One.
Two.
Three.
He downed each shot of liquor faster than he ever remembered doing so in the past. And he'd done his fair share of drinking throughout the years; and fancied himself something of a connoisseur. But tonight it didn't matter if he couldn't see straight; the price of the liquor; or whether the room was spinning, all that mattered was that series of three shots.
One.
Two.
Three.
He remembered the almost rhythmic sight of her body contorting as each shot tore through her and poured himself another round. Sometimes he tilted his head back and closed his eyes as the burning sensation offered a momentary distraction. All he wanted to do was forget…just for a little while. And he'd become accustomed to this remedy along the years. For Kate, it had been one shot at a time. With Paula, just the bottle. With Jeanne, he sipped his way into the land of lost memories…but for Ziva it was…
One.
Two.
Three.
He cleared his throat and felt the urge to relieve the liquid contents of his stomach onto the floor. But instead he reached for his phone, and managed to hold down the number 2 long enough to dial her number…
"Hello, you've reached Ziva David, please leave a message and I'll get back to you at my latest convenience…"
A smile forced its way on his face as he listened to the last English mistake he'd ever hear her make. He had wanted to tell her multiple times about the little mistake, but couldn't bring himself to do it. It was just too funny. But now, nothing was funny anymore. She was gone and there would be no more casual flirting; no butchered euphemisms; no tussling of her hair. No, all that was left for him now was…
One.
Two.
Three.
He laid the phone beside him on speaker and slowly closed his eyes; drifting off into that place of escape; for one night anyhow...