Title: Bells and Whistles
Author: Morgan72uk
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I definitely shouldn't be doing this... sorry.
A/N - so, this isn't happy - not even close. If you are determined on a happy ending you could squint and decide he might do as she asks at the end. The title - well, its a holdover from when it was almost a happier story.
Bells and Whistles
She was beginning to think that they were going to have sex when the world was ending. And while she was in favour of seeking comfort in difficult times, she wasn't sure she'd ever intended to be the person he came to when he needed to lose himself. She understood that he felt safe enough to let her see him when the darkness and the shadows overwhelmed him. It was mutual – something they shared. But, every now and then it would be good to be with him when they had nothing to hide from, when they could afford to be relaxed and happy.
She knew patterns could be ever shifting, changeable - particularly when it came to the two of them. She just wasn't sure that they wanted the same thing out of whatever this was, that they were reading the same patterns.
The first time had been like good bourbon – heavy, bitter and only to be used when you wanted everything to be washed away.
She'd gone to him, against her better judgement, after a day spent repairing the relationships he'd damaged in his headlong pursuit of a killer. He'd offered a drink and somehow what should have been a rebuke had ending with her pushed back against his boat, skirt around her hips as he moved deep within her.
Afterwards she had been the one to offer the excuse that they'd both needed the release, that nothing between them had changed. They were still Director and Agent; still two people with more history than was good for them. When he'd seemed grateful that she was letting them off the hook she had told herself to chalk it up to experience, to just let it go.
Except that a few weeks later Ziva had strayed a little too close to the firing line and they'd spent hours at the hospital; keeping vigil, holding DiNozzo and McGee together as they struggled to come to terms with the knowledge that she wasn't indestructible after all.
But when the invalid been dispatched home, with Abby to keep an eye on her and the men to wait on her hand and foot; they'd found themselves alone together. And his car was still at the yard, whereas her security detail was on hand and anyway they were both too tired to drive themselves anywhere.
They didn't even make it to the bourbon. The need and anguish escalated into a frantic encounter on the couch, which didn't quite fill the ache inside her. Neither of them even attempted the post-mortem this time. She'd tugged him after her as she stumbled upstairs and collapsed into bed – leaving it up to him to decide whether he would be there when she woke up.
He wasn't.
And now here they were again. At the end of the case that had got just a little too personal and far too dangerous. Keeping the team safe had required her tactical skills as well as her diplomatic ones. When he'd shown up at her door she'd almost persuaded herself not to let him in. She was still angry at the risks he had taken, still irritated that he had assumed she would clear his path and not for a single moment thought about what it might cost her to do so.
It was madness not to send him on his way after she'd given him a piece of her mind. Except that instead of throwing him out she'd kissed him and this time it wasn't like bourbon, but more like vodka – sharp and strong, with no taste of its own. And even though they'd actually made it to bed this time she wasn't sure that she was the one he was making love to.
But now it was Sunday morning and if the gray light creeping in through the blinds was any indication, it was still early. Though she had things to do she wasn't feeling particularly inclined to start doing any of them and, apparently she wasn't the only one.
His hand slid over her hip, stroking up and down her thigh before sliding between her legs. She shifted, giving him better access and felt him smile against her shoulder as he stroked her.
"Let go," he breathed against her ear and she obeyed, letting the release wash over her. She would have turned then, but his palm against her shoulder blades kept her in place. "You still like this?" he asked sliding deep into her. It was hardly a question that she needed to answer – her low moan was response enough. His lips found her neck, her ear lobe and when she twisted her head he kissed her, long and slow - mimicking their movements.
The build up was gradual and languid – the angle perfect. She could feel his heart beating against her back, hear the rasp of his breathing against her shoulder – was surprised when she realised how close he was as well. He clasped her hand with his, bit her shoulder gently and then they were there – together, in a slow rush that filled her with contentment.
She loved the feeling of warmth she got from his body stretched above hers, missed it when he rolled away onto his back. She curled up into a ball and blinked tears away – because that had been just too intimate and she couldn't keep doing this.
"I need coffee," she said – slipping out of bed and stepping over his clothes, discarded in their hurried progress to her bed. She resisted the urge to pull something of his on and instead reached for her robe.
She was leaning on the counter, lost in thought, watching the coffee brew when he joined her – dressed, clearly ready to be on his way. She might have just let him leave, if only he hadn't made love to her like that, hadn't invoked the ghosts of their past. She didn't want to argue; didn't want to do anything but go back to bed and sleep in sheets that didn't smell of their intimacy.
"We can't keep doing this," he looked surprised, stopping in the act of pouring himself a coffee when she spoke. "Well, I'm sure we can – but I don't want to. I'm stopping it – now."
"Jen?" he was confused and she choked back a sob or possibly a laugh – because he had no idea what she hated about this situation. Which pretty much proved her point.
"I'm not interested in a series of one night stands when it all gets too much for us."
"You weren't complaining a few minutes ago,"
"No, I wasn't." As painful as it was to admit that, the way he had just made love to her was the only thing giving her any hope that somewhere, deep inside, he wanted more from this as well – even if he wouldn't admit it.
"I don't understand."
"If I just wanted meaningless sex every now and then Jethro – I wouldn't chose you as my partner and you wouldn't chose me. I deserve more than that, I need more than that."
"I'm too old for a house in the suburbs, a dog and a couple of kids Jen." He sounded irritated now – but she'd gone too far to stop.
"And I'm too old to be the person you sleep with when you don't want to sleep on your own."
"That's not what this is!" His anger surprised her, she wondered what had prompted it – thought it unlikely that he would tell her.
"Then what is this?"
"I don't know." His voice was quiet and she could feel the pain in it. She almost gave in, almost told him that it was OK, that it didn't matter. But she knew that it did, that nothing would change – unless she pushed him out of his comfort zone.
She'd watched him do this to Hollis, watched him keep her at arms length until she'd realised for herself that he was never going to be able to give her whatever it was she wanted from their relationship.
"You need to figure out what you want, whether you can give me what I want – whether you're prepared to try."
There were already too many secrets between them, too much darkness and betrayal. She couldn't be with him and not have it mean nothing and she couldn't be the only one it meant something to – her sense of self-preservation wouldn't allow that.
The sound of the front door opening and closing roused her. Finding herself alone in her kitchen she wrapped an arm around her waist – knowing that she needed the comfort. It was almost as though he'd never been there. She supposed she had her answer.
The End