Warning: Contains spoilers for season 6.
Anyway, this is Tony's reflection of Ziva post-Aliyah, yet there is no 'rescuing Ziva' in this fic.
Enjoy!
Note: I LOVE the caramel latte from Gloria Jeans (sorta like Starbucks, but in Aussie)
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS
Tony DiNozzo swirled the dark mixture around and around, watching the white liquid integrate with the brown, the chocolate powder melting onto the white, creating a beautiful palette of depressing colours.
He tipped a whole sachet of raw brown sugar carelessly into the mixture, before continuing his stirring ritual. If he hadn't any pride, he might have banged his head repeatedly on the chestnut table of the coffee shop, until he could stop thinking about her.
He took a careful sip of the steaming brew, scalding his tongue slightly. It was perfect, sweet, yet he could taste the bitter hint of flavour behind the mask of sugar. He stared at the coffee for a few moments, his mind devoid of thought, isolated and cold. He took another mechanical sip, savouring the hint of caramel and the bitter bite.
The coffee represented how he felt exactly. Bittersweet. His life was bittersweet. She was bittersweet.
Tony poured another sachet of raw sugar in, wanting to rid the bittersweet taste. But he couldn't. There was always the hint of bitterness, if he didn't want bitterness, he shouldn't have bought coffee.
His whole partnership with her was sweet and bitter. They had their ups and downs, but the previous two years had mainly just been bitter. He was secretive for a year, she was secretive for a year. He loved Jeanne, she loved Rivkin. It was like déjà vu.
This year had been particularly bitter. She had talked in a damn foreign language, for goodness sake! He took rudimentary Hebrew classes to try to keep up with her, but was unsuccessful, really. He had discovered her meeting with Rivkin, and had been able to confront the bastard, but what good did that do? It only soured her opinion of him, and drove the wedge further between them.
Another sachet of sugar. The guy in the other booth was looking at him weirdly.
When he shot Rivkin, she had been devastated. He tried to tell he was trying to protect her, but she had just sneeringly answered that she didn't need protection. Such a bitter response. He just didn't want what happened to him to happen to her. When they had gone to Tel Aviv, she had been so distant, and at one point, put a gun to his chest.
Sugar.
Think of the sweet parts of her.
He loved it when she laughed, a thing she hadn't done much over the last year, unless it was mirthless laughter or when she was talking to Rivkin.
He loved it when she smiled at him, her eyes blazing. This would usually cause him to forget what he was saying, and start spluttering like McGeek.
He loved to tease her, call her endearing nicknames like 'Zee', and loved to goad her English skills, especially when she slipped up on the finer parts of the language, the idioms. He swore she did some of them on purpose sometimes just to make him feel better.
He loved being near her, and the tension they often shared. The little innuendos he would drop and she would reply back with. He loved her flirty nature, and her quick changes in mood, from chirpy to serious.
And even though he wouldn't admit it, he loved it when she intimidated him, when she skulked around him like a ninja should, and threatened to use her precious box of precise, silver paperclips on him. It made him feel…..special.
He smiled slightly. The guy in the next booth must have seriously thought he needed mental rehab. Maybe he did need some help.
Yet the smile was wiped off his face and replaced with a frown. He would probably never see the things he loved about her again. The sugary sweetness behind her bitter, 'tough girl' masks.
Maybe it was better for both of them that she left. Maybe it was better for both of them, because they could start afresh.
No, he couldn't think of that.
Tony took a sip, and cringed at the excessively sweet taste of the coffee. He saw that the sachets of sugar in the brown cup were quite depleted. Empty paper sachets were scattered over the table, and a few grains of unused sugar resided near them.
He dumped the coffee into the bin. Maybe it really was time to let go. Start again.
He hesitated. He turned around and walked up straight to the counter.
"I'd like a caramel latte, please. Small."
Start afresh…maybe, but he couldn't let go. She was his caffeine. And he couldn't live without it.
Love to hear your thoughts!