Author's Note: I am ashamed to admit that I haven't watched an episode of NCIS in weeks. I missed one a couple months ago and haven't caught myself up since. I'm pretty sure I still have them saved on my DVR but I'm just not sure I want to watch them. Nothing they're doing on that show is anything near what they should be doing and I just don't feel like watching my favorite thing cave in on itself. So it is a little weird writing FanFiction for a show I don't even watch regularly anymore lol but I am going to finish out this story. I'll see it through to the end (which will happen sometime soon within the next couple chapters or so) but I'm just not excited for this show anymore :( And that breaks my heart more than anything.
Day to day. That's the only way Tony can live anymore. Day to day, hour to hour, minute by minute. If he thinks ahead to the future it makes him sad and scared but if he remembers the past too often he'll go fetal. So he's stuck just trying to get through each day as they pass uneventfully. Sometimes it's not so bad, work keeps him occupied so he immerses himself in it, jumping into every new case with both feet. On the surface his closure rate and overall work performance is only improving, but on the inside he's crumbling. He's falling apart in little pieces and in huge chunks. It's a little at a time then all at once and before long he's a broken man. He's not himself anymore, he's a damaged picture of the old Tony DiNozzo. There have been so many versions of him over the years. The childish ladiesman, the maturing Tony that was doing more bad than good but who was growing regardless, the devoted DiNozzo that proved he'd go to the edge of the world to protect his loved ones. There was a Tony that was open and sharing, there was also a Tony that threw caution to the wind and flew all the way to Paris to be with the love of his life. But all of those versions are gone; replaced by this cheap imitation.
He misses himself. The Tony that jetted around France with his girl is the version of himself that he misses most but he'd take any of the other Tony's over this one that drinks too much, doesn't sleep enough and doesn't feel anything. He hates this Tony but he doesn't know how to change. He can't be the man he was with Ziva when she isn't here.
There's no hope. It's the harsh reality Tony lives in and it's hell but it is what it is. He can't make her come home and he can't move on so he's left with nothing but memories and broken hopes. He's left shattered like the whiskey glass he drunkenly drops on his kitchen floor. Brown liquid slips into the grout keeping the tiles together and drenches his socks in it's heady scent. A curse slips from his mouth as he slumps over the counter in a display of utter exhaustion. Little pieces of glass litter the floor along with little pieces of Tony's sanity.
Medication might help. Or maybe therapy- not that he feels like pouring out his heart to a complete stranger. His current therapist is Jack Daniels and he's doing a fine job. Or at least a good enough job. He takes the edge off and at this point Tony's not convinced there's anything else he can do other than survive. Thriving or even just being okay aren't apart of his options anymore so he's left to clean up the splinters on the floor.
It's not fair. He came so close to getting everything he ever wanted and then it all just disappeared. If he'd known getting on that flight home would end everything he wouldn't have gotten on it. He would've called Gibbs, tried to explain that his life with Ziva is worth more than his badge, then never went back. He would've stayed in Europe with her if he'd known that leaving would be the last thing he did to her. If ever he needed a divine presence to help guide him away from such stupid mistakes.
But it's done. There's nothing he can do about it now. It's been too long and the words never come out right so nothing changes. He cleans up the liquor and pours another glass just as he always does then goes to bed alone just as he always does. He hates going to sleep with Ziva on his mind rather in his bed. There's an entire side of the mattress that's cold and undisturbed just screaming at him all the beautiful things she once said to him that he'll never hear again. The pillow screams I love you's in place of the strands of curly hair that don't lie there. The unruffled sheets yell sweet nothings in his ear where her lips used to caress. Everything is a reminder of her and everything hurts.
Everything just hurts.