Ficlet: Foreign Soil
Words: 461
A/N: set during Aliyah
Foreign Soil
He had once told her to remind him never to get drunk in Israel alas he does. Their words from their confrontation on the roof echoed in his head like a DVD menu looping 'You loved him' he uttered 'I guess I'll never know.' She replied. The alcohol does not do its usual job of silencing the voices in his head. The screaming echoes grow louder and louder. They torment him.
The bell of the small Israeli bar rang. The door opened on the rainy and windy world outside. The barman with good English had told him the storm in Tel Aviv was the worst in nearly twenty years. The olive clad soldiers looked up from their obscure drinking game. The middle-aged couple in the back leather seated booth ripped apart and once it is established, the new entrant to the bar is a stranger, they returned to the comfort of each other's arms. Tony looked up from his seat at the bar. Ziva stood in the doorway clad in her ebony shaded dress - that was clinging to her because of the rain -fresh from Michael Rivkins funeral. She surveyed the quiet bar. She took note of the middle-aged couple with different colored wedding bands and group of rather tipsy soldiers. She darted to the bar. Her heavy black high-heeled shoes echoed on the hardwood bar floor. For a brief moment, her steps are in time with the HaDag Nachash song playing in the background. Tony watched as she ordered. She spied him. Her face explained more than words ever would, the look on her face could have killed. It probably had he would later mused. She drifted toward him. She stood in his personal space.
"Get out" she hissed spitting venom in her words. Drunkenness hindered Anthony DiNozzo's intelligence as he composed a reply.
"No" he hissed angrily, "It's a free country" he took a long sip of his drink. She stared at him daggers in her eyes.
"It is not your country" she replied much louder. She tried to move toward the end of the bar. Tonys hand grabbed her bony olive skinned wrist. She swiveled. She personified anger. Tony felt the pulse in her wrist beating faster and faster.
"Let go of me," she shouted.
The bar man looked up as did the soldiers all of them reached for guns. He gripped tighter. Her other hand raised the fingers moved closer together. The olive hand rose. He registered the smack. The air hit his face and it begun to burn. His cheek flushed crimson red. He relinquished his grip on her wrist.
She turned. She walked out. Her black high-heeled shoes echoed on the hardwood bar floor. The bell on the small Israeli bar rang.
A/N: Written for no safety pin community on LJ.