This is my first REAL story, with a real in-detailed plot and that is not centered around an abstract noun. Unusually, (my style) I have already made two one-shots that surround this, but I actually kind of suggest if you haven't read them that you do not proceed to do so now. It kills the hype, is all. Note that I promise this is not a Jeanne/Tony story and will not have a happy ending...for some people. Y'all will just have to wait and see. ;-)
Reviews are always greatly appreciated and I'll feature who reviewed for the last chapter in each new chapter. Thanks!
-Alivia
It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.
It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl,-
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.
And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,
As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And 't was like midnight, some,
When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.
But most like chaos,-stopless, cool,-
Without a chance or spar,-
Or even a report of land
To justify despair.
-'It Was Not a Death' by Emily Dickinson
Many a nights Tony DiNozzo had spent next to her.
Sometimes lounging peacefully, her ebony curls tickling his nose as she brushed her fingers lovingly through his chest hair. Other times gasping for air, crushing her to his body with a heated fervor, like a dying man clutching onto his last strand of life.
Reviving life into his wayward existence.
She was a broken woman.
But the way Tony DiNozzo saw it, he was pretty messed up, too.
Though they never let anyone see it, but they thrived off each other, even if just the soothing motion of air passing through lungs was a preferred comfort. The facades they kept were dangerous.
First and foremost, however, the way he loved her was even more risky.
He loved her.
He loved the way her nose would scrunch up slightly and her lips would pout in the most adorable way when she was confused. He loved the way she would put his need for silence and comfort first, allowing it to surpass her need for explanations.
She was selfless.
She was strong.
She was exotically beautiful.
She was his.
The man loved her curvy torso, and her swaying hips which rounded away towards her full ass. Her thighs, her calves, her delicate (never a word commonly used to describe her before they'd become lovers) feet and toes. He loved watching her walk towards the bathroom which was already steam-filled with the heat of a running shower.
She turned to look over her shoulder, curls hitting the dip of her back, eyes full of mirth and a slight smirk on her full, pink lips. "Care to join me?"
She did not wait for an answer.
With a slight shake of his head, a crooked grin adorning his face, Tony DiNozzo pushed away the sea blue bed sheets and preceded to do precisely what 'came naturally.'
God, he loved Ziva David.
The home was dark and warm at five-thirty in the morning. Rightfully so, to a middle aged female with a rambunctious four year old. To her, five-thirty was a time of slumber and peace.
So she never heard the man who came on that dimly-lit morning.
She never saw his eyes, cold and dark, nor the grimace his face held. Never heard the slight creak of her daughter's door opening. There would be no prints, for he wore leather gloves that stuck to his sweaty hands.
A drip of it plumped onto the hardwood flooring, curving a path down his pale forehead.
He held a gun in his left hand.
Boots made no sound, strangely. Years in the Army had taught him how to do this.
The four year old slept on. Her dark locks fanned out over the flower-printed pillow her mother had bought her for her birthday three months ago. You could hear the soothing buzz of her breath.
She held her pink teddy bear, Snuggles, in her small arms.
The man did what he was sent there to do, and left without a sound, just the way he'd come on that morning.
The mother would never see the tears that streamed down his face in remorse.
A few hours later, the mother's alarm clock begins to sound. She hits it, annoyed and groggy. She uses the bathroom, gets a cup of coffee, and turns on the seven o'clock news before she begins to notice it. The silence.
With a curious expression, bare feet pad down the narrow hallway, stopping at the little girl's bedroom. She turns the door knob, but the door will not open. Peeved that the old wood is being difficult today, she gives it a firm shake.
It opens with a snap that resounds through the empty air.
She takes in the sight of everything, her green eyes going wide and her mouth opening due to basic instinct.
Jeanne Benoit began to scream.
Jenny Sheppard hated it when her agent's played turf wars with other agencies.
She hated it even more than she used to because it was her that had to clean it up, in the end. She hated the feeling forty-three straight hours of no sleep gave her, as well.
The redhead stood up from her chair, shrugging on her coat and purse, grabbing her coffee. She took a long sip of the now lukewarm dark liquid, making a face.
Jenny could already imagine the comfort of a day off in bed. Even if Jethro wasn't there.
No, her lover would be here, fighting crime and making damn sure not to start any more turf wars. She would teach him, and he would learn, in time.
Withholding sex had always been her favorite weapon of choice when it came to the silver-haired fox.
The director bid a goodbye to her assistant and hurried down the stairs, suddenly in an even more of a hurry. Her emerald eyes were bloodshot and her hair was clearly disheveled. Jenny felt a wave of self-consciousness consume her for a moment.
Taking the elevator down to the parking garage, Jenny was more than glad that her driver had already brought the car around. She had just opened the silver door when the familiar ring of her cell-phone sounded.
Wincing, she held her hand up to her driver as to say, 'hang on', and flipped open the offending device.
"What?"
Stanley was never a man to eavesdrop on Director Sheppard's conversations, but was extremely curious as he watched her face contort in shock and her mouth open slightly.
His ears almost perked up, straining to hear what was on the other end of the line. All he could make out was a frantic, high-pitched voice.
Her face, calming perceptibly, gave a grim parting before she ended the call. The woman turned to look at Stanley.
"I won't be needing your service after all, Stanley."
He nodded, gulping before he decided it'd be best not to bother with asking when she would need to leave.
But the redhead understood his expression, somehow.
"We have a situation concerning a previous Operation. You don't have the security clearance in order for me to read you in, I'm sorry."
The words were rushed, forced, and before he knew it, she was gone, red hair and all.
Jethro Gibbs never quite could learn to play nice with others. As a young man he'd been into it with others on a daily basis, a habit which seemed to be carried on into his entire existence.
Today had been a normal day.
He'd glared dubiously at the new girl who made his coffee, which didn't seem to be quick enough.
Jethro had gotten a twenty-five cent newspaper out of the bin, and smiled at the little girl on fifteenth-street who always seemed to be trailing behind her busy mother.
The silver-haired Marine didn't seem to have a problem with parking a little extra ways away from the building of his work, as a mini-van sat in his usual spot. As he'd walked passed it, he'd seen a light yellow booster chair through the lightly tinted windows.
Jethro Gibbs flashed his badge at the doors, then continued to make his way to the awaiting bull-pen.
He stopped, however, when he saw just who sat there.
Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying, and the dull look in them immediately informed him she was in shock. Her hands trembled, and he tried hard to hide the shock when he realized they were red with the stain of blood.
Jeanne stood up, then.
She cleared her throat and bit her lip hard to force a sob back down.
"I need help."