Title : Landing in London
Pairing : Ziva David x Anthony DiNozzo
Author's Note : This is my first ever song-fic, so bear with me if it's written awkwardly or just not what you expected. In any case, relistening to the song I couldn't help but have 'Tiza'' jump into my head and it wouldn't go away until I typed it out. The sfong being used is "Landing in London" by '3 Doors Down'. As always review to your heart's content. Constructive critisicm is much love.
- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -
"Because all I think about is you..."
There air was thick with smoke as he lit his first and final cigar of the night, unsure if it was out of old habit or desperation to destroy his lungs. That first puff burned in such a bittersweet way he didn't bother with his beer, enjoying the sensation as it rolled around on his tongue, tickling the back of his throat. There were some days he really missed having a pack of Cuban's under his desk, just waiting to scent his jackets and hair, chasing him until the next time he decided to light one. It was an old man's habit, and he felt old as he surveyed the cracks in his fingers, weathered from countless cases and scattered missions. Glancing around the dusty bar, he couldn't help but smirk at the sad state of everyone, the old phrase 'misery loves company' playing through his mind. It held true then and it held true now. When you came to the bar alone, you came to forget. That's what he should of been doing right now, forgetting. Instead he couldn't help playing it through his head over and over like a movie caught on repeat.
She was leaving on a mission and it bothered him. When she told him, he'd smiled and joked with her, demanded gifts on her return even. Something pricey. That was what he'd said. That trademark grin had been plastered on his face the entire time, charming and disarming, just like always. He knew better though, as he laughed at her miscommunications and failed attempts at English proverb, correcting her all along the way. He knew as soon as the word 'Mossad' left her lips that it was an assassination mission. She did them from time to time, but no matter how many times she left and returned it didn't make things any easier. It meant high profile killings, dangerous situations, and unknown circumstances. No backup. No partner. No DiNozzo.
"Tony."
She stood in front of his booth like that was where she belonged, where she had been the entire time. She was still in those cargo pants he loved, and it brought a faint smile to his face before he took another puff of his cigar, unwilling to get his hopes up. Without another word she slid into the seat across from him, careful not to disturb the growing collection of empty bottles on the table, sniffing the air as she picked up on the Cuban scent. It was a slight jolt to the system, familiar in all the wrong ways. She ignored it.
"Zee-vah." He stretched her name out into two words, as he often did when feeling particularly annoyed. Often times it was because of a case, or how she was handling the banter in the office. Other times it was on a more personal level, like now. It was misplaced, they both knew it, and just as easily as that they both ignored it. "I thought you had a plane to catch." He spit out the last word like it burned his tongue, replacing it instead with the sting of cheap beer, eyes already clouded over with muddled emotion.
Crossing one leg over the other, she rested her elbows on the table, more harshly then she meant to as a few bottles clanked together in protest. Folding her hands together, she stared at him without giving an inch. "Delayed two hours." She started slowly, sizing up just how conscious of his surroundings he really was. If it were a mission, he would of been dead long ago. But this wasn't a mission and she didn't want to treat it as such, so instead she settled further back into her chair, letting out a sigh. "Cuban cigars with cheap beer?"
He let out a chuckle, swirling the bottle by its neck, eyebrows knitting together in thought. Any other beautiful woman slid into his booth like she did, he'd be on her in an instant. They'd already be halfway to a hotel room somewhere. But this wasn't any other woman, and there wasn't any hotel room. So instead he settled for a sloppy grin and an even sloppier retort. "Can't have too much of a good thing." He set the bottle back down on the table. "Or it'll end up disappearing."
They stared at eachother for what seemed like an eternity.
"This is ridiculous, Tony." She cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, dissaproval clear on her face as she continued. "I am not abandoning the team. I come back every single time, do I not?" Every word came out a little faster then the last, a clear sign that she wasn't sure what to say without expressing it through violence. "It is a simple mission, I do not understand where this hostility is coming from. I am capable and resourceful and I will do what is expected of me." She was a soldier, and she was a damned good one. She wasn't about to be told otherwise.
