Solidarity
They had stumbled blindly through the first few days, and before anyone knew it, a week has passed, and then two, and then a month had gone by without Gibbs. The spring had turned inevitably into summer, leaving DC sweltering and close, and by the time Tony had gotten used to sitting on the wrong side of the bullpen, he had gotten used to other things too: waking up to the smell of jasmine and sandalwood; a green toothbrush resting idly on the side of his sink; foreign and subtitled cinema mixing in with his James Bond dvds.
Neither one had expected it to go past that first comfort-sex thing. That lingering-attraction-comfort-sex thing. That essentially-curious-lingering-attraction-comfort-sex thing. But when they had made it through their first week – and their first case - 'Gibbsless', Abby had pointed out that she thought they all deserved alcohol, and a lot of it. Ignoring their overlapping protests, she harangued and pouted and alternated between smiling sweetly and stomping her platform-booted foot until she got her way. So it was that Tony had found himself in the corner booth of the Hawk and Dove – a haven for politicos and Federal types - late on a Friday, exhausted, but feeling oddly at peace as he watched Abby tease McGee as she and Ziva downed shots of tequila, Ducky nursing a large glass of froth-headed dark brown as he spoke at length to the bartender, who was mixing something sickly and green for Palmer.
He had been drawn from his musings by the feeling on a hand on his knee, and when he looked up he had been almost surprised to see Ziva had slid in the booth next to him. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, curls long and loose with the heat, and her head cocked to one side, amused. " Abby says it is your round," she conveyed, swatting gently at his knee with the back of her hand, a prompting gesture.
" Tony!" Abby's voice was exuberant and her smile slightly crooked as she appeared at the table and pulled him across the pub to the bar, making him almost trip over Ziva's heeled feet as they passed. Abby didn't even notice. " Tony, Tony, Tony," she murmured, leaning up against the bar and looking at him intently for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck. She squeezed tightly, pigtails bouncing around her head and the chains of her skirt clicking against their bodies. " You're doin' real good."
She let go as abruptly as she had grabbed him, seemingly forgetting about him in an instant as she stood on tiptoe and leant across the bar, calling for another order of drinks. Tony didn't say anything as Abby poked him for his wallet and he handed over a fistful of bills without even checking what they were. Didn't say anything as he carried the glasses back to the table and Abby doled them out, knocking back her own shot and placing the glass on top of her head with a laugh. Didn't say anything an hour later as McGee advised Abby they called it a night, and he helped her into her coat and out of the pub, Abby waving merrily and tottering on her high platforms. Didn't say anything as first Palmer and then Ducky too wended their way from the bar with genial goodbyes.
Ziva sat next to him, a shot in front of her and her elbows propped on the scarred wood of the table. He watched her as she tossed it back with a flick of her head, not even flinching, and then ran a finger around the edge of the glass, collecting the lingering droplets. She didn't look at him. " She meant what she said, you know. Abby. Even though she misses Gibbs," – the name sounded so strange because they had all been trying so hard not to say it – " she is behind you. She knows that you are the right person for this job." Her tone was matter of fact as she licked a drop of spilled drink from her finger. " McGee also. He may not always act like it, but he does trust you."
" And you?" They were the first words he had spoken in what seemed like hours, soft and low, and accompanied by a curious frown and a glance over the top of his drink.
Propping her head in her hand, she turned and observed him. She crossed one leg over the other with a swish of material, her skirt creeping up her thighs, skin glistening in the weak light's glow. " Do you have to ask?"
Leaning over, he kissed her, the two of them hidden in the shadow of the corner booth. Her lips tasted like tequila and salt and lime. His hands threaded through her hair and the sensation was so familiar it almost made him startle. Hands pressed against his chest made him pull back, and as he cupped her cheek she murmured, " Stop, Tony." Her eyes were wide and dark in the dim light, and as he stared at them, he could feel his mind racing. He was about to argue when she spoke again, her voice hushed. " We should leave. Here, everyone can see."
So deeply ingrained, her impulse to exist in shadows, he didn't argue. Instead, he waited as she put on her coat, and they walked together to the exit. They didn't hold hands, but walked so close that their arms touched, and as he opened the door, her hair brushed against his cheek. It didn't take long to hail a cab. Or to get back to his apartment. Or to piss of his neighbours with something that wasn'this surround sound.
This time, they talked after: teasing one another until eventually Ziva's quiet laughter turned to yawning, and her head lolled to his shoulder. He pulled the navy sheets up over her, his hand lingering on her butt until she swatted him away with a half-conscious grumble. Her accent was much thicker in these moments between sleep and wake. Laughing, he settled his hand on her waist and waited for a renewed assault. When none came, he grinned triumphantly, and let his eyes drift closed.
In the dark she opened her eyes, and smiled softly.
