Author's Note: Sorry this is later than planned. I'm leaving this weekend for vacation and my mind is already at the beach lol However despite the fact that I'm uploading this Tuesday night (Wednesday, essentially) I'm still gonna try my hardest to upload Thursday- Friday the latest (because I leave Saturday)
Remember how I promised things would get better? Well guess what...we're getting there! Woohoo :)
Enjoy!
He can't sleep. Even in an actual bed, in a new place and country, Tony can't sleep. He is absolutely exhausted and jet lagged but no matter what he tries he still can't get any sleep. He's been running on an accumulated five hours sleep the last few weeks. He's been able to steal a few minutes here and there, maybe an hour or two if he's lucky, but coffee is his main source of energy these days. And he sorely needs a cup. There's a tiny coffee maker in his hotel room but he doesn't even bother with it. He knows the cafe he wants to go to.
Can he? Can he go there after so much time? The corner cafe where they spent their last moments in Paris together seems like sacred ground- much like the hotel they shared. He isn't entirely sure he can sit there alone where they once sat together. But he's already headed that direction before he can stop himself.
He's panicking. Every step he takes closer to the cafe his heart pounds against his chest harder and harder. What if she's there? What if she got the same idea he did and came for morning coffee and a trip down memory lane? Of course the whole purpose of coming to Paris was to find Ziva but suddenly the idea of actually finding her scares him more than anything else. More than bullets and bad guys, more than angry Abby and more than Gibbs without coffee. Because, scary as those things are, they're nothing compared to the mind-numbing fear of putting one's heart on the line. He should stop walking, turn around and go home.
He keeps walking. There's determination in his stride even though his knees are going weak. She's probably not even there.
She's there. As soon as he rounds the corner he sees her. She's sitting at the same table they shared years ago, eating the same food and everything. For a second he's completely convinced it's just his memory painfully reminding him what he missed out on but no...this is real.
She is real. Her hair is wild and curly like it used to be and she's wearing a dress. It's nice to see her in a dress and sandals because it's Ziva completely relaxed, completely care-free, completely at ease, without worrying about looking over her shoulder. She doesn't need to be combat-ready so she isn't. It's a pretty dress made entirely of white cascading layers that compliments every one of her never ending curves. He's reminded for the five billionth time just how radiantly beautiful she is. She lights up the whole block with one smile.
She looks up.
He freezes. Oops. He didn't plan for this. He didn't think of what to say or do when this moment came. He should have at least come up with a way to say hi but even that's not coming to him.
He's completely blank.
"Tony?" He's so glad she initiates contact because he can't feel his lips. Or his tongue. Or his face. Or his body. Her question buys him enough time to suck in a deep breath and take a shaky step forward.
"This seat free?" he asks, gesturing to the chair across from her. She's too shocked to say anything but manages to nod as her eyes sweep over the length of him.
He looks good. Sleep deprived, depressed and disheveled; but also good. But maybe he only looks good to her because she hasn't seen him in so long. Did he always look this good in casual clothes? It's just a gray tee shirt and jeans but he's wearing the hell out of them both.
He sits down. It's a slow and deliberate move, the way he sits before her almost like each step he takes and move he makes could shatter the illusion. But it's not an illusion, it's not his imagination or his memories. He hasn't been shot and therefore having a 'this is what life could be like' type of near death experience. It's all actually happening and suddenly Tony can't help himself. He reaches across the table and touches her arms. His fingers so lightly brush against her skin she barely even feels it- like a ghost of touch. But he feels it, feels the warmth flow from her skin to his and fix him. His fingers are tingly from just that one touch because it's real.
She is real.
This is real.
They're together.
