I literally started typing and couldn't stop until this plot was flowing through my fingers. Will be approximately 1-5 chapters, and the rating will go up as it progresses. As I said, I started this at 11:30, and it's half past midnight now. Therefore, any spelling or grammatical mistakes are my own, and any writing/plot critiques are very much appreciated.
This is, in short, what my muse thinks should happen with Jimmy's impending wedding in Florida. Meh. Please review. Makes my day. :)
Disclaimed.
- Alivia
The Floridian sunset was gorgeous, the balmy air stroking her pores and seeping into the confines of her soul that weren't to be touched. Rivulets of ocean water dragged lazily down her skin, and her eyes stung from the salt.
Tony had stayed behind a few yards, but she could feel his gaze upon her back. She wished, for however short of a moment, that he had remained at the hotel. Daemons tearing at her flesh couldn't possibly be a welcoming sight. For once, Ziva cursed her inability to have emotion laid bare. If she could, she'd be human.
But; a monster was raised a monster, and she had spent one too many afternoons with Ray on this very beach, in this very body of water. The tides are chaotic; foam beat upon the sharpened rocks.
She so terribly wanted to go, but she didn't.
Ziva waited, and he eventually approached her, crouching down to sit with her in the sand.
A seagull cried in the distance. The heat of the waning sun was warm upon her face.
"You want me to be the gay best friend?" he asked, quietly, uncharacteristically. There was still a familiar lilt in his tone that suggested he wouldn't make any sap-worthy love confessions, but as far she could tell he was being serious. She appreciated the effort.
He didn't owe her anything.
She watched Tony look away, drawing mindless patterns in the fine powder beneath them with his index finger. Finally, she answered him.
"I have never had a best friend, but if I did…" she pauses, and takes a moment to breathe.
"You are my best friend, Tony."
The admittance is abrupt and too intimate when memories of Ray making love to her on this very soil clogs her brain like a bad television channel, but she can't help it. She cannot help looking at him and feeling as though everything is right where it's supposed to be. And oh, if only they could stay like this, in peace, for a few more moments, before reality came crashing like the waves and killing-
"Right back at ya, ninja." He smiles, genuine, scooting closer to her abruptly, throwing an arm around her shoulder. The weight of it is heavy. And yes, it should feel wrong.
But it feels right, and that is the proverbial brick wall, the dilemma, they will always face.
The actual hug is hesitant, unsure. Like they were dipping their toes into cool water, and not allowing it to go any farther.
She caught a glimpse of happiness, and she took it.
It was far too easy to lean her head up in the slightest and brush her lips along his jaw, just so to create a stir, a spark to the flame.
He froze.
She retracted her advances quicker.
Pushing his arm from around her torso, Ziva stood up, glaring into the darkening horizon once more.
"Tony, we have to go. Breena is having a chicken- no, no- a hen party, tonight, and Abby insists I go," the words were mechanical, and her hands trembled.
He inhaled deeply, head spinning. "Ziva, we need to talk about-
"No, we do not."
The words are solid, absolute. They will not change if he rewinds five minutes.
Tony swallowed, and gave up. "Okay. Alright. Let's go," he murmurs, resigned.
Their footprints left markings in the sand that lasted until the next morning, because the wind was still and unforgiving, and proved how they'd screwed things beyond reconcile.
Ziva decided, watching as yet another man grabbed his clothed crotch, that if she ever really had this marriage experience, it would be preferable if this part was left out.
It's not that she is prude, but she simply sees no sense in it. Her cheeks were burning from the alcohol, as well as the light sunburn she had developed across her nose when she and Tony had been to the beach that afternoon. To the left of Abby and Breena, furthest from the stage, Ziva watched as her good friend talked with the soon-to-be-bride.
A part of her felt guilty- being so quiet. It was Breena's night. The blonde was about to have everything she wanted; the rock on her finger, the white picket fence, maybe children, love. Ziva's stomach felt hollow, but she shook her head. No, not tonight.
Abby had taken care of it, which she was forever grateful for. Just then the zealous Goth turned towards her, nudging her foot with one spiked heel. Curiosity lit Abby's green eyes.
"Ziva, have you gone anywhere with Tony?" she asked, sipping her drink indifferently.
