Title: Brothers and Sister
Summary: "She says you're like a brother to her." A series of events describing why Ziva thinks of Tony as a brother and general family feelings in the team.
Pairings: Tony/Ziva; McGee/Ziva (friendship); McGee/Tony (friendship)
Rating: T
Wordcount:1,864
Author's Note: I got inspired by my wonderful co-workers who annoy me to no end and yet they make me laugh until I cry every single day. Just my thoughts around what Ray said to Tony. I own nothing.
Brothers and Sister
01. Tony
"She says you're like a brother to her."
Of course she does. Why shouldn't she?
Tony thinks of all the things that Ziva is to him and that sister isn't on the list but he'd better make room for it. But it isn't easy when he remembers what she felt like under him –warm soft skin, snaking around her legs and stretching over her tibia bone, and hooking her hips around his and pressing her tongue into his mouth- that one time. She'd tasted like any girl under covers and he wonders why he didn't savour the moment.
He fucks a girl the same night he finds out he has a sister he never knew of just because. Her name is Johanna and she has bitter wine breath and gap teeth with cherry lipstick around and definitely doesn't think of him as a brother in the way she slides on him –slow and slopping wet- and moves at a fast pace he has trouble keeping up with.
Her spine is bumpy like there are tiny valleys in her skin and he traces it with one finger. Up and down he goes; to the sweaty dark (fake) base of her hair and then down and down over the soft curve of her ass and slipping into her. It doesn't even feel that good and she grips the sheets until they wrinkle and she's a bit loud for his taste -and then he remembers that Ziva is a notorious screamer- so he just pulls out and weaves an arm around her waist.
At work everything stays the same. He is oh so very brotherly toward her; laughs and jokes and pushes just because he can. Sometimes she glances at him a bit wondering, like he's different than usual. He tells her about Johanna and she just shakes her head as always and McGee just sighs, too and Tony asks him if he got lucky but he doesn't answer. He wants to ask Ziva about her night with C-I-Ray but doesn't because some answers are better left non-uttered.
He wonders if she said it to him like this:
"Tony is like a brother to me."
Or this.
"He is like a brother to me."
Hefeels so impersonal and he wonders if she said it naked or dressed; drunk or sober; serious or laughing -fitting his name between her smiles- or just said it like this with a sigh: "oh that Tony. He's just like a big brother. Like Ari, you know."
At night he wakes up at 3 AM and his head is just filled to the brim with her; arcs in the chambers of her hips and long coal hair stretching and stretching down like a child's; and he can't stand it, he can't fucking stand it. So it just happens. It's easy because he's hard and the covers are warm and he just fucking wants to. It doesn't really take long at all, really, and he doesn't even make that much noise (maybe a groan) because warm sheets is nothing, nothing compared to skin and flesh.
After, when he wipes the result of his thoughts off of his lower belly, he wishes so desperately that she saw him as someone else; someone less disgusting and less funny and less as a fucking brother and he wonders if being born an only child has totally fucked up his view on normal sibling relationships.
02. McGee
When McGee lies on the damp floor in Somalia and inhales the dirt and warmth that sits like a heavy, damp weight on his chest and wonders if something might be broken in his lower right arm, he realizes that ten years ago, he never would have imagined himself in this situation. Bruises bloom on his body like weed and he is a far, far way from a computer.
He wonders if it's worth it.
He never handled change well. When Kate died, it left a gap in the team he couldn't fill, even though he wanted to. He also hadn't been there, like Tony and Gibbs. Seen it happen; have her splattered over his face. He was glad for it; but it only stretched distance like a jelly string between him and them.
When Ziva left, it also left a gap he couldn't fill; even though it was years later he still felt like the outsider. He could just see how Tony probably would have preferred it was him who had left the team and not Ziva. It stung.
But, then, something else changed. It was like Ziva's absence brought McGee and Tony together and perhaps it was because now they only had each other or because they wanted to fill that breach that hung in threads in their minds or because they just shared this understanding that came in the form of a ghost the shape of Ziva; but everything got easier.
So when Tony says that something is wrong because they haven't heard from Ziva, McGee doesn't believe him but there's this urgency in his voice that makes him realize that it's not a joke. And a non-joke from Tony is something rare and heavy so McGee just decides to help him.
He wonders if it's worth it –both him and Tony possibly dying- for a ghost that clings to their minds.
But when their capturers leave and he can open his eyes look; really look; and realize that it is her that sits there on the chair; red dust-flakes catching in her long hair and her mouth forming a cracked tiny 'o' (and the complete and utter and naked relief that floods Tony's face); is the moment he feels ashamed for even thinking whether or not it's worth it. Of course it is. Of course it is. They are a team.
So when Ziva asks him if he is alright he doesn't need truth serum do be as honest as you can only be when you lie on a damp floor and inhale dirt and realize that there is no going back; some changes and ghosts are permanent but some just take the most unexpected turns and end up in solid flesh and bone.
"I'm just glad you're alive."
03. Gibbs
Gibbs has this routine:
When he gets home from work he takes of his shoes, grabs a beer from the fridge and sits down on the couch. Sometimes, he peels the damp label of the bottle or turns on the radio or reads the paper. He always talks to them.
Sometimes it's just one word; other days it's a few sentences and once in a while he tells them stories. Kelly and Shannon. Forever frozen in their photograph that hangs on his wall. His family, held up by nails.
They don't answer of course; and it's been years and years since he screamed at them in frustration for never moving; but it's nice. Just talking, telling them what he does in the days. They are still a part of it all, even though they aren't.
Today he tells them what he did at work today. How many cups of coffee he had. About Tony being annoying and talking too loud and not focusing enough on his work. About Ziva teasing Tony that ended up in a fight that gave him a headache and McGee speaking in terms that were -put simply- not fucking English.
He isn't lonely, really. Doesn't see himself as needing someone else. It's difficult, getting attached to something or someone and then having it ripped from you; too fast to even leave an even scar. It always bleeds at the torn edges.
He doesn't have time to have someone else in his life. He has three agents to teach and guide and yell at and make sure they grow up properly.
He wonders if Tony will ever entirely drop the jokes that create the façade he keeps up; shadowing that rare side that you earn to see, like a ticket to an expensive attraction in an amusement park; or if Ziva will ever realize how truly different she is from her brother; or if McGee will ever throw someone a real punch that leaves him with more than just bruises.
Probably not. But just maybe. And it's that maybe that leaves him with more stories to tell and more complaints to vent and more rare admiration to show when he gets home to his never-changing, always-listening other family while he peels a different damp label off of a different beer bottle on a different day.
04. Ziva
Ziva realizes she talks way too much about her work when she's outside of it. She lies in bed with Ray –still nicely sore between her legs- and talks about something dumb Tony said about McGee yesterday.
Ray smiles and leans to kiss her naked shoulder.
"What are they like? DiNozzo? McGee? Gibbs?"
She thinks of all the million things she could say to describe Tony –funny, kind, different, annoying, idiotic, attractive- but none of them would come out right. She thinks of McGee, who no one would really understand unless they met him in person. She thinks of Gibbs, whose trust she earned and lost and gained.
She thinks of how they all went to Somalia even though they didn't have to; especially after what she had done. How they risked their lives for her. That is not something that co-workers do, nor is it friendship, really. It's something strong and deep and indescribable. It's kinship.
So she just waves her hand a little and turns on her side so her back is pressed into the curve of his torso.
"Oh you know. They're like brothers."