In Paris with You
(based on the poem In Paris with You by James Fenton)
He knew what love was. Life had given him so many chances and every one and knocked him down. Still he yearned for the feeling, the companionship of another soul. The sound of Jeanne telling him she loved him would echo around in his head and he would think back to Wendy, to what his life could have been.
Tony was still scarred, the memories hurt to think about. His heart was held hostage by his past and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't escape from what seemed to be his fate. Life had stranded him alone, destined to only ever find casual seconds instead of the years he craved.
All he wanted now was to forget about love, about life. He was certain that if he could just ignore the rest of it then he could be happy.
None of that mattered though because he was with Ziva and they were in Paris. The director was generous to give them a few days off and they both needed to relax.
Although it sounded shallow Tony was angry. He was frustrated at his past failures and hated that he couldn't find what he was looking for. Love was more of a joke than a goal in his eyes and he would rather just have a bit of fun with Ziva.
She surely wouldn't hold it against him, she would understand. After all she was the one who had turned up out of the blue and started flirting with him. She would be fine with a fling, just for Paris. Tony didn't even care about what happened after because they were in Paris.
Of course they could go sight-seeing, take photos for McGee or Abby. There were all manner of things that any reasonable person would want to do even if they had just a day in the city but they had both done that before.
He would rather see Ziva's scowl than Mona Lisa's smile. He would burn all of Paris to the ground for the chance to sit with her, to talk, to do more than talk.
He wanted to learn about her, to study her like a fine work of art. He wanted to find himself within the chaos of his life and it was the best time to do it. There hotel was the only museum he was bothered about and there was more than enough to keep him occupied.
It wasn't love, not between him and Ziva. Love was locked away in a safe with a giant neon sign warning him away from it. No, with her it was an experience. It was like Paris, the Eiffel tower of love was hidden away behind love sick teenagers and the Louvre was filled with snapshots of sickly romantic life.
He would rather have the scrap of Paris that he could see, the rundown backstreets, the real city. The part of the city he saw when he looked at her. He needed her, she was a part of him and he had tied himself to her without even thinking.
Tony knew what love was, he just preferred to ignore it. Instead he was in Paris. He was with Ziva and she was telling him a truth that sounded so much more beautiful in her voice than in his. He was in Paris with Ziva.
Badges and guns and knives had been left behind for the comfort of each other and of brutal honesty. It didn't occur to them that between them they had ended so many lives and witnessed so much heartbreak. They were creating something new just for the two of them.
He was in Paris with her hands, her delicate yet strong hands that could just as easily cook a meal or kill a man. He was in Paris with her eyes, the observant and bright eyes that saw things that others ignored and had been trained to remember.
He was in Paris with Ziva, and everything would be all right.