October 3, 2006: This idea still tugs at my mind and won't leave me alone.
For the record, I don't consider myself someone who dwells on the romantic pairings of certain characters if it hasn't been clearly established in the show. I'm big on being true to the universe in which I write, as some of you might know. That's why I thought of Chapter One as a potentially Alternate Universe story, and why it almost didn't see the light of day.
Almost.
The characters in question could go this route, and some of you were kind enough to point this out to me. Writing 'in character' is another stickler of mine. (sigh) I thought it was intriguing to explore, and since the idea persists, I will continue until it is done. :)
As it so happens, we have three - or is it four? - months between the end of Season Three and the beginning of Season Four, so I have more time to explore the 'Absent Gibbs' dynamic than I previously thought. I love the character of Leroy Jethro Gibbs as much as our other heroes, but this is an interesting phase of the team's development and it doesn't look like the show is going to dwell on it much.
This story continues to be set before the start of Season 4. In fact, this second instalment takes place not long after the first. Tony and Ziva continue their evening, though this chapter has more of Ziva's perspective than Tony's. My apologies if, despite my research, the Italian isn't correct.
October 7, 2006: I realize I tend to be long-winded when it comes to my author notes - perhaps I have more in common with Dr. Mallard than I was previously aware ;) - but it is the way I'm wired, folks. Many of you have been most gracious with your time when it comes to my writing, both by reading my efforts and, for some, by taking a moment to review as well. Your thoughts and comments are always greatly appreciated.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts on 'Tin Star'. I had a blast writing it. :)
And now for the Declaration: I own none of these characters and no infringement is intended. This hasn't been Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault. To avoid any confusion, the quotes in bold are from the first chapter. To the best of my knowledge, the Fizbin does not exist anywhere but in my head and within the context of this story. I happen to think that's a cryin' shame.
October 9, 2006: I'm going to try and post tonight. I hope you continue to enjoy.
Almost
Chapter Two
By lilmouse
"Festina lente. (Make haste slowly.)"
- Augustus, first Roman Emperor, 63 BC – AD 14
The Fizbin is a restaurant in a snappy part of Washington, D.C., which comes under the category of 'reclaimed' by the businesses that now thrive there. Recent history had witnessed a decline within a ten-block radius of the building, but now the area has climbed the social ladder and is part of a safe zone whilst still maintaining a funky edge.
The restaurant is a fun, family place with a bar and dance floor on one side aimed at the single crowd that can afford a loft apartment and vacations in the Bahamas. It isn't a pub, but there is a pool table and you can play darts. There is a science fiction theme throughout, with signed celebrity photos, theatre posters, reproduction décor and paraphernalia from a wide assortment of television programs and movies.
And if you know who Captain Kirk is, then you understand the name. Tuesday is a special night here. They have a draw with randomly marked playing cards for prizes advertised during the rest of the week, and just like in the episode 'A Piece of the Action', the rules of the draw change every time.
Wednesday features the more mundane 'all-you-can-eat-chicken-wings' and Thursday is Latin night, with a live band playing salsa music.
It is almost 2300 hours - or eleven o'clock at night, depending on your preference - before Special Agent Tony DiNozzo and Officer Ziva David arrive at the Fizbin. Although it is late, there is a decent crowd and with one hour to go, it is still Thursday.
Ziva parks the car within sight of the door out of habit. It is a rental - her third - and it probably doesn't qualify on Tony's list of 'chick cars'. That isn't why she chose it but it pleases her in some small, petty way. She turns off the engine but doesn't withdraw the key immediately. The light from the dashboard provides a gentle glow. She shifts in her seat to look at Tony only to find him looking back. He seems calm and in control for someone who has consumed more than a bottle of wine by himself, and not at all arrogant or over-confident. He is different like this, more comfortable, more - Ziva can't find the right word in English.
And he does look good in that dark green silk shirt.
They are here to meet up with Abby, Tim and Jimmy, and together conclude the day that saw the departure of their leader, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Tomorrow, he will not be at his desk, in the lab, in the Morgue or even in the building. He won't be driving at high speed to a crime scene or interrogating a suspect.
He has left them, abruptly, and they must come to terms with his decision.
She takes a deep breath. "Tony -"
"We can do this, Ziva." His voice is even, sure.
She shakes her head. "That isn't -"
"We can keep this professional."
"Tony, I -"
"I don't want to pretend that kiss didn't happen."
Ziva does nothing to stop him when he kisses her gently on the lips.
"Which one?"
The next kiss is so fierce and passionate that they each wonder that their clothes haven't dissolved due to spontaneous combustion.
"Any of them, actually."
