AN: Phew. Its been a while since I've posted anything - sometimes writing is feast or famine for me. I'm very thankful to my good friend Jen for being an amazing sounding board and beta. And thankful to any of you who take the time to leave me a review and/or who continue to give a damn if I publish anything.
Disclaimer: In case anyone was curious, I do not own NCIS, own anything affiliated with NCIS (though I'd like an NCIS hoodie, I think that's unrelated.) or the characters. I own this plot/concept. But CBS can buy it from me. I have a car payment to make. (See? I don't even own that!)
She cradled the coffee mug in her hands, staring out the window of the coffee shop. The spring drizzle had turned into a full blown afternoon rainstorm and the poetry lover in her couldn't help but enjoy the irony of the weather so perfectly matching her mood.
Somewhere along the line, he must have picked up some of her stealthier skills because when he slid into the booth across from her, she was truly caught off guard. Tim's body posture was an odd mixture between confident and hesitant.
She merely arched a brow in greeting.
His eyes settled on her for a quick moment before he visibly stilled himself and he spoke: "You scare the crap out of me some days, Ziva."
She blinked, certainly not having expected those to be the first words he spoke.
When she didn't retort, he pressed forward. "You're like my sister. And, as much as I know you can take care of yourself, I have this brotherly urge to take care of you," he paused and quirked his lips in a half smirk at the ridiculous notion of taking care of Ziva of all people. "I guess the other side to that coin is, as a brother, calling you on your shit."
She opened her mouth to speak but he quickly cut her off before she could utter a word.
"So against every ounce of self preservation I've developed over the years, I'm going to look you dead in the eye and do that - call you on your shit."
Ziva felt her heart flutter and she managed to squelch the breath that was caught in her throat. The last time she was this nervous about someone's judgement, it had been Gibbs' simple but devastating disapproving look. His steely glare carried as much weight as Tim's words were about to and made her just as nervous.
"You know I hadn't been with the team too much longer than you when you joined, right?" Tim asked,
She nodded.
"But I still think I have a fairly good read on Tony and, believe it or not, Ziva, he's actually grown over the years. I know it's hard to think he was ever more juvenile than he is now, but it is actually true!" He chuckled to himself, recalling some of their more asinine antics that ended up echoing in the bullpen like playground squabble. "It used to be that Kate and I could place bets on how long Tony could last before jumping from one college co-ed to another. It was like clockwork. Then Kate died," he managed to say without the quaver too noticeable in his voice. Even all these years later, it was still a wound that rubbed each of them raw. "And right around the time that you joined the team, he changed. I could probably pin it to a day if you asked me to. He's not the same overgrown fratboy."
Ziva huffed a sigh. She set her coffee mug on the table-top harder than necessary, the thunk reverberating around them. "Tim - what in the world are you talking about?"
He held up a hand, respectfully shushing her. "Ziva, there is not another woman in the world that I've ever seen Tony look at the way he looks at you. He cares for you. He respects you."
"We're teammates! Of course he does. Just like I respect you. And I respect Gibbs."
"No!" His voice was firm- more so than he could ever recall using with her. "Damnit, Ziva, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't play stupid because we both know you're far from it!"
He didn't blink, meeting her angry stare with a steady one of his own.
"I don't think I've ever thought of anyone on our team as being a coward - at least not until recently. But not dealing with whatever is going on between the two of you? You're absolutely being a coward. And you need to knock it off," he stopped and he felt the tension ease from his shoulders a bit as he realized the hardest part of the conversation was over. He slid his hand across the table and gently covered her fingers with his own. "I care about you. I care about you enough to call you on your shit. And to tell you that you've been out of line. And I care about you enough to tell you that you need to fix this. He's extended enough olive branches - it's your turn."
Tim managed to muster a half-smile her way, squeezing her hand gently before slipping his grasp away and sliding out of the booth. "I'll see you Monday, ok? Call me if you need me."
Watching his retreating figure, Ziva tipped her head back against the seat and her mind spun from Tim's words.
What have I done?
