What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?
by channelD
written as: a gift for a friend
rating: K plus
genre: drama
pairing: McGiva! Cherish it; there may never be another one from me. Well, maybe one more.
Maybe it's just too early in the game,
Oh, but I thought you'd ask me, just the same:
What are you doing New Year's,
New Year's Eve?...
Maybe I'm crazy to suppose
That I could ever be the one you chose
Out of the thousand invitations
You'll receive…
It was almost 4 p.m. and the western sky was oranged by sunset when Tim arrived at NCIS. This was a weird feeling; starting his shift so late in the day. Holidays, though, tended to be weird, or at least off-balancing. And he had drawn the proverbial short straw for this one; having to work the second shift on New Year's Eve.
Gibbs nodded briefly to him as Tim took to his desk. Tony only chortled. Tony had worked the normal time today, and was eager to get going for his hot date tonight. She was an actress, a lead, even; in a touring company of Miracle on 34th Street, pre-Broadway. Gibbs—Gibbs would do whatever Gibbs did when he left work; probably work on his boat. And Ziva—where was Ziva? Maybe she'd left early. She rarely talked about her social life. (Who would; with Tony around to mock them?) Tim didn't doubt that she had a hot date of her own, and would be dancing in a slinky black dress somewhere fancy tonight.
"See you, McGee," said Gibbs as he and Tony rose to leave. "Happy New Year."
"Same to you, boss," Tim responded, and nodded to the still-grinning Tony. And then they left; leaving Tim alone, and feeling a little sorry for himself.
Tony's right. Most of my dates have been head cases, Tim thought with a sigh. I'm of the loser class; the people forever doomed, socially, to be stuck working the crap hours while my "betters" are out having fun. There was a saving grace in it, of course. By pretending it was just a normal eight hours at work, he avoided the likely sorry outcome to a date…or mini-relationship. What always seemed like a fun start with a cute girl inevitably turned to disaster-with-a-capital-DIS.
For awhile, everything was quiet in the squad room. Agents Rick Rumford and Supervisory Special Agent Klara Schultz were on the far side of the room, and he couldn't hear them. The room was so quiet, in fact, that for once he could hear the ticking of a wall clock as it clicked off the passing minutes. 511 ticks to go, and it'll be 12:30 and I'll be done… At least he didn't have to work on New Year's Day itself, other than that first half hour of the day. He could nap, walk Jethro, nap some more.
An indistinct voice from across the room. He focused on it before looking up. "…lines at the gas stations. Sorry. I can stay late if you want me to…"
It couldn't be…
"Ziva?" he said in surprise as she came to her desk and dropped her brown-bag dinner on it.
"Hello, McGee."
"What…are you doing here? I expected you'd…" No, not a good thing to say. It implied that whatever date plans she had for this big party night had crashed and burned.
"Expected I had? I did? I would? I do not understand English's fondness for contractions. They can have too many meanings."
"You weren't scheduled to be on this shift. I was just surprised."
"That new agent, Gomes, broke her leg skiing yesterday. I was called and asked to fill in on this shift." She sounded lost in thought.
Tim was still mulling all this over. "You should have called me. I'd have given you a ride in."
She only shrugged. "We get to do desk work, yes? Unless Klara needs us to go out?"
"That's what she said. I'm still writing up my report from the Cantelli case yesterday."
He was dying to ask her what plans she'd had for the night. But there was no graceful way of doing that. A beautiful woman like Ziva…she probably had invitations from a dozen handsome guys. Successful, normal guys; not geeks like me. Geeks aren't in her league. Bruce Wayne types; not the Peter Parkers of the world.
Not guys who use comic book characters to define archetypes.
She only nodded, and, after getting a bottle of water from the break room vending machine, busied herself in her work, as if he wasn't there.
Wow. She must really be angry about having to work tonight… Turning slightly away from her, he got back to his own work.
Tim didn't notice the passage of time until Schultz set a steaming plate of microwaved pizza pockets before him. It was 8 p.m. "Oh, thanks, Klara!"
The senior agent smiled and winked at him. "Can't have you daytimers dying of hunger on an unfamiliar shift." She went on to Ziva's desk with a similar plate.
Tim dug into the good, hot food eagerly, and almost jumped when Ziva spoke.
"You passed up a good date to work tonight, McGee? When you drew the, ah, 'short straw'?"
He blushed. "I…this schedule was set up over three weeks ago, remember? I hadn't, uh, made any plans…any definite plans…for tonight at that time."
"Ah." She returned to her work.
Why is it so easy for her to ask these questions, and so hard for me to?
I guess it's none of my business, but...
"I'm taking a break," Schultz said when she next came by. It was about five minutes until midnight. "Rick's going to want to watch the ball drop on Times Square, and I'll conveniently leave the room so I don't see him change the TV channel for that."
"Why doesn't he just bring it up online?" Tim said without thinking.
Klara rolled her eyes. "It's amazing the things I don't hear or see on holidays. Ten-minute break, folks."
Tim looked at Ziva. "You going to watch the countdown with Rick?" Rumford was already making a beeline for the TV on his side of the squad room.
"No, not really interested," she said. "I thought I would get some air."
"Want some company?"
She smiled just a little. "If you want to come."
They stood on the rooftop, on this not-too-chilly night. Distant horns could be heard, and whoops from the bars on 8th Street. People were welcoming in the New Year just as they did every year.
You didn't whoop and holler if you were all alone.
"Funny, all the effort people put into celebrating the turning of the clock's hands," Tim mused.
"Yes. Foolish, is it not?"
To Tim, Ziva still sounded subdued. Maybe coming up here was the wrong idea if she didn't want to be reminded of the day.
The door to the roof swung open. "Ah, there you two are," said Schultz. "You've only got 20 minutes left on your shift; come on back inside. You did ask for this, Ziva."
"We will be right there," called Ziva, earning an about-Gibbs-like, supervisory stern eye from Schultz, who nonetheless closed the door and went back inside.
"Wait," said Tim. "You asked for this shift, Ziva? You said…"
She looked away. "Well, after Gomes broke her leg, perhaps I did volunteer…"
"Why would you do that? What about your date?" Ooops, I said it.
"I did not have a date. I turned down a few invitations."
"I don't understand…"
"I…thought it would be nicer…to be here…since the one invitation I really wanted, I did not receive…"
Even socially-clumsy Tim was able to process this at lightning speed. "You worked tonight…because I'm working?"
"I wanted…to be with you. On New Year's Eve. Is that so bad?" Now she sounded scared and embarrassed.
He seized her and locked his lips over hers, as somewhere nearby fireworks went off, making glorious lights in the sky.
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night
Welcoming in the New Year,
New Year's eve?
-END -
disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.