He nods his head, but is otherwise silent.
"How was your night?" she asks.
"Fine."
She does not miss the look of guilt flashing on his face. "Did you enjoy yourself?" She bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself in check.
His face flushes. "I had an alright time."
"What did you do?"
"What is this twenty questions, Ziva? Since when do you care?"
"I am merely asking what you did that you enjoyed so much."
"I…went out…with some friends from college."
Liar.
Neither of them say anything for a while after that, because what they both have to say, they both don't want to hear.
"You know this has to end now, don't you?" he finally says.
"I thought it already had."
For a moment, she thinks she sees pain in his eyes, and she thinks that maybe he did feel something for her. The thought makes her pulse race and her eyes damp.
Before he turns to leave, she pulls something out of her pocket and hands it to him. "I thought you might want this after all."
He looks down at the little fortune in his hand; the one he had thrown away.
'A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.' it read.
He nodded his head and then sent her a regretful smile, as if to say, 'I enjoyed our time together. Sorry I had to run off so fast.'
But perhaps he would return to her someday…
Thank you for reading.
Please review and tell me what you think:)