Title : Bitter Laughter
Pairing : Tony DiNozzo x Ziva David
Author Note : A type of short afterthought to 'Swan Song' and an almost ironic prelude to 'Pyramids'. When Tony goes home to deal with the grief of Mike Frank's passing, he can't help but think about the various uses of laughter in his life. TIVA moment, of course.
He laughs to cover the pain. In hindsight, he laughs quite a lot.
He isn't sure when it started exactly, but he knows why it started. When someone laughs, the people around them tend to laugh in response. It's a life lesson he's managed to pick up in every movie he's ever watched. And when someone's watched as many movies as he has? That has to say something. An action thriller, the comedic relief would spit a one liner that evaporated the tension in an instant. A romantic comedy, the klutz would cause such a catastrophe that the entire room was rolling.
Except this isn't a movie, and he isn't any designated role except Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. So when he hurls his half filled bourbon against the far wall, the desperate chuckle that escapes his lips is witness to no audience. There's a bitterness in the air as the glass litters the floor, amber liquid a stark contrast against his bare while walls. He makes no move to retrieve the seemingly offensive object, elbows digging into his knees, fingers running through his hair.
Mike is dead. It's a thought that runs through his head over and over again. Unbearable. He thought it would have disappeared fifth shot in, but he's been proven wrong. Eight shots in and he's still wrong. The entire situation is wrong, so in a twisted kind of way, it makes sense. Mike laughed a lot, about women and booze, and any combination of those two things. Laughed a lot about Gibbs, too. About the team, about life. Laughter seemed to work for both of them, but even laughter couldn't fix the fact that he was gone. "Sorry." He mutters so quietly, its almost as if he never spoke at all.
He doesn't know who it is he's apologizing to. Mike, because he didn't get to die in some beautiful woman's arms down in Mexico. Kate, because she didn't deserve to die the way she did. Jenny, because despite everything that had happened she was still a part of their family. The list of people seemed endless in his dark apartment, a suffocating weight of regret and failure that threatened to drown him at a moment's notice.
And suddenly there's arms wrapping around him so delicately he doesn't know what to do except look up into all too familiar brown eyes. They're still as red as they were back in the elevator, but there's a kind of hidden strength behind them that he can't help but lean into her embrace, forehead resting on her shoulder. He doesn't care how she got into his apartment, or how long she's really been there. If he bothered to look, he would find the lock picking set on his counter, shoes neatly placed next to his on the floor. If he bothered to look, he would find his front door still cracked open, the only light source in the night.
Except he doesn't bother to look, because for once tonight he's content with where he is, and the tears escape before he even realizes he's crying. She doesn't say a word, only holds him tighter and hooks her chin over his shoulder as if they could somehow become one person. As if it would somehow let two shattered people become whole again. They stay that way for what seems like hours, but in reality is only a few passing moments. His body is still shaking, her shirt is beyond drenched and neither of them care. "Better us than someone who didn't sign up for it." She repeats it softly, reassuringly echoing his words back at him.
His laughter is lighter now, cracking with emotion as he stares back into her eyes. "Don't leave me."
She kisses the top of his head, one hand brushing the side of his face. "Never."