A corner of Ziva's mouth turned up in a half-grimace, and she was almost perturbed the questioning had gone in that direction immediately.
"Yes, we went to the beach earlier," she answered, grudgingly throwing them a little bit of something to gnaw at like wild dogs.
Breena giggled, high pitched and childlike, tossing her blonde hair behind her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. "Romantic walks on the shore, huh? Sounds romantic."
Ziva studied her nails.
"I hope you and Tony work it out, Ziva."
Her head snapped up to Breena, and suddenly, too suddenly, she saw the ditzy girl in a new light. It was discombobulating (or maybe that's the alcohol), and it made her head spin like his scent did, like feeling the stubble of his jaw beneath her lips did.
She suddenly found it very hard to breathe. The bar's air was balmy like the beach had been.
She needed to get out of there.
Breena eyes began to crinkle, her lips formed a line. "Ziva, I hadn't meant to overstep, I mean, I just want-
"No, no! That is not- please just," she exhaled raggedly, "please do not feel bad about it. Thank you, Breena."
The almost-newlywed's worry softened, and she regarded Ziva with a smirk.
"I think you guys would have great sex."
She almost wanted to laugh at the sheer honesty of the opinion, the truth that lay there. Yeah, they would probably have great sex. They would probably have a nice wedding too, and nice children, and a quaint, little life as well. They just had to get their stuff together first. Work it out.
There were rings on the bar from where the trio's shot glasses have sat.
Ziva counted four distinguished circles near her end. Huh.
Still, she chortled at the comment. "I guess so, Breena."
Apparently, their endeavors at the bar had just been a warm up. They took a cab to the hotel they were staying at, and Abby kept mumbling something about 'tights' and 'heels' and how 'she must have horrible arches from wearing those flat footed shoes constantly'.
Ziva wanted another drink.
One second, she sat on the bed of Abby's room, and watched as the Breena primped and fussed over Abby and herself. The next, she was a tornado, being thrown which way, into a bathroom. A dress shoved into her hands.
She fingered the fabric, felt of the tag. It was her size.
The expensive-feeling material was the color of a fresh violet, and Abby continued to repeat 'It will look so good, so, so good,' through the door.
She tried it on. It fit.
The bass of the club was thick and heady as it pulsed through her.
A mass of bodies swarmed on the floor, and all she could smell was sex and sweat.
Breena's friends were waiting with a booth, and they were so identical to the blonde Ziva thought that maybe she had been pulled through one of those unrealistic time warps (like the ones in Tony's movies). They were all so chatty, so animated. Abby clutched her arm, and she was useless.
If this was what it felt like to be human, it must be a rather twisted experience.
"There they are! Tim!" Abby shouted in her ear. She could still barely hear her over the music.
Ziva glanced to where Abby was pointing and waving, and then, that is the moment she saw it.
It was McGee, yes. And Tony. And suddenly, Ziva felt like she had been played, tricked, by a woman who liked puppies and listened to music too loud.
And she wanted to run, and she couldn't. She tugged her arm from Abby's, and it fell limply to her side.
She felt self-conscious in the dress, she then realized. He looked like himself. Like Tony.
He doesn't hesitate to walk towards her confidently, that sure fire DiNozzo, and he doesn't hesitate to grasp her waist. She refused to step back, to flinch. She would not cower in a corner, even though every defense mechanism she had carefully constructed suggested she flee and not look back.
"Didn't think I'd see you again today," he whispered huskily in her ear, and she could smell the booze on his breath. She didn't answer him. What could she say?
She felt his hand slide up the curve of her spine, and although she could barely hear, she could feel her heart go thumpathumpathump beneath her breast. He leaned down to say something to her again.
"I bet ever guy in here wants to take you home." She detected a hint of, what was that, jealousy, in his tone. Something to suggest to her that this was not a plan. This, seeing her like this, was not a step in the agreement.
She had to lean up to speak to him properly, and she felt him shiver when her lips brushed his earlobe, even just. "Why would that matter to you, Tony?" she murmured, coquettish.
His light hand at her spine traveled down to her hip in one sharp move, and he pulled her towards him. Hips on hips. Lips mere inches from perfection personified.
Abby, McGee, Breena, the girls; were gone from her mind. Maybe his too.
"Ziva, I want you."