Warnings: None for this chapter.
A/N: Here is the next chapter, short update, but I wanted to get something else out before the end of the weekend :). Thank you all for you continued support! I was too busy to respond to your reviews this week, but I do read them and appreciate them:)
Miles upon miles of secluded road searched behind them, Tony was sure his feet were covered in blisters. And they still hadn't found the clothes. They had searched Webber's apartment, sent local police to search the Webbers' farm-and so far nothing. Now Gibbs had them pounding the pavement up and down the road that Patrick would have driven to get away from the crime scene.
Tony knew how close they were to nailing the two men. If only they could find the clothes.
"So, I made those reservations for the Rooftop," McGee informed him, breaking his concentration briefly.
"Great. When are you taking her?" Tony asked, still searching for the missing clothes.
McGee kept a steady pace behind Tony. "Friday. She...well she seemed happy but nervous at the same time. You know the last time we...we dressed up was the night of the gala."
Tony paused and turned to glance at Tim. "You just have to keep her mind off of that."
"Yeah? How do you suggest I do that?"
"Here. Call someone that might be able to help."
McGee caught Tony's cell phone in midair and looked at him, confused. "Who exactly do you want me to call?"
Tony smiled and went back to work. "Call Leah. She's probably better suited to answer questions about a woman than I am."
While his partner was busy on the phone with his girlfriend, Tony kept looking for the clothes that Patrick Webber had to have been wearing when he killed his wife. They would be covered in blood. Abby was testing his shoes, along with Frank's to determine if both suspects were at the crime scene but a defense attorney could still argue that Patrick didn't commit the crime his father did and vice versa. They needed the clothes to prove their case that Patrick beat Kristine and called his father to help him transport her back to the shelter where she died.
Currently they were walking the last possible route that Patrick could have taken away from the shelter towards the rest stop. He had to have ditched the clothes somewhere that cameras wouldn't catch him. Daylight was starting to fade and Tony was certain he was going to miss his date.
"Hey," McGee called behind him, "your girlfriend wants to talk to you. Something about your date tonight?"
"Yeah, yeah, just give me a second," Tony called back, climbing over a guard rail. He slipped on some gloves and gingerly made his way down the slope.
By the time McGee caught up to him, Tony was already climbing back up the slope, something in his hand. "Tell her it might still be on," he said with a grin. He held up a plastic shopping bag. Inside was a pair of blood covered jeans and a sweatshirt.
Gibbs, surprisingly sent them all home that night. It would be a few hours before Abby had the results in on the blood that was found on the clothes. And he could see that the team was exhausted.
Tony had grabbed some take out from a local Thai place and met Leah at his apartment. He had every intention for the evening to go in a different direction than it did, but after they had dinner and she offered to clean up-he fell asleep on the sofa.
He only knew that because Leah was shaking him awake, calling to him in a worried voice. He blinked open his eyes to find her standing over him, her eyes a mixture of concern and sorrow. "You were having a bad dream," she told him, softly, then smoothing his hair back she took a deep breath. "You cried out for Ziva."
Damn it. Tony now understood her look. He swallowed the nervous bile in his throat. "I keep...I keep having these dreams with her...with her in them."
"And do you have dreams about her often?" Leah asked, a defensive tone to her voice.
"Not...well, they didn't really start until she went away and then they picked back up when you went to Cairo," Tony stuttered.
Leah's eyes flashed with anger. "Oh," she said, reaching for her coat. "I see."
Tony got up, desperate to make her understand that the dreams meant nothing, that in one of them it was her that died instead of Ziva, but he just ended up fumbling over his words some more, "Leah, don't go, please. They're dreams...they don't...they don't mean anything! You're in them too if that makes you feel better!"
"Feel better? How is that going to make me feel better? And just so you know there are studies that show dreams do have some kind of meaning," Leah snapped, opening the door to his apartment.
"You're being ridiculous," Tony snapped back, reaching out and slamming his door shut. "It's just a dream."
"Maybe I am being ridiculous, but you're dreaming about a woman you were in love with. Maybe a woman you're still in love with."
Tony sighed, angrily. "Well, it's not like I can be with that woman now is it?" Immediately he regretted the words and wanted to take them back. But he couldn't. He'd said them and now he was going to have to pay the consequences.
Leah's eyes filled with tears as she pushed his arm away from the door and opened it. She turned to go, managing somehow to keep some form of control on her emotions and whimpered, "I can't compete with her Tony. I just...can't. If you want this to last-you need to let her go-for good."
She was gone before he could react, gone before he could say another word. Tony stood there for the longest time, her words a knife in his heart. But she was right. He had to finally let Ziva go-forever. He just wasn't sure how to do it. He turned on his heel and pressed his back into his door. Closing his eyes tightly he wondered how everything had gone from being perfect to being such a mess.
Across the room his cell phone buzzed. Tony opened his eyes and pushed himself off the door towards the coffee table, where the phone was resting.
Picking it up he hoped it was a text from Leah, but instead it was Abby. Got the results back! And you're going to be happy! Blood is a match! Case closed!
Tony sighed as he grabbed his gear. If only he could feel happy but right now he felt nothing but like a screw-up.
