Please feel free to tell me what you think, including all kinds of criticism and suggestions. Please be kind, english is not my first language ;) Thanks for reading. Enjoy!
CCAA
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, things would have developed MUCH differently.
Unmoving she stared out of the window, not quite seeing the dusty surroundings, the trees cast in the golden light of the setting sun.
She had no eye for it today. She was thinking. How could she not be?
She had been for hours, days, maybe even weeks. And once again, like so many times before, she had reached a point where her thoughts were only moving in circles, coming back to the same questions again and again:
What should she do?
He deserved to know. She couldn't keep this from him. And yet, how could she tell him? Just like this. After all this time. Unconsciously her left hand stroked the slight swell of her belly, while the other one turned her phone between her fingers.
Tony.
Tell him? Don't tell him?
It was his. Theirs. He had a right to know. But did she have the right to rattle his entire world like this? And rattle his world it would surely do.
No matter how she turned it: It would always sound like she was expecting something from him. And she didn't. She had turned this offer down months ago. To stay with her. Change with her. She had send him away, broke all contact. Not a single word for months.
And now...
How could she possibly call him? Now. After so many months.
What should she say?
The slightest of smiles tugged at the corners of her mouth as she remembered that night at the tarmac.
„What should I say?" had she asked him, reluctant to call Gibbs and tell him she was not coming back to Washington.
„Say hello."
But this? This was something different.
Hello. And then? How was your summer?
No. She would not call him. She could not call him.
Decidedly she put the phone away. No phone call then. SMS? No way. Although it might actually be easier to narrow down on 160 characters: No space for explanations, just plain facts.
But there was so much to explain. So much to say. At least for her to assure him that she did not expect anything from him. That she just felt, he should know.
She had fetched a sheet of paper and a pen, the white surface staring back up at her, mocking her with its emptiness.
Great.
Now, that she had answered that one question, that yes, she should tell him, there was the next problem: How should she start?
It depended so much on it. For her. For him. And maybe them.
It took her long until she leaned forward and started writing.