Hey all.
This came into my head for some reason, last night, but I didn't want to post it until I'd checked my facts, etc.
Basically, it's set in Grace Period (4x19), almost right at the end. I always feel, when watching this, that it cuts a little too quickly. There's the explosion, and Paula's dead and Tony's leaning against the wall, then he's at Jeanne's door and in tears. I wanted to explore what could have happened in the space between those moments.
Disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when your music library primarily consists of the Soundtracks (1 and 2), the TV Score, and songs from Tiva vids on YouTube. (;
Listening to: Rubik's Cube by Athlete
The explosion is loud- not the loudest she's heard, but loud all the same-, and she swears her partner's words- one word, actually- echo in the little bricked room.
At that, she runs in through the door, raising an arm as if it will aid her clouded vision.
When the smoke clears, he's still there; still pressed up against the wall with his hands up high, his cheek resting against the stone with a sentimental air.
And she feels for him, she really does. Because it's tragic and devastating and all at the wrong time.
But he won't move. Of that, she is sure.
All of a sudden, the dignitaries begin to wail, and all other agents spring into action- escorting the foreigners out of the second-time crime scene.
She hears many languages, most of which she understands, but pays no attention to what they are saying.
Her partner is still there.
Gibbs walks up and places a supporting hand on his younger agent's shoulder, and Ziva feels a stinging in her eyes that isn't just due to the fumes.
Leaning there isn't doing Tony any good.
The brick will be warm- heated from the explosion, only just beginning to cool.
A crackling sound of burning flesh will be emanating from inside- seared bodies turning to blackening ash right in front of his ears.
It's hell.
And, she supposes, his own form of punishment.
Then, when the sirens cease and all is relatively quiet, it's just the two of them.
And only then does she move from the doorway, where she's been stood the whole time, only moving to the side when necessary.
Her heeled boots go clack clack clack on the debris-scattered floor; dust and dirt crushing beneath the soles.
'Soles' seems rather an apt word, she thinks.
He lifts his chin from the wall as she draws to a halt, the skin sticking to the stones and seemingly peeling away from it- rather like what may happen if one falls asleep on paper, for instance.
His eyes lock with hers, and her breath hitches at the dull, glassy expression reflecting from them. He's put up more walls than she herself usually does, and that's saying something.
Without sparing her another glance, he strolls past her- the slight breeze he creates managing to force a few hairs to stray from her ponytail- and crosses the street with a steely glare.
She finds him a block or so down, leaning against a wall, arms folded and a distant look in those eyes of his. He's remembering something, no doubt.
Mirroring his position, neither one of them speaks for a while.
Not that she'd know what to say, mind you. Anything beginning with "I know it isn't my place, but..." sounds far too pompous, and "Tell me about her," somehow seems arrogant.
It's a tricky subject, she'll give it that.
"I really liked her, you know." he says in a soft voice- not quiet, just drained and weary-sounding. Turning her head, she regards his features in the light. He's still looking ahead, his mouth turned down and his eyes deliberately avoiding hers. The sun emphasizes every line and scratch, and he just looks so much older.
"How so?" is her reply, odd as it is, but she has to attempt it twice her voice cracking from underuse the first time.
"She was my friend."
And his response is so open and honest; so bearing, that it strips all else away, and it's just Tony DiNozzo stood next to her.
No jokes, no laughs. The real Tony.
And that's not only thought-provoking and telling, but very scary too. Because she's not sure if she can handle this Tony.
The vision she is seeing, of his profile, moves back to the center of her attention, and she gives him a scrutinizing look.
There, right in front of her eyes, is a trembling lower lip.
He bites on it, hard, and rolls it into his mouth whilst sniffing abnormally loud. Pushing himself off the wall, he runs his hands over his face, cleverly pulling the tears from his eyes at the same time. Then, when he meets her gaze, she holds her breath in preparation for what he's about to say.
"She told me something, the other day. Advice, I guess…" he pauses, staring at a space behind her, a faraway look in his eyes. He snaps back to reality before saying "I gotta go, Ziva."
And with that, he's gone. Away, someplace.
She can guess his intended location.
She knows that, by the time he gets there, the trembling lip won't be able to stop, and the flow of tears will not be able to cease.
And, by the time he gets there, Ziva might just have to run her hands over her face, too, wherever she will be, and pull some tears away, just like he did.
But it is, in no way, for the same reason.
Reviews are always lovely. And I promise I'll update Airport soon. It's still in the planning stage atm.
-Kiera. x