Their hands explore one another with incredible tenderness as he moves tiny kisses down her throat.
She shakes her head; he is distracting her. "We covered that at your apartment. What I want to say is -"
"Did you know your lips pucker like a small flower when you're trying to focus?"
Her eyes narrow. "You are insufferable."
He grins cheekily. "It turns you on, doesn't it?"
Ziva feels the urge to hit him and kiss him simultaneously. She chooses to do neither but the temptation is strong. "Stop interrupting me."
"Sorry. Sometimes I can't help myself."
"I've noticed."
"It's a gift."
"You're doing it again."
The grin widens. "I am, aren't I?"
His eyes are bright and by the faint light, the weight of their most recent case fades into the background. Tony resembles the mischievous frat boy he occasionally pretends to be. Ziva decides to take this as a good sign, that he's finally relaxing, that he might actually enjoy the rest of the evening.
She isn't sure when that became important to her, but then, she still isn't sure why she chose to seek the company of her partner in the first place.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. She was alone and she suspected he was alone and that didn't seem right. There was no plan, no preconceived notion of what she would say or do or how he would react to her arrival.
A series of passionate kisses in his living room had been unexpected. Not unpleasant, but definitely unexpected.
Tony undoes his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. "Shall we go in?"
"Wait." She places a hand on his shoulder. He stops moving and waits. The silk feels decadent under her fingers. He didn't grab a jacket. She doesn't know why, as it is a bit cool tonight, but then he has admitted to being slightly inebriated - her words, not his - so perhaps his judgement has been affected when it comes to temperature.
Considering the heat she can feel through his shirt, he obviously doesn't need a jacket. Her mouth is dry. She swallows and clears her throat.
"This is going to be just a… group gathering," she starts, uncertain. "Right?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I say. This isn't a - a date. This is a - a team thing, yes?"
She is fluent in several languages and has managed to negotiate surrenders, handle difficult interrogations and even communicate the subtleties of diplomacy - when pressed. Why are simple words failing her now?
"This is a 'team thing', yes, as you so… eloquently put it."
She can't tell if Tony is making fun of her or if this is his reaction to being shunted to the side. She doesn't want to hurt him or discount the few moments of understanding they achieved in his apartment not half an hour ago, but it is dangerous to think about it too much.
Especially right now, as they sit in her rental car in the near dark, and he looks so devastating.
And devastated?
"Then we must behave like we usually do," Ziva states firmly and reaches over before she loses her nerve. She fumbles with the top two buttons of his shirt and spreads the fabric open when she is done. Tony has remained perfectly still, watching her, his Adam's apple bobbing hard, once. Her fingers tentatively touch his collarbone then she moves back in her seat. He starts to follow but stops himself. She notes his right hand is gripping the dashboard very tightly.
"What was that about, Zee-vah?" His voice is husky, low, and curious.
"You are a single man going into a bar, Tony." She averts her gaze so she doesn't meet his eyes. "The American male out to paint the town pink."
"Red."
"Red. You did the buttons on your shirt all the way to the top, and since I am your co-worker and not your date, it would be suspicious if you didn't dress the part."
He stares at her. She can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing upon her in the small confines of the car.
"Very observant," he murmurs. "I didn't think you'd notice."
Her eyes, wide and wary, dart back to his. "So you did those buttons up intentionally." It isn't a question.
He nods, once. "I'm not cruising tonight."
She looks away again and sighs impatiently. "But you are - or you would be, if you and I - if we hadn't - if -"
Tony moves slowly, so he won't alarm her, she guesses. Very smart, on his part. Wouldn't want to have any broken bones. The hand that was gripping the dashboard is now cupping her chin and encouraging her to face him. She has seen enough American romantic comedies - one is enough - to recognize that they are rapidly approaching a touchingly awkward moment. This is the part when he looks into her eyes and tells her he will always be there for her. They will always be friends. The team will survive the absence of Special Agent Gibbs and grow stronger, closer. They will get through this rough patch, these complicated emotions, and establish a rhythm that will work for everyone.
Ziva, as the female lead of this little scene, will be stoic and smile and certainly not be bitter because it isn't as if she has given Tony her heart. He can't trample something he doesn't have. She will never give her heart that easily to anyone again. And she isn't the type to cry. She is a tough-as-nails Mossad agent. She has loved and lost and the pain of that still lingers.
Thinking in film terms is a very 'Tony' moment for her and she almost laughs.
Almost.
She lets him turn her head so they can complete the scene and get on with the rest of their lives.
