Disclaimer. Need I disclaim that I do not own these characters and I am merely borrowing them to make the dance across the page? Probably. Ok. I don't own them. Sad but true.
Thanks to all those who've reviewed and put me on author alert.
Yes. I am finishing up 'Unfaithful,' but this wanted to come out first. Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans.
Many thanks to sheepatetheflower for getting me to write again, and for betaing it all.
This is the First Chapter of a Two Parter.
Thanks to all, stjeannedluz
Tabula Rasa
"You look a little green around the gills," Tony says as the plane screeches off into the sky.
"I do not have gills."
"I mean you look like you're going to be sick."
"Oh. I do not like take off and landing. They are considerably better on passenger plane though."
"It'll be fine." He smiles at her. The past pushes through to the present for a moment and he reminds himself that she's alive and well and sitting next to him. She's not on the floor of a military transport flopping around like a rag doll during hours of turbulence.
It's the first time he's thought about it their last flight together in a months. It had taken some work to compartmentalize the image of her battered and crusty body stretched out over a woolen army green blanket.
For the first leg of the flight out of Somalia he'd sat on the floor next to her, propping her up every few minutes for McGee to tip a bottle of water to her lips. They'd been acutely short of any other supplies to help her. They hadn't expected to bring her back.
She'd stared at them, her gaze wide and unfocused until the light faded from her eyes and her eyelids lulled shut. He took the opportunity empty his stomach as quietly as possible. He was afraid to let her see it. He was beyond caring if the rest of the team did.
When they started to land, she roused, her eyes wild. He'd tried to talk to her, but nothing came out.
It was McGee whose reassuringly steady voice pierced her post rescue haze. Her eyes snapped back into focus. "Hey."
Tony hadn't been able to say anything.
Again it was McGee who managed to find his voice. "Hey yourself Ziva. I'm glad we got you back."."
Her lips tugged up in a wan smile. "I want to get up."
Tony had wanted to tell her to lie still but when she lifted her arms up to him he'd half pulled her into his lap. She'd placed her head on his shoulder and passed out, snoring softly. "She's really sound asleep when she does this," he said. It was more than he'd ever meant to share about their past together. Still, the cat was almost definitely out of the bag. McGee had heard everything in interrogation. And both he and Gibbs were smart enough to read between the lines on this one.
"You know you don't have to say anything," McGee said. "She's safe. She happy. It's what counts."
He nodded a silent Thank You. He still couldn't talk.
X
He pulls back into the much more pleasant reality of now. "I'm not a fan of hopping the pond either. But this is different," he says. It's the closest he's ever gotten of bringing up the subject.
She just smiles, a little sadly.
As soon as they've leveled out in the air she gets her color back. "Make sure you drink enough water. Dehydration plays a big role in jet lag," she says.
"Noted."
She curls up in the fetal position, her legs on the empty seat beside them. Her head rests in his lap. "Wake me up in an hour. We can take turns. Safer that way." She breathes out a contented sigh he's only heard in her sleep during one summer a lifetime ago.
"S'okay. Too excited to sleep," he says.
"You still should. "Now's the time. I've got your back. You've got mine."
"Okay. An hour," he lies.
The presence of her unattended purse left on the seat is taunting. He debates the wisdom of snooping in it until temptation wins out. The flight attendants are pushing the elbow-bashing silver cart down the aisle when he finally gets up the nerve to peer into it. It's now or never. She's sure to wake when the cart laden with cafeteria-style lunches squeaks to a stop by their seats.
He peers in and bites back a laugh. There's just something special about being the only person on earth who knows she packs lipstick, eyeliner and mascara alongside a side arm and granola bar.
X
A horrific imitation of a French accent jars her from her sleep. She wakes to find she's been drooling in his lap and he's complaining to the flight attendants. "Time is it?" she asks.
"Don't know. Somewhere over the Atlantic?"
Her eyes roll.
"Keep that up and your eyes are gonna fall right out of your head."
"Ha," she says.
"You're cute when you drool you know."
He's baiting her and she knows it. She opens her purse. "Want something to eat?"
"Don't they take care of that on the flight?"
"If you can call it food."
He picks at his food when it arrives. Hers is largely untouched.
She looks drained, like someone hit the off switch on the woman who seemed to never need to eat or sleep.
"Why don't you go back to sleep?" he says.
"It's your turn."
"As much as I appreciate your newfound ability to share Zee-vah. I'm the boss here. Go back to sleep."
