A/N: I've received tons of responses and am super excited to see where we can take this thing! So feel free to keep 'em coming and I'll do my best. Much love and keep the peace, Kit!
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
Spoilers: Based loosely off Truth or Consequence, Reunion, and Good Cop Bad Cop (from which inspiration for this was derived courtesy of M E Wofford.)
Watchman
Written for the ever lovely M E Wofford
He watches her more than he did before and it's both unsettling and, oddly, comforting.
And incredibly irritating.
It starts on the return trip to D.C. She's curled on the canvas seat, made herself impossibly small because small is familiar and small is safe, with her eyes screwed shut as she wills herself to sleep. And even with the last dregs of adrenaline creeping out of her bloodstream, she is still wide awake, hyper-alert, mercilessly conscious.
In her state of heightened awareness, she can feel eyes on her, watching her. And, yes, a visual has been kept on her constantly since their emergence from the camp, but this time the watchman's gaze is different. This time it's more . . . . intense. More magnified.
More Tony.
She opens her eyes to meet the steady stare of ocean green fixated on her. He seems to afraid to blink because if he does, she may just disappear. "Tony," she rasps in acknowledgement, inclining her head toward him by way of greeting.
By way of demanding, "What the hell?"
"Ziva," he replies, unperturbed, and that's it. Just her name. Nothing else.
Nothing else but that slightly disconcerting smile that ghosts across his lips. And she shuts her mouth and shuts her eyes and tries desperately to shut him out.
She isn't around him the first few weeks, preferring to keep to herself, try to regain her equilibrium, some semblance of normalcy. But since she isn't around him, isn't in his line of sight, he isn't able to look at her.
Until she arrives at NCIS and the elevator doors slide open with a ding and she's just standing there and McGee and DiNozzo are just standing there.
"Ziva," McGee greets, surprised but excited to see her. And she murmurs something in response, her attention divided between Tim's warm attempt at conversation and Tony's silence. It isn't a stony silence nor is it a wholly uncomfortable one. He's merely watching her, eyes unnaturally bright and mouth twitching upward slightly.
She says something mean to make him stop looking at her like that and it takes him a beat or two to volley back a proper response.
She's been reinstated and reacquainted with her desk and the comfortable familiarity of her chair. She does have to rearrange the drawers because whoever was keeping her seat warm mixed everything up, but she doesn't really care because she's back and it gives her hands something to do.
The change between now and a month ago is jarring, but she's adaptable and has always been because she never really had a choice to be anything but. And so she slips back into this life she adored like it was meant to be.
And yes she has to get used to this, being back and being wanted and being safer than she's been in a long while. She has to resettle into the life she'd left, into the job and the mundane tedium of the everyday. It hurts a bit that she has to relearn Gibbs and McGee and Abby, to regain their trust and reaffirm her ability to do her job.
And then there's Tony and she really doesn't know what to do about him. And his staring.
She supposes it will take some getting used to.
He's assigned her escort because McGee is somewhere else and fate finds this whole situation incredibly entertaining.
The past few weeks and he's gotten better, seems to be able to let her out of his sight for longer periods of time, no longer coming up with a fabricated excuse to return to the bullpen to confirm she's still sitting at her desk, typing in a search, calling on the phone, writing down information.
Today, though, he has regressed back to being her constant watch guard which is further irritating because she can't decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing.
Their standing in the elevator, waiting patiently for the trip between floors to conclude, when she finally asks, "What are you doing, Tony?"
His gaze shifts to meet hers in the silvery reflection provided by the elevator door and his head cocks to the side, contemplative. "I believe I am escorting you, Zee-vah," and it's the first time in a very long time that he's called her that, stretched out the syllables of her name in that lazy way of his.
"You are watching me like a vulture."
"Like a hawk," he corrects automatically, grinning slightly.
"So you admit it," she says, pleased with herself.
He shrugs a shoulder, replies casually, "I've missed an entire summer of irritating you, David. I've got a lot of catching up to do."
"I see," she deadpans, regretting that she even asked.
"How'm I doing so far?" he checks, teasing lilt filling the elevator car.
"Success," she assures him, staring pointedly at the opposite wall.
He surprises her with his sudden nearness a few moments later, the change in his voice obvious when he says, softer, "I'm just . . . . really glad you're back." And the sentiment is genuine and it coaxes a smile to her lips, shattering the frown that had taken up residence since this morning.
"Me too," she tells him earnestly, meeting his eyes. "Me too."
And he smiles in turn, nods in satisfaction as the elevator dings brightly.
And as she steps off into the squadroom, she realizes he's been watching her because, well, he's her partner. And he has her back.
He's always had her back.
