AUTHOR'S NOTE - Hiya, peeps. I'm sill alive, if you had any doubts. I have put All Good Things... officially on the hiatus, but I will continue to write other bits and pieces.
Now, I know I promised a few of you Jibbs smut (which is, in fact, in works and should be up maybe on Sunday), but instead, I deliver you angst.
This little piece came to me suddenly couple of nights ago, but this Tony's reply I used as a title was very meaningful to me from the first time I saw it.
It might seem a bit dis-joined, but it's supposed to be his drunken stream of thought. Hope it's not too OOC.
Jibbs for those who know where to look for it.

SPOILER ALERT - Judgment Day - Part II (I know, I know...hard for me to believe as well).

DISCLAIMER - If I did, I obviously wouldn't have to write about /this/ particular event.

Hope you enjoy!

IT'S NOT MILK THAT I SPILLED

"I'm a slow learner."

"And a slow healer. You're crying over spilled...milk."

"It's not milk that I spilled."

"Do not do this, Tony."

But it was not milk he spilled. Jenny could never be milk.

How could Ziva not understand?

Jenny had to be the finest of all drinks. What he spilled had to be priceless and irreplaceable. It had to have a taste you could never forget; had to leave its trace in your life forever.

You could never forget it.

And if you spilled it, it was the hardest thing to learn how to love with it; how to live with the guilt.

But the guilt was eating him from the inside and, slowly, he was fading away.

Will others be able to forgive him? To forgive him for the boss, the mentor, the friend they had in Jenny Shepard; the one he took from them.

The soul mate they'll never get back.

He didn't pull the trigger, but in his eyes, he might as well.

Was he even worth their forgiveness?

More importantly, will he be able to forgive himself for the life he lost? The precious drink that got spilled in millions of directions, never to be joined again.

There was no way of putting a spilled liquid back in the glass; nothing would ever be the same.

And it was all his fault.

Bourbon.

Bourbon reminded him of her – she always drank it; had a bottle in her office.

It was an acquired taste, just like her. But there was something reassuring about it, something that made you go back to it.

It was strong; it was independent.

It was Jenny.

Maybe if he kept on drinking the drink that reminded him of her?

No one understood.

No one ever would.

- THE END -