When their eyes meet, Tony manages one word - "Damn." Then they are straining across the seats, Ziva still held by her seatbelt. He grips the sides of her head with both hands and curls his long fingers into her dark hair. She is hampered by her belt but meets him in the middle, regardless of the pull across her chest. Her left hand drags through his short brown hair and finally rests firmly on the back of his head.
The kiss is soft and lingering, with a hint of desperation. It is a lover's kiss, not just a kiss of temporary lust. If it were only that, they would stop immediately. If it were only lust, it would be easy. They both know they should stop. They are both aware that they are necking in the car like a couple of teenagers, and in a public parking lot, no less.
They work together. Rule # 12. On this point, maybe Gibbs was right.
They pull apart reluctantly, breathing hard. Remembering she's supposed to be going somewhere, Ziva tries to use her left hand to remove the key from the ignition but with no success. Tony releases her hair, reaches over with his right hand and does it for her. He places the keys in her palm and moves back against the upholstery. The dashboard light fades. They are left in the dark but for a few lights in the parking lot.
"Hope we didn't give anyone a show," Tony muses, tipping his head to the right to indicate the restaurant windows two car rows across from them. They probably haven't, as it is dark and the diners will be focussed on their food and companions. A flush creeps up her neck, regardless.
"So do I." She quickly undoes her seatbelt and opens the door. The small interior light comes on. Tony is watching her. She gets out of the car, closes the door and leans back against it. The car shifts slightly as Tony emerges, closing the passenger door with just enough force to secure it. He isn't slamming it or failing to close it properly. He isn't losing control. There was a time when she thought him very immature, especially when he didn't get his way or have the last word. He is still like that, sometimes, but she's pleased he isn't behaving like that right now. Not when it is something so important, with implications sharp, like a knife.
Ziva finds the key fob and pushes the button. The car locks with a click and a tiny, gasping chime. He walks around the back of the car and meets her at the driver's door.
"How's this for the story? I knew from Abby that you were going to be here. I'd had some wine and didn't think I could drive safely, so I called and asked you to pick me up." He smiles, apparently happy with his lie. "Sound good?"
Ziva isn't sure how to respond. It sounds fine, plausible even, and she doesn't want the rest of the team to know the truth.
But it is a lie, the first of many potential lies that could build as she and Tony take it 'one day at a time'. Such a nice, general phrase, that, and she'd been the one to voice it. And he'd agreed.
One day at a time -
She opens her mouth to say that despite anything they might truly feel for one another, it would be best to ignore it.
A finger rests upon her lips before she can speak.
"You're doing that 'small flower' thing again," he says quietly, and removes his finger.
"Tony -"
"Don't."
"I -"
"Please."
That one word is spoken quietly. It isn't a command, it isn't begging, it is just a request. He knows what I am trying to say, Ziva realizes, and he doesn't want to hear it. She stares at him and decides her choice of wording is incorrect. Not want, but need. He doesn't need to hear it. He knows we tread on dangerous ground.
And so do I.
Yet here they are, standing close enough to touch but not touching. She looks at one of the buttons on his shirt. She can smell a hint of his cologne, mixed with whatever hair care products he uses. It all blends together well and smells like… Tony. She has an excellent sensory memory, and the way Tony smells has been duly recorded and can be recalled at whim.
His scent has been slowly driving her mad since her first week on the team.
Aside from the obvious scents, she also associates Tony with food. It alarmed her when she acknowledged it at her two-month mark. That makes him… edible, and it isn't a good image when she has to sit across from him every day. The ethnic origin of the food doesn't matter - from pizza to Thai spring rolls, fried rice to French fries - they make her think of Tony.
He uses something on his skin, something natural, like an oatmeal facial scrub perhaps. She considers that sort of thing strictly a pamper product, used only for special occasions and visits to the spa. Tony uses items like this every day, along with a shampoo that makes him smell like dessert. She could almost taste him when they sat in the car together.
Ziva sighs. She is doomed. She tilts her head back to look up at him again and he smiles. It is one of his many, friendly smiles. She has witnessed a wide variety of Tony's smiles, and some of them are not at all friendly. She wonders if she's seen the same one twice. This smile seems particularly genuine, almost vulnerable. The wine must have made him relax sufficiently to let down some barriers.
Then he says three words that help her understand that he is more sober than she thought.
"I trust you."
She has been here before, another time and place, another man who bears little resemblance to Special Agent DiNozzo. That man had trusted her, too. She had shared her heart with him, and then he had died.
"Andiamo."
Italian is one of the languages on his dossier. It is one of the languages in which she is fluent. As they walk towards the restaurant, casual, not touching, she wishes his voice didn't make that one, simple word sound so good.
To Be Continued…