a/n: I figured I should write something new. This is a mix of angst/fluff/romance taking place after Jack Knife. There isn't a real plot here.
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The problem with happy endings is that they don't exist. Sure, in a movie it fades to black, the credits roll, and uplifting music fills the void.
But the story can't just stop. Not in real life.
You can have your moment of sheer bliss with everything – every issue sorted out. Eventually that's going to end. Eventually something is going to ruin that picture perfect, roll-the-credits moment.
That's why the feel-good-all-is-right-with-the-world endings kill me. The happy couple at the end of the movie… You're supposed to know what's next for them: marriage, kids, white picket fence, and a minivan.
But that's not the way real life works. In real life, issues come up. Car crash, cancer, infidelity… whatever it may be. Something always goes wrong. No couple – no person can forever be happy.
That's why I hate movies like that. That's why I like Bambi.
It's real.
"Bambi is not real, Tony." She says, a mix of condescension and amusement in her tone.
"You're missing the point," I say as I pull the car into the Navy Yard. "I'm saying that it's movies like those that completely delude people into thinking there is some magical fix-all for life."
"We do not have to see that particular film, it was just a comment. Abby and I both enjoyed it."
"Exactly, Ziva. Because it's a chick flick." I turn the car into its spot. "I do not like chick flicks."
"Well, what would you like to watch then?"
"I don't know." I respond, taking the key out the ignition but remaining in my seat. Ziva unbuckles her seatbelt but doesn't move to open the door. "We don't have to go out tonight. I never believed in Valentines Day anyway."
"So because you cannot think of a film, we will cancel our plans?"
"Our plans were cancelled when Gibbs called us for this stupid case." Just a suicide. Just a recently divorced petty officer's Valentines Day suicide. Another story that's not told in happy-ending movies. "We weren't even supposed to be on call this weekend."
Ziva lightly grasps my arm and gives a sympathetic look. She's mocking me.
"And this job has never gotten in the way of our personal lives before."
"Sarcasm is a tool of the weak."
"Is that why you use it so much?"
"This job is just interfering with too much. McValentine didn't have to come in today – why did we?"
"McGee is in California for the weekend. Stop complaining. You… It is the job you were meant to do."
She probably was going to say: "You love this job." This isn't the first time she's avoided the "L" word. I've only noticed because I've been avoiding it as well.
"Either way, we were supposed to have a special day. Now we have to write our reports and pretend to mildly dislike each other till Gibbs sends us home at some ungodly hour."
"Life is tough. At least we have tomorrow off, which means we can stay up as late as we like." She responds, as eyes lower suggestively.
"As if the next few hours weren't going to be hard enough."
Her eyebrows raise, and she glances down at my pants before chuckling and opening the door.
"That's not… I didn't mean it like that."
She smiles as I step out of the car.
"You will."
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She's doing it on purpose.
Her slightly parted lips, the tussling of her hair, the occasional "discontented" moan…
She's absolutely doing it on purpose.
And it's killing me.
Thinking of tonight. Thinking of last night. Thinking of Paris.
Sex with Ziva is great. Mind numbingly fantastic, actually.
But there is something missing. I suspect it's the lack of transparency. The things she hasn't told me. Hasn't told anyone, for all I know.
The scars on her skin. The scars under her skin…
She's still beautiful – drop dead gorgeous, really. But it's hard to ignore the pale marks mottling her features. I try not to think how the lines of discolored flesh came to be. I try to focus on her eyes as they've always communicated more than any words could. But even then, it's as if she's holding something back.
She'll be lying there, naked and completely exposed but I still can't see everything.
I haven't asked any questions, she hasn't provided any answers.
I know it's just a matter of time. Eventually she'll talk.
Eventually I'll ask.
"Is there something on my face?" She asks, and I look around for Gibbs, already anticipating a head slap.
No bossman in site.
"Nope."
"You done with the report?" I glance at my computer screen.
"Done enough." Half-finished doesn't usually qualify as done enough, but it's the weekend. Things only have to be half-finished on the weekend. DiNozzo rule 34.
Or something.
She stands up and walks over to my desk, as I begin packing up.
"It is only eight. We could still catch a movie." She says. "But I would rather have dinner."
"I could cook for you, if you'd like." That's the boyfriendy thing to do right?
"How about takeout. Big Wong sounds good."
I smile, mostly to myself, as I grab my bag and walk around the desk, my hand subtly intertwining with hers as we move toward the elevator.
"Sounds like a plan."
She places a light kiss on my lips once the sliding doors are fully shut behind us. "I've been thinking about what you said earlier."
"I say a lot of things."
"About your happy-ending theory. It is flawed. You are not meant to assume that the rest of their life is just as picture perfect as that one moment. You are meant to enjoy that moment." I raise my eyebrows as she continues. "If we were in a movie, and you took a snapshot of us right now, it would seem like we were destined for that happily ever after too, yes?"
The elevator doors slide open, and we begin the short walk to our cars.
"With our lives? No one would ever believe that."
"Exactly. We both know that something bad will inevitably happen – we have experienced enough to realize that. But we are happy now. There is nothing wrong with us now. And that is why this is such a good moment."
"You've lost me."
"My father used to say: 'happiness means nothing without sadness.' Because we have experienced sadness, we can truly enjoy being happy. I think that is the way we are supposed to view the movies."
I rest a hand on her small red car as she searches through her purse for the keys.
"Your place or mine?" She asks, not allowing me the appropriate time to mull over her previous comments.
"Yours. I'll pick up the food on my way."
She smiles and leans in for another kiss. "I will see you then."
I stand aside as she backs the Mini Cooper out of its spot, and drives away.
I suppose she makes sense. After all, my point was that there is no such thing as eternal happiness. Her point is that there is no such thing as eternal happiness since one needs to be sad before they be happy.
I take the brief steps to my own car, her words running through my mind.
I am happy. We are happy right now. Given our track record, this probably won't last very long. It's not worth it to worry about what might or might not happen in the future, but to enjoy this moment - these roll-the-credits snapshots.
So I will. I won't worry about what happened to her in Africa till she wants me to worry. Till she tells me something is wrong, or till I can tell something is wrong.
And that's the way it should be.
Right?
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Like I said, not much plot here. A little bid of an odd ending, but I might decide to continue this depending on how the next episode goes. We'll see.
Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Concerns? I appreciate all reviews.