A/N: Hey guys. Sorry that I haven't updated in a long time... I'm a lazy idiot who's also struggling with writers block most of the time (which is a lot of fun *sarcasm*, especially when you're still dreaming of becoming a professional writer)...
I thought I needed to write something again :D
Poison.
The whole room was moving around him. His boat had turned into a bundle of waves and the steps that lead out of his basement seemed bigger than they were. Jethro was trying to walk upstairs but he stumbled forward, missing the first step by only an inch. He decided to sit down on the second step instead of trying to get up at all. Well, he didn't have much of a choice – even the floor had become his enemy, as it appeared to have turned into lava.
Dinozzo had given every team member a bottle of - something - last Christmas. Of course he had added: 'Be careful not to drink too much of this stuff. I think it's illegal... at least it smells like it should be. But I heard it's supposed to be amazing!' Gibbs should never have trusted Tony. Two glasses of the stuff and he had begun to see colorful dots in the air. Another glass later, well, he couldn't even get up the stairs anymore.
The night started innocent enough. He had just come home from one of the easier cases that hadn't gotten to him too much. However, 'easy' always gave him too much time to watch his Ziver. That was, of course, not a good thing as it gave him all these tingly feelings he really shouldn't be having about one of his agents. 'Tingly' was actually quite a fitting word for his current emotional state – a word Abby had used more frequently lately, ever since she had started dating McGee. It had been hard enough for Jethro to accept the whole McAbby relationship – as Tony called it – seeing as rule number 12 was one of his most important rules. However, actually dating one of his own team members himself would have been a whole different matter.
Ziva David was young, beautiful and way out of Jethro's league, or so he thought. She could have any man she desired and most women would probably go for her too. Why on earth would she ever like a man like him?! He shouldn't even be thinking about the possibility that she might feel the same way – that would only lead to further contemplation of the necessity of rule number 12. There was no way. They were colleagues. Even if they both felt the same way, it would be wrong. It would complicate everything.
Vance would probably split them up on different teams – again. Even if the director let them work together, their whole balance would be ruined. Jethro would not only be Ziva's boss, but also her lover, her companion, her man. It would be difficult for him to let her go on dangerous assignments, or even less dangerous ones, since there was always a chance that something might happen to her.
Besides the obvious complications that might arise from a relationship between colleagues, Jethro was well aware of the fact that just the simple attraction between two agents could complicate matters extremely. There were days when he couldn't even spend an hour without imagining her as his girlfriend. Yes, girlfriend. He sometimes felt like a teenager for even thinking that word. Then again, paired with the whole 'tingly feeling' thing, it might actually fit his emotions quite nicely. There were also days where he wouldn't even dare look at her for a second, even though everyone knew he had a habit of staring people down with that intimidating Gibbs-stare of his. He wondered if she had noticed that. If she knew what was going on with him. She was, after all, quite skilled in the art of reading people.
But all these things didn't matter at this point. He was still sitting on the second step of the stairs leading out of his basement, drunk on – something. What was the name of the stuff again? He couldn't remember. Maybe if he actually made it out of his basement until Monday, he could have McGee do that thing he does on the computer. That thing where he just searches for stuff and gets the answer right away. That doodle-thing, no wait, goodle... or doogle... or something. It didn't matter. For the first time in months he had other problems than his inappropriate attraction to his sexy little Israeli beauty. The whole room seemed to be turning into a mixture of wavy things and butterflies that turned into waterfalls of coffee every now and then. And of course there were a pair of legs dangling from his work bench – wait – there was Ziva, sitting on his work bench, dangling her feet over the edge. With a highly annoyed eye-roll, Leroy Jethro Gibbs realized that even the weirdest kind of poisonous alcoholic beverage couldn't keep him from thinking of his perfect woman.
The End or TBC?!
A/N: Should I continue this?! I mean, for some reason I think that I could make Ziva drink that stuff, too, and maybe she'd end up at Gibbs' place or something... ugh... I don't know... I just wanted to write again :D
If you find any grammar mistakes or, you know, any mistakes at all (which you will, since my English still feels like crap and I've had like three glasses of wine tonight...), just tell me in form of a review or a PN...
Also: Please tell me if you liked it or not and if I should write more, or leave it like this :D