A/N: Just trying something out. I don't usually do stories in present tense and I won't make a habit of it. I was just hit with this idea when I took a break from Angry Birds.
Gibbs' POV, but Tony/Ziva all the way. Not 100 per cent happy, but hopeful.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
He's not used to seeing them like this.
His senior field agent and Mossad-trained probie have been playing with each other since day one, teasing and goading and daring each other to be the one to take it further. Their toes have strayed over the line so many times that there are permanent scuff marks on the floor, and Gibbs wonders if they remember there was ever a line there to begin with.
He's used to seeing Tony pull her hair before running away giggling. Used to seeing Ziva encroach on his personal space until he stumbles away in a daze. Their parry and retreat is as much a part of their daily routine as breakfast cereal and coffee runs.
But this...
They obviously don't know that he's watching. If they knew there was a friend in their audience of strangers at the bar they would keep a yardstick between them. Perhaps only until the moment one of them turned the stick into a weapon and smacked the other over the head with it. Par for the course for them. Or maybe not.
Because the only thing touching Tony's head now is Ziva's hand as she gently strokes the patch of hair that he's worried is thinning from Gibbs' slaps. And the only thing between them now is a beer bottle they're both drinking from as if neither of them has ever had a problem with sharing their toys.
Tony barely closes his eyes at his partner's touch before turning his head as if to kiss her wrist. Gibbs holds his breath as he awaits the transgression, but it doesn't come. Tony collects himself, shoots her a smile that should flatten her with it's weight, and makes a comment that draws a coy smile out of his companion.
Her hand drops and she reaches for the bottle at the same time he does. Ladies first; the gentleman lets her have it.
He's not used to seeing this.
Genuine, blatant and unapologetic affection.
He's not used to hearing this.
They've always found things to fight over. Paperclips, theories, driving abilities, interrogation methods. He thinks they thrive on it, and he can't fault them. He and Jenny butted heads so many times.
But this...
They don't know he can still hear them. The comm link is still open, and he would have told them so if he could have gotten a word in. But by the time he can, he doesn't want to intrude. He should just turn it off himself and let them scream at each other until a lack of oxygen shuts them up. But he doesn't.
They're yelling at each other about the operation. About things they neglected to tell Gibbs happened when they were alone, undercover and being held against their wills. As far as he can tell, Ziva unleashed the ninja when a machine gun was aimed at her partner's head, and said partner is now furious that she endangered herself. She insists she could have gotten him out of there safely—him only—and Gibbs swears he hears the pop from inside Tony's brain as her suggestion of self-sacrifice gives him a mini stroke.
"No!" Tony hisses harshly. "It's you and me. Not one or the other. You and me. We're both in, or we're both out. Always." He pauses, and his tone makes Gibbs shake in his boots. "Do you understand me?"
His fury and panic are palpable. But her resolve to protect is cast in iron. She does not back down, does not apologize, does not agree.
"That is not practical for every situation," she replies, her voice shaking as she begins to lose control. "Given the choice between you and I, the others would not trade—"
The next thing Gibbs hears is almost certainly a fist connecting with a wall before Tony starts completely losing his mind. Gibbs turns the comm link off.
He's not used to hearing this.
And he prays that the two of them never get used to it either.
He's not used to touching her like this.
Paternal instinct has compelled him to hug Kelly and Abby through the depths of their despair, but Ziva is still not comfortable with such gestures. He knows to leave her to her own devices unless she comes to him with her defensive shields already down, and even then he must approach her with care.
But this…
She has been stoic, silent and surely in the midst of a panic-based meltdown since her partner played human shield and took two in the back for her. Gibbs risks open rejection to take her arm and steer her away from the worried and wondering eyes of their family.
In an empty elevator he drops his boss face, finds the father inside him and hugs her tight. She drops her badass agent face and slumps into him just enough to tell him that she needs it. He holds her for no more than ten seconds before he feels her spine straighten once more, and then the agent no longer needs a father.
He takes only mild offence.
Over the next 24 hours he wants to reach for her a dozen times, though he's not sure if it's for her benefit or for his. When she sits beside her partner, guarding him like a lioness, he thinks touching her will result in his hand being bitten off. He keeps his hands to himself.
She doesn't find her centre again until Tony's eyes are open and he can feel and move all his limbs. In his own world of relief, Gibbs forgets that his youngest and toughest shuns touch from all but the man in the bed, and he rests his arm across her shoulders. But Ziva hugs him back with a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes, and it's as warm and comfortable as any embrace from Kelly.
He's not used to touching her like this.
But when he needs it as much as she does, he'll make the first move.
He's not used to his smell on her.
She's worn his clothes a handful of times. His topcoat when they got caught outside on a freezing day. A sweatshirt when hers got wet. The fabric carried Tony's Armani-tinged scent like Gibbs' did sawdust and coffee, and so it was easy to understand why her signature sandalwood was cloaked by oceanic notes.
But this…
She's not wearing his clothes. She's in her own form-fitting sweater and jeans. And yet, she smells like the breeze off the Armani Coast. He turns to look over his shoulder, expecting to find that her partner has followed them to the coffee shop. But Tony is nowhere to be seen and still the scent lingers. Gibbs can smell it even over the freshly ground coffee beans and still-warm pastries.
She looks up at him with one eyebrow arched. He knows he's looking at her strangely and that she expects him to explain himself. But he can't (doesn't want to), and so he ignores her.
He ignores the themness of them.
He's not used to his smell on her.
But he'll have to learn to be.
He's not used to the taste of hope.
His own forays into the world of romance and loving companionship have been generally disastrous, and he honestly cannot think of a single example of a healthy, happy union amongst the people he knows. Perhaps Leon and Jackie, but Gibbs is sure there are dark things the loving husband has hidden from his wife. It seems to Gibbs that a life-long commitment to another person is an impossibility, unless you share DNA.
But this…
There have always been moments of synchrony between them. Of easy friendship and shared thoughts. The physical attraction has always been obvious; the mental attraction less so. They've both been trained to trust their team implicitly, and so he's not surprised that they formed an airtight bond. Nor does he begrudge it. That bond has saved all their butts more than once.
They are both utterly flawed. Broken beyond repair and their own worst enemies. They seem terrified of committing to each other, petrified of speaking honestly to the point where they would rather take a bullet in the back or take on six marines with machine guns than utter three words to each other. They sometimes fight like wild dogs, and Ziva hasn't completely forgiven him for shielding her when she made it clear she thinks those roles should be reversed.
But somehow, it works. There is something between them that holds them together. That keeps them coming back to each other instead of giving up and moving on. It's not the job. Gibbs has no doubt that they would continue to thrive as partners if their love was strictly platonic. And it's not their complementary dysfunction. On paper, these two wouldn't look like they should come within a mile of each other lest they screw each other up for good.
But they've made it work. For now, at least. Gibbs isn't sure how kind the future will be, but he sincerely hopes that they'll be the ones to convince him that life-long commitment is not impossible.
He's not used to the taste of hope.
But he doesn't find it as bitter as he expects it to be.
I have ideas to do short chapters that expand on each of the above situations, but I won't put a delivery date on them. Those of you following Blush know that I'm not very good with the deadlines I give myself.