"What happens when you don't come back?" He asked it so softly it was barely a whisper, and at first she thought she'd heard wrong. As the silence settled between them, she couldn't help but reach out and rest her hand on his arm, unsure of what had brought on the sudden fear she could see dancing behind his eyes. He knew she was doing a Mossad mission, but past that he had no details. She never talked about her missions, and she knew it was for the better no matter how much harder it seemingly made things. Perhaps she had been wrong in assuming it was an easy decision for anyone but herself.
"I am not about to leave." She squeezed his arm in reassurance. "I have not trained my entire life to fail. Have faith in my abilities, they have saved you more times then I care to remember." She knew the exact number of times she saved him, not that she'd ever admit to it. "You have not abandoned me. I will not abandon you." It was a simple concept between the two of them. They treated eachother the way they themselves wanted to be treated, and so far it had worked. They shifted to one another's moods, knocked sense into eachother when needed, even pushed more then a few buttons along the way.
Before he could take another puff of his cigar, she snatched it from his hand, playful smirk reaching all the way to her eyes. Sniffing the end, she crinkled her nose ever so slightly, taking a longer drag then neccesary. As the smoke drifted from her lips like a fog, she smiled at him, but this time it wasn't carefree or mischevious or friendly. It was the type of smile she got before breaking a suspect's leg in three seperate places. "Cuban cigars remind me of my father. He's rather fond of them." Handing it back to him, she finally released the rest of the smoke as it surrounded them both. "Perhaps I will pick up some for the both of you, no?"
He caught it, just like she wanted him to; Cuba. She was going to be there, or at least around there, and it lifted a weight off his chest he hadn't realized was there. At least knowing where she was? It was a start. It was a signal of trust that was rare for both of them. It jeapordized her mission. It jeapordized his aloofness. Sometimes he had to wonder what she was thinking, or if she was thinking at all when it came to trusting him. He wouldn't trust himself, no matter how much he wanted to. He was too careless, too naive, too damned oblivious. She was calm, collected, and had her eye on every piece in the game. Sometimes it was frustrating. Sometimes it was exactly what he needed.
"I don't know." He slurred his words together. "Wouldn't want to remind you of any particular asshole." He snubbed out his cigar, tossing it over his shoulder without a care, satisfied to hear it hit the metal trashcan. He didn't appreciate Ziva's family no matter how highly she talked of them, they both knew that. Two different worlds produced two different people, two different standards of living. He was told to do whatever he wanted growing up. She was told to handle a gun and kill whoever was on the list. He never felt right about it. Then again, as much as he hated to admit it, without that he would of never met the Ziva he knew today. Sitting across from him, fingers still massaging his arm, trying her best to understand what was wrong with her decision.
The worst part was, there was nothing wrong with her decision. She was doing what was right for her country. She was building ties between Isreal and America, she was strengthening allies for NCIS even. Sometimes she seemed to hold more power then the Director when it came to foreign relations. She was doing what was right for herself. He had no right to question that, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how many drinks he poured down his throat. "Sorry." He mumbled.
She smacked him upside the head, in true Gibb's fashion. "Don't apologize, it shows weakness." She recited with a smile, as she usually did when remembering the rules. It meant she was learning and it meant she was becoming something more. He remembered at the end of a mission she had told him, 'I'm not just an assassin, I'm an investigator'. And it was true. It made him just as proud, if not more so. Reaching into her coat, she pulled out a prepaid phone, sliding it towards him. "My number is already programmed. It is good for five calls, ten texts. Nothing more." Grabbing the phone, she kept her hand on it, their hands brushing together. "Emergency use only. No names, no specifics. Just...contact."
She finally let go, watching with curiosity as he slid it into his own coat, catching the glimpse of a secondary pack of cigarettes. She would bring that up to him when she came back. Resting her hands on the table, she pushed herself up as she exited the booth, wrapping her coat tightly around herself. It was cold at night, and she wasn't particularly fond of it. "I have to go." She had a plane to catch, and it wasn't about to be delayed a second time. She was lucky enough for the first one.
He got up next to her, a little off balance but sober enough to stand by himself. He gave her an awkward shrug, head rolling to each side a few times before he enveloped her in a hug. She tensed at first, unsure of what to do before finally relaxing, even resting her forehead on his shoulder. Sometimes she forgot how tall he really was. He smelled of alcohol and Cuban's but she didn't mind. It was still Tony. "Thank you." He whispered into her ear, finally letting go no matter how reluctantly.
She left without another word.