Melancholy

He was sure that the Agent Afloat position was some form of punishment. In his mind, he deserved it based on what transpired in LA and in the desert. But this ship-bound life was hell, especially since he was missing a certain someone and he had no clue as to her whereabouts. August 2008.

Melancholy – a prolonged feeling of pensive sadness

Tony emptied the last of the red wine from the cup on his desk in a single swig and flopped on his rack. The days all ran together now; wake up at 0700, shower, have breakfast, follow up on any open cases or unfinished paperwork, lunch, more paperwork, dinner, check out the night's entertainment, especially the film of the day, down a half of a bottle of the red wine from the ship's store, try to sleep… Repeat the next day, and the next… He was now in month three with no end in sight.

The wine helped him sleep if he was honest about it. It dulled his senses just enough to keep his thoughts from racing all night. That first week, he'd been exhausted when he hit the pillow and slept each night, mostly out of his body just needing the sleep. The second week, he had started learning his way around the ship, and his office slash rack slash "personal space," and that's when his mind started with tossing around the events of the last month on land when he was not distracted by the tasks of his new job.

The urging from Ziva that something was not quite right, the too-quick reply from the director – late director Shepard – that everything was 'fine' and that he and Ziva should take some down time. His own gut feeling that nothing was as it appeared on the surface. The scene they arrived to at the diner. The sharp looks from Vance and Gibbs; he knew they blamed him for what happened. Hell, he blamed himself… His guilt and self-flagellation ate at him constantly, however, during the performance of his duties he could mostly put it in the back of his mind and ignore the screaming demons in his head.

He'd barely had time to say goodbye to the team; Tim had fought tears, and Tony hadn't teased the younger agent at all. Abby openly wept as she engulfed each of the now-former MCRT agents. Ziva had been her usual stoic, show-no-emotion self in the bullpen; he didn't call her out on it even later when he showed up at her apartment with a case of cheap beer.

Ziva… he had no idea where in the world she might be at the moment. All he knew is that she went back to Israel, back to Mossad and Eli David. The dutiful soldier of her father's ambition; for all he knew she could be lying in the middle of nowhere, having spent her last breath doing Eli's dirty work. Damn he missed her, longed for her.

'Admit it DiNozzo; you want her…'

The night they'd had was still etched into his mind. First the crying and holding on to each other, then the kisses and the love-making… He was sore when he left in the early morning hours to grab his bag of clothes and head to Anacostia to fly out to the ship. But it was a good sore; four rounds with the Ninja on the bed, neither one of them caring if they slept or not, trying to memorize the feel, the taste, the smell, the body of the other for what may be the rest of their lives. He smiled wryly, she was the only woman who made him feel so alive during sex – no, with her it was love-making, not just sex. His body reacted at the memories of her; the way she fit him as if she was made just for him; the way she moaned his name as she peaked. Damn… now he would have to take things in hand to relieve his need. His hand slid into his boxers and his mind slipped back to his last night on dry land…

"Uhnnn… oh… god Ziva…" he lay back after his release, catching his breath. The communication device on the wall let out its shrill tone, signaling an incoming call from somewhere on the floating city. The 'city' where he was the only freaking cop…

He wiped his hand on the leg of his boxers and lifted the receiver, "DiNozzo." He listened as one of the medical staff from sick bay rambled on about the three sailors currently being treated from a brawl in the NCO bar. The worst of the injuries was a broken nose, but the three had managed to break several chairs and a table in the melee that followed a loud, heated argument over a magazine. Tony suspected it was not just any magazine, probably an issue of GSM, Playboy, or Penthouse.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he interjected into a lull in the other man's monologue. "Hold them all in sick bay until I get there."

He glanced over at the pictures of the Ninja on his bulletin board as he headed out after a quick shower. He'd tugged on a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, his new attire style as an Agent Afloat. The three images of bikini-clad Ziva made him miss the Israeli all the more, but he needed to see them every day for his own sanity. That's why he'd stapled the pictures to the cork; his reminder of her and all that they'd had a few short months ago. If he ever got to see her again, he promised himself that he would tell her what she meant to him, Rule 12 be damned. 'If' being the operative word… IF.