Not sure how I feel about this, but it was running through my mind way too much today and HAD to come out. Please tell me what this story needed to be better! I feel it's a bit...weird...I might even re-write it! :)
-Alivia
Grease seeped through the cheap cardboard box he held, staining the leg of his new jeans. He fumbles for a napkin in the side compartment and mutters a curse or two, because this just had to happen right now.
To say his day had been off would be the understatement of the century.
First, his alarm clock had been finicky, and he'd had to take a three minute shower instead of the usual ten. The water had ended up being frigid.
The woman in front of him had decided that she needed to buy everyone in her department a morning coffee because she just felt giving today. He'd forgotten the beverage was hot, and had burned his tongue.
All this deserved a nice slap to the back of the head when he did finally arrive at work, nearly twenty minutes late. To think they didn't even have a case yet.
Ziva had sat there like she didn't notice him, and it stung a bit because the realization finally came that she never teased him like she used to. McGee offered his own version of a taunt, but it would be a weak one, because that was just Probie.
He expects for things to get better once they get a case, but they continue to go down hill.
Those new jeans get a nice rip in the bottom because his edge gets caught on a tree branch, and he gets a nasty scratch from that, which stings. He turns down ointment from Ducky, though, because he doesn't want to seem like that much of a weeny.
Abby doesn't talk about much besides the case, and he doesn't remember what he's done to tick her off. Ziva only makes a few side bar comments and the fact makes his gut twist in really funny ways. But since when does he need her attention? Her approval?
Her companionship?
Tony stops himself there, because he knows he can't let it go that far. Michael Rivkin was enough to make him realize she needs stability. Stability he can't give her.
Then, though, holding a full box of pizza in the parking lot of the old take-out place, it really hits him. What the hell is stability, anyway?
The car is thrown into gear just as a railroad of thoughts blow through him, and he quickly realizes he doesn't really know what the hell he's doing.
Comprehending only that he's heading towards Ziva's apartment, and he's gonna fix this. Right now. Before it's too late. Because next time it might not be 'almost', however the cliche resounds strangely throughout his mind.
He's certain he cares for her; and that has to be enough.
Driving to her place of resident had been the easiest thing he'd ever done.
The carpet in the hallway is a dark red, and there are hardly any stains. It's a nice apartment complex, and there is hardly any trashy people that he passes on his way up to her door. A thought occurs to him; that it's nearly eleven and many people are asleep. He doesn't believe she will be, for a reason he can't place.
He stops; just before the wooden door at the end of the hall marked in black lettering. Tony takes a few deep breaths and leans against the wall, pizza box still in hand, because he's trying so hard to justify these random actions. What will he say?
They used to get together like this; before. Before Michael and before Somalia. Back when Gibbs was gone and all they had were nights like these. He'd bring the pizza and she'd have the beer. His shoulders feel tight as he realizes that this may be an unwelcome course of events for her. That she may not want to bring up the past.
But he knows he does; so he knocks on her door.
Fantasy is a twisted thing.
In his fantasy; she opens up immediately, smiling, albeit a bit confusedly, inviting him in because she is his partner. She's always read him like a book.
Reality is like a breath of cold air, seeping into your lungs and burning your windpipe. Reality is blunt and unforgiving, and you must always remember that reality is what really happens.
She didn't open the door immediately, but he can hear her bustling about on the other side of the wood, making him arch an eyebrow.
When the door opens, it's slowly, and she only peeks her head out.
She covers everything but her head because she's only wearing a white robe.
Her hair is mussed, her eyes unfocused. There was a half-smile on her face at first, and now there is but a firm line and wide eyes as she figures out just who had come to visit her at such an ungodly hour. She doesn't know what to say.
He doesn't, either, as he shifts the pizza box in his hand and his heart breaks a little.
The smell of sweat and sweetness and sex practically wafts off of her. It makes him nauseous, or maybe it's the lack of food in his stomach, he isn't sure.
"Tony," she whispers, though it's barely audible, because her lips barely part.
He was always able to read her so well, so he knows her eyes are expressive. She looks like she wants to ask him what he's doing here at her apartment, but she doesn't.
Ziva suddenly looks to the food in his hand, and her eyes grow wide with almost horror. Sadness, mixed in. He tenses even more, because he doesn't want her pity.
Tony then realizes they've been standing there for nearly a minute, and they've still said nothing. Her hair is down, curly in a way that he's always thought sexy. Now he just wants to forget he's even seen her.
It's when he's turned around and taken three steps that he hears the voice of the man who's almost destroyed everything. He was so close to making a break for it, too.
"Hey."
Tony freezes, and the cardboard bends a little with the grip his fingers hold on it.
He turns around because he has to.
"Hi."
The words are detached, because that's all that can force from his lips right now.
Ray is everything he was cracked up to be.
A dark fringe of hair and deep brown eyes, a youthful face. Her wears a robe as well but Tony can look numbly upon the hard planes of his chest. Suddenly, the slight lines around his eyes seem to magnify, weighing him down, and he remembers that Ziva and this man are closer in age then Ziva and he will ever be.
He shifts awkwardly and tries to cover the stain on his pants with his thumb. He feels tired, and dirty. And unworthy.
Pathetic.
Tony DiNozzo was always the best at facades, though, so he puts on that winning grin because it's all he has left.
"I was just leaving."
Ray doesn't say anything else, and Ziva doesn't either, so he turns and leaves again.
He throws the box of pizza away in a nearby trash can and attempts to think of other things besides his bitter heart.
Getting back into the car, he ignores the ringing of his phone and the called I.D. of Ziva. The silver device gives him an idea, though.
The sole hope he hasn't had all night. Maybe he could call EJ.
Maybe he could forget about Ziva, if only for tonight, because she seems to be so good at forgetting about him.
Oh, the hidden talents we possess.