A short little piece for you. May turn into a series of drabbles about tea time with Ziva and Gibbs, depending on how it's received. Meant to be more of a post-Somalia piece, but if you squint, it could fit the Engaged I/II bit.
Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim any and all rights to NCIS.
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After they'd gotten off that carrier, he'd be damned if he was going to let her deal with it alone.
But, as he regarded the woman sitting at his kitchen table, he wasn't quite sure how to fix what was broken. Hollow eyes followed his every move. She made sure to maintain a slight distance between them. She wasn't afraid, no, she still wasn't afraid of anything, but he could see her trying to bury it, against everything he had said.
Mossad coping techniques were a rough habit to break, from what he could see.
So, when he sat down at the table across from her, a cup of tea in his hand, he was surprised to see that she eyed it expectantly. Usually, he'd slide it across the table on the little saucer, but this time, he didn't. Instead, he leveled her hollow eyes with a gaze of his own.
"Outta coffee. If ya want tea, it's on the stove."
The look of curiosity changed to that of amusement as she watched him take a sip.
"You expecting the would to end, David?"
The smile on her face was infectious as she stood to fix herself a cup.
Things would be okay.