Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Thanks to Reader aka Sun Samurai, Buddy5647, Sazzita, YaleAceBella12, and DS2010 for reviewing 6.

Cold sheets.

She rubbed them between her fingers; it was that motion that awoke her, and slowly, she lifted her head. Yes, he was gone; his side of the bed abandoned and void of the warmth that had been his body. She pushed herself to a sitting position, her gaze never leaving the bed as she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Not a sound came from the further recesses of the apartment- clearly, he'd gone out, most likely for a run.

After a moment, she turned, checking the time on her phone.

About four-thirty or so, which meant Tim was out on his run.

She set her phone down and slowly climbed out of bed; the familiar chill of New England hit her skin, and she shivered, before climbing over the bed to grab his pajama bottoms and one of his hooded sweaters that lay at the end of the bed. As she moved to pull them on, she stopped, at the familiar smell that wafted towards her. Slowly, she lifted the hem of the sweater to her nose, breathing in that scent- typewriter ink, coffee, and that leather jacket she longed to run her fingers over...

Guys have that... such a wonderful smell about them.

She quickly pulled them on; of course, they drowned her, for Tim was several inches taller than her. At roughly six feet, he was a whole head or two taller than Ziva, at merely five-foot-three, was. And though he was tall, he was also thin- in fact, he was so thin Ziva still worried that he was sick, even though it was clear by now to everyone on the team and at HQ that he was just focused on his health, especially when it came to maintaining not only a healthy weight, but his physique. He had mentioned something last night when she'd asked over dinner about a heart condition that often struck those in his family- both men and women- later on in life, but hadn't elaborated on the condition or what the symptoms were; he'd simply said that he was at a good place in regards to his weight and wanted to keep it there to avoid any problems later on in life, so clearly this condition- whatever it was- was weight-related.

Or was affected by his weight.

The front door opened and shut, and footsteps soon made their way towards the bedroom; she looked up as the door opened and he slipped inside, shutting it softly behind him. "Ziva-" She waited. "you're up. Look, I'm sorry I left, without letting you know, but-"

"It's okay, Tim. I... kind of figured when I checked the time that you had gone for a run."

He nodded and removed his headphones from around his neck and then heading for the bathroom. Once the door shut behind him, Ziva shuffled out to the kitchen. She started a pot of coffee, leaning against the counter as she waited for it to finish, her mind wandering to the man in the shower.

He was so... so very much unlike any man she had ever met before. He was kind, chivalrous- an absolute and complete gentleman in a world where his kind were a rare and endangered breed. Someone she wouldn't mind getting to know more of, especially since she knew hardly anything about her green-eyed, Irish-born, quiet computer geek. She knew that he had a younger sister, Sarah, a grandmother, and that his parents were divorced- separated?- and that his father was high up in the Navy.

The coffee finished and she quickly poured herself a cup, pulling a cup out for Tim before going into the small living area. The desk that held his typewriter was next to the sofa, and against the far wall was a bookcase which held everything from fiction to nonfiction to mystery. Various trinkets that obviously held special meaning were situated on various shelves, and he had a record collection- some clearly played, others not that much. Many were jazz, but there were several that weren't- sixties folk, seventies rock, artists like Queen and U2. She set her cup down, before pulling one out of the stack.

What surprised her was that it wasn't a record- but a CD, in a clear plastic case. There was a sheet of paper slipped into the front of the case-

Throwbacks

She didn't recognize the scrawl- it wasn't Tim's, she knew that much- and after a moment, went to the computers set up at the other side of the living room. Taking a seat, she opened the CD drive and slipped the CD in, waiting for it to come up in Windows Media before picking a random song- she'd only heard of a couple- and letting it play. Keeping the volume on low, she got up, grabbing her cup and returning to the chair, unaware that the shower in the bathroom had shut off.

It was different, this music, but she liked it. Though it had taken her a while to acclimate to American society, Ziva found that the music had helped bridge that often difficult gap- the constant idioms and American slang often confused her, but the music; music had its own language, a language that transcended cultures and continents. One she was happy to learn.

"I see you found my music." She looked up as Tim came into the living room, already dressed in a pair of jeans, pulling on a Kelly green button-down, his hair still damp. Ziva felt her mouth drop slightly at the sight of his abs-

God, he is gorgeous. More so than any man I have ever seen- and Tony says that he is scrawny? Scurvy? Well, whichever it is, he most certainly is not! If anything, Tim is ten times hotter than Tony is or ever will be. Wait a minute? Did you just think Tim was hot?

She snapped her mouth shut, subtly checking to make sure she wasn't drooling, and stood. "I made coffee." Quickly, she rushed off to get him a cup; stopping mid-pour as his voice cut into her thoughts.

"Hey Ziva? Is that my sweater?" She glanced down, turning to him with a blush. He nodded, stopping when he realized what else she was wearing. "And... are those my pajama bottoms?"