note: I hate posting stuff I'm not happy with but I figured you've all waited long enough and I've been told this is okay anyway. Sorry this has taken months, it's been giving me grief and I hope with posting this my block may go somewhat. Anyway I'm kinda bed-ridden today and I'm horribly sunburnt and I just wanted to put this up. It was written before the Cote-debacle, however, so it actually kinda hurts for me to read it. Maybe it won't for you guys, who knows. Another fic I'm rather more happy with than this shall be posted in a few days time (and I mean that this time).
Enjoy, favourite, review, whatever you deem best. I'm gonna go hide in my blog and get over my anxiety regarding this fic.
disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you get four tubs of Nutter Butters for your birthday. (yes, I did.)
listening to: Bible Belt, by Dry the River.
They're both jittery on the plane journey home. They've been avoiding a certain topic since it came up last, and now he's starting to think that was a bad idea. She must do too, if the way she's squeezing his hand is any inclination. Their nerves are to be expected, though, and when the image of a furious Gibbs floats into his head, he suspects feeling mildly scared is just something they both must adjust to.
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As much as they don't want to put-off telling Gibbs, they decide to head home first. He drops her at her apartment, kisses her and reminds her he loves her, and then pulls away reluctantly. It's the first time they've been separated so much since they got married, and he can't quite adjust to the sudden space between them. Over the past few days, she's been his everything, and the current shift is off-putting.
He spins his wedding ring round and round his finger when he's stopped at a light, and it helps, a little.
He tidies his place somewhat when he gets home, the two of them already having agreed to return there after they face their boss. The change to a king-size bed only a few weeks ago was definitely a good decision, he thinks as he stretches clean sheets over it, and he's glad he did some shopping before their unexpected trip; the remaining food should just be enough to make a meal. Perhaps they'll make it together.
As he fluffs a pillow, images fly through his head without warning. Domestic scenes, involving Ziva, wrapped in only a bed sheet, wandering through the apartment in search of something or other. Then, he sees mail with both their names on the top; hears children wailing in the middle of the night; smells pancakes that he'll make to try and surprise his wife in bed that morning.
But it's not scary. It's all he's ever wanted, and more, and it's wonderful. It's also the reason that he kisses her senseless when she slips into the car next to him before they head off to Gibbs'.
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"Anybody home?" he calls out as they enter the house. Though their boss is known for boats and bourbon in the basement, there have been times where the both of them have seen him ironing in his living room, or cooking a steak on his fire. The answering call, however, comes from beneath them, and Tony laces his fingers through Ziva's as they head to the basement door.
"Hey, boss."
His words are more of an announcement, and he sees Gibbs' head lift up in his periphery vision as he starts down the stairs. Ziva still clutches his hand, however, and he feels their arms drag out before she follows him, a good few steps behind.
Gibbs is staring by now, eyes squinting and mild confusion etched into his features. Ziva catches up, eventually, and they come to a halt right by the base of the stairs. It feels foreign to Tony; almost as if they're unwelcomed guests who need permission to even be in this room- not like the makeshift family they actually are.
"We have something to tell you, Gibbs." Ziva says, her voice surprisingly strong from his left.
The older man sets down the things in his hands and lets his arms fall against his thighs. The gesture may be plain but it's almost comforting to Tony; it shows Gibbs means no harm.
"You two finally work things out when you were in Europe?" he asks, gruffly, but with no malice in his tone.
Tony winces, and he can feel Ziva do the same.
"Uh, a little more than that, boss."
Their hands part as he lifts his left, and he knows Ziva mirrors his action.
"We got married." Ziva's voice shakes somewhat and he knows just how much Gibbs' approval means to her.
The man's eyebrows raise in clear surprise and he takes a step back.
"Ah jeez, guys, why'd you do that?"
Tony frowns, utterly confused.
"Uh—"
"I know why, DiNozzo, hell, I can see why right now," he gestures towards the two of them as if that explains things, "But getting married, really?"
Gibbs' tone should be angry, Tony's sure of it, but instead, it's light and mildly cheerful.
"So... you do not mind this?" Ziva asks, sounding as confused as her husband.
"Can't say I'm not a little shocked. But you got married, and you came here, and... that takes guts." He pauses, breath held as if debating what to say next. "You make a good team. And this proves it."
Ziva runs towards Gibbs all of a sudden, arms flying round his neck, and Tony almost wants to avert his gaze at the very private way Gibbs pulls her closer. When they pull apart, Gibbs moves toward his younger agent, and Tony can practically smell the headslap.
There isn't one, though. Instead, Gibbs' hand grips his tight, in a firm but somehow gentle handshake.
"I gotta say, boss, I thought you'd be more mad."
"Not me you should be worrying about, DiNozzo. You got married and didn't tell Abby."
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They tell the team all at once, the next day, and somehow it's more difficult than telling Gibbs was. Abby's a little hurt, yes, but predictably happy, and everyone else congratulates them. Despite the smiles, however, Tony has a moment when he still feels a little bad for excluding all of them. The inevitable headslap is administered then, though, where there's an audience to chuckle at it, and Tony doesn't get much time to contemplate their own actions until they both get home that night.
"D'you think we should've told them?" he asks, as they sit on the couch in near-darkness. Their legs are entangled, and their interlaced fingers lie on his chest. Ziva breathes in sharply at his question.
"I think... that we acted very quickly. In... the spur of the moment, yes? We didn't have time to even think about the wedding, let alone telling people. As much as I... maybe would have liked to be walked up the aisle, and to have a... a big cake and a room filled with people, we agreed some years ago, that traditional weddings aren't for us. I love what we had, Tony, and I love what we have, now. And I really, really, love you."
He kisses her with all the love he can muster, but it still doesn't seem enough. And a part of him knows that in however-many years time, it still won't seem enough. But they'll have each other until then, and as he picks her up and carries her through to the bedroom, he'll certainly do his damndest to try.
