Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
A/N: This isn't my first fanfic but it's my first NCIS attempt. This is un-betaed material so all mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy.
Parachute
Part One
The night begins in moonlight, with silver shadows and a soft lavender glow. There's a chill in the air and it's laced ever so gently with a scent that promises snow. Agents David and DiNozzo share a few square feet along the curb of a sleepy suburban street, tucked within the frigid confines of their standard issue mode of transportation. The barren limbs of a nearby oak tree give the duo shelter from the golden halo of lamplight emanating from the street corner some ten feet ahead of them.
This ridiculous excuse of a mission calls no cause for any intellectual conversation so there's no wonder issues no one wishes to address find their way to the top of the verbal food chain. Tony dangles many a theme before his partners mahogany gaze and although she refuses to bite, her ability to tune him out suffers greatly the later the hour becomes. There are times she's quite capable of shutting his voice out and almost forgetting he exists.
Unfortunately for them both, this just isn't one of those times.
Personal space and polite conversation have been kicked to the curb so the Charger holds the familiar heat of the smoldering stares which seem to be all the partners are willing to share. Unfortunate for them it's still not warm enough to keep the frost driven tremors at bay. Two hours in and Ziva has already restricted verbal communication to include only McGee. She snaps at him in regular intervals, into the cuff of her startlingly green coat, and only when it's pertaining to how obscene she finds her disposition. Any comment Tony makes is now regarded with her standard, hooded glare or is left to gather along the windows. And it's not long before his disregarded words are thick enough to form a void along the windshield.
While the silence she demands holds no malice, it's far from golden. Too many hours stacked upon one another, sharing air, nourishment and a so called purpose cause the roots of confrontation to find purchase and its flowering buds of tension to bloom. She finds herself wondering after an accurate method of silencing him that will not include bloodshed.
Gibbs would be pissed if she brought the car back sticky.
The houses along the block are all tucked into their yards, festive Christmas lights burning bright. Last week's blizzard left a thick layer of snow so the glistening crystals and colorful bulbs give the pretty street a fairytale feel. The partners watch one house in particular, the Cruella Devil of the Cul-de-sac, which rests deep within its fenced in yard across the street and one down. There are no decorations to speak of, no lights at all in any window. The situation has not changed since the sun set. And that was going on three hours ago.
And just as Tony opens his mouth, an obnoxious comment on his devilish tongue, Ziva slaps his shoulder with the back of her hand. Where it wasn't one of her more damaging blows, it silences him just the same because tonight it's her first venture into violence. And that scares him.
He knows she's never been one to seek comfort from another and it would seem nothing feeds the fire of her discomfort like his insistence to invade all things private. And it's only because she knows his hunger for knowledge has little to do with finding answers and more so with his need to clear his conscious that she lets him live. He always manages to find the right time and place to dredge up old feelings and it's usually when they're unarmed or her back is up against a wall.
Or the uncomfortable upholstery of the passenger seat.
Neither instance is a regular occurrence, so where she will admit she's infrequently faced with this aspect of Tony's mind, she'd much rather face a day of incessant movie references. Had any of these topics of conversation begun in the bullpen his life never would have reached this point. He knows he'd be bleeding, if not dead long ago.
Before he can muster up a complaint he feels the change in the air. She's gone completely still, her breaths are shallow and the back of her hand is still poised along his arm. When she does move it's to lift her wrist to her face.
"McGee, we've got movement. Back basement light just went on." It's a whisper but he's heard her.
"Hold your position." Its Gibbs voice that answers in their ears.
DiNozzo risks a glance in her direction and sees she's not any more thrilled with their most recent instructions then she was with the first. Her small yet stealthy fingers have already removed her seatbelt from its catch and are at the moment checking and rechecking her gun. He knows her well and the second she reaches for the handle on the door he does the same and follows her out into the frozen night. She rounds the hood to stand beside him, close enough for their breath to mingle and it's then for the first time she meets his eyes.
She raises her dark brows in question as she starts off toward the house. He checks his gun in response and takes off after her. He follows in her footfalls and marvels, even all these years later, after how stealthy she can be even in this crunchy snow.
"This sorta reminds me of a movie."
"You've shocked me, Tony." She throws the words over her shoulder in a mock whisper as they cross the yard beside their intended destination.
"1980 classic, Jack Nicholson, Shelley DuVall, Danny Lloyd."
"The Shining, yes?" He's silent and she knows it's coated in disbelief. There's a sneaky smile growing across her face but she won't turn and let him see. "I know it's been a while Tony, but I did not think you'd forget the first time we discussed that movie."
She can all but here the wheels turning in his head as he digs through memories and tries to bring her reference to the surface.
"Do not worry Tony, I understand. There's no room for anything else up there."
They jump the waist high fence and continue around the side yard. Under the cover of yet another family of barren trees they're far enough within the desolate yard to escape the parade of colorful holiday cheer. The shadow of night helps hide them from sight and if Tony holds his breath they don't make a sound. There's no movement anywhere. The trees, the air, even their breath clings in almost solid clouds before their ruddy faces and obscures their vision.
They've reached the house, the glowing basement light between them. Their frames melt into the dark cedar shingles as they share a glance. Tony nods in the affirmative so Ziva slides down and tries the grab sight of their intended target through the murky glass. Tony gives the yard a sweep and then his attention is returned to his partners bowed head. Her curls, like onyx in the night air are now dipped in the honey glow that's thrown across her face from below. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and her eyes sharp and fierce, like a lioness on the hunt. The combination causes a tug low in his gut. His mind wanders to places better left for lonely nights and rainy afternoons. He breathes in deep when she drags her lower lip into her mouth in concentration.
It's Gibbs who brings him back to earth.
"Talk to me." Gibb's famous gut must be tugging too because his voice is laced in annoyance or aggravation or perhaps both.
Ziva turns her face away from the light and her eyes slowly follow. Their lids dip slightly as her lips curve in what Tony has come to know as her sarcastic expression. But just as her hooded eyes meet his, they quickly go wide and shoot over his right shoulder and her face falls as her gun rises.
And then Tony's world goes black.