Just a little thing I came up with after watching 'Truth or Consequences'. It is not very long.
It was her accent he noticed first. The one that snapped him out of his reverie. And then her smile. Slight but certain. But what caught his attention and held it were her eyes. They were hypnotic, enchanting. They had sparkled, twinkled with a wild, untamed mischief. They were the eyes that haunted his every dream and he searched for every waking minute. Of course, there was her hair; the tousled hair that curled to frame her tanned olive face, and her laugh; rough and loud and most definitely uncontrollable. He could hear that laugh even when she wasn't around. That laugh taunted him, teased him, and yet he eagerly pried an encore of the strange music whenever he could from her lips; not a difficult task if you knew what to say or do – much like an easily persuadable vending machine, you hit the right place and it gives you what you want. She was the longest female partner they had ever had. She was the longest female friend he had ever had, come to think of it, and by far the longest woman he had ever held any feelings for. She's asked him if he was jealous. Of course he was. Rivkin had played her and she just ignored him when he tried to warn her. Rivkin didn't deserve her love. He looked up at the garbled voice, tried to focus on McGee's face.
"Tony, do you think she's gonna be okay?" Tony stared at the junior agents face, still not registering the words. "Tony!"
"Hm?"
"Do you think Ziva will be alright?" Tim looked at him, the man he considered to be one of his closest friends. The fatigue was evident on his face as they sat at the bar. He still looked beaten up from their time in Somalia, taking longer to heal than he usually did.
"What we went through Probie was barely scraping the surface of what she went through. We were there for two days; she was there for months. God knows what he did to her to try and get her to talk." Tony's voice was monotone, flat as he stared through McGee, not seeing a face, just a jumble of features. "She'd resigned herself to a slow, painful death."
"It's how she stayed silent for so long." McGee nodded.
"She had no hope of getting out alive. Didn't expect to. Didn't want to." He emptied his glass and slammed it back on the bar, indicating to the bartender for another.
"You missed her, didn't you?" Tim looked at him.
"We all did, McGoo. We still do."
"You been to see her?"
"No." He placed money on the bar and slipped off of the stool. McGee followed suit, his gaze lingering on the untouched whisky the barman had just placed down before following his colleague out of the dimly lit bar into the more dimly lit street.
(For my reference) 7th NCIS fic.