She rolls her eyes again and she surprises the hell out of him by following what in effect is a direct order. Then again, she might not be sleeping. The way she's got her head nuzzled-no nuzzling- in his lap he certain they're about to get an unannounced moment of PDA on his part. It's not something he wants to experience on an airplane. Not in public anyways
An hour later she wakes. It both annoys and relieves him.
"I have to pee," she says sweetly.
Thank goodness. Kryptonite.
X
The hotel desk clerk is an older woman in a navy blue dress.
"Good Evening Madame DiNozzo."
"Good Evening." Ziva doesn't correct the woman. Tony's staring at the ornate ceiling and it's not like he can understand her. Any dispute will make him ask questions and she's not in the mood to be teased about it.
The room is a first floor walk up created out of a century old residence. It's a tiny little affair that affords a spectacular view of the city through a floor to ceiling window that is bisected by a wrought iron grille.
"This is a double bed? It seems smaller- I don't think I've ever slept on anything that small." He wrinkles his nose.
"They usually have smaller dimensions in Europe. You have to get through much smaller spaces."
"It looks like a doll bed."
"It looks considerably more comfortable than many things I have slept on."
He grins. He's taking the lack of argument over possession of the bed as a nonverbal statement that they will share. Either that, or she was silently plotting his demise, although she seemed to have grown out of the 'DIE' phase.
"Still kick box in your sleep Zee-vah?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." She swings her suitcase up on the stand and extracts her toiletry kit with surgical precision. "I'm taking a shower."
The tiny white hexagonal tiles are cold under her feet She pauses for a heartbeat, her hand still on the doorknob. She only debates her own wisdom for a second, before pushing the door open, in an open invitation for him to investigate. Provoking Tony is always a good way to gauge the temperature of the waters and she's not sure of what they are supposed to do now that they're alone.
She's starting to wonder if he's going to take the bait when she hears him slip into the room. He's lounging against the wall in a way she can only describe as 'slouching provocatively.' She's probably going to lose the upper hand soon. Time to act fast. "Do you want get something to eat? I'm hungry."
"Oh. Me too," he grins. He's a wolf in a flight-wrinkled suit.
No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes? "Like I haven't heard that one."
"It's classic. Mrs. DiNozzo."
She drops the shower wand into the curtainless tub and grabs her bar of soap, lobbing it with just enough ferocity to thud on the doorjamb.
"Missed me."
"On purpose."
He slinks out of the bathroom and she hurries to finish the shower she didn't really need in the first place.
X
Tony doesn't have to turn around to know she's standing right behind him.
He freezes, a pair of her white cotton boy shorts in his guilty hands. He's set a pair of black pants, a black tank top and a thin green sweater on the bed. No bra though. He knows she never bothers. He likes it that way.
She gives him the curved lip smirk, the come on smile, and snatches them from his hands. Her eyes flit south. "Careful. You're going to put an eye out with that thing."
"Your fault." "
"There's a café down the street," she says as she slips into her underwear.
"Café in Paris." Smirk. "And it's close to our room."
"Our?' she asks. "You are very sure of yourself."
"At the moment, yes."
"That makes one of us." She pulls her sweater over her tank top. "You can blink now."
X
They eat in smiling silence. Her face is gentle with wide-eyed wonder for a moment when she looks out to the street. It would be the perfect picture. But his camera is still in the room and she'd probably whack him in the eye with it anyway. There's always later.
She fills her glass with red wine for the second time. He hasn't touched his.
"I'm ok if you do." She says.
Permission or an order it doesn't matter. She's caught on to the fact he hasn't had anything to drink since she greeted him as agent afloat with the blunt knowledge that was on the edge of not knowing when to say when. "One's fine then. More for you if you want it."
She tips back her glass. "C'est la vie."
He knows it has a literal translation but with her it sounds like Screw it. I'm in Paris. Shoot anyone who sneaks up on me.
The check is way over budget and he picks up the slack.
Ziva's face is turned down, lips and eyes smiling up at him when she kisses him on the cheek. "Thank you."
"Agency paid for most of it."
"I was talking about the company." Her voice is pitched low, and he almost has to strain to hear it. "But thank you for that too."
Damn. If it was a date no one told him. "Welcome."
She nods. She looks like she's steeling herself for something. If she says anything like 'marry me," he's going to drop dead in his chair.
"Can we…talk…in our room?"
Oh. That sounds worse. He'll just drop dead in the room.
"Sure thing Mrs. DiNozzo…" It's too good to pass up. He wonders how many times he'll be able to needle her with it before she goes ballistic.
"Knock it off. Or I'll knock it off for you."
Probably it was best to drop the needling.
Anxiety pulsed through his veins as they made their way back to their room.
