Disclaimer: I own nothing.
His Whiskey
Chapter 2
Ziva was already there when Michael arrived at the bar the next evening. A music video was on the TV over the bar and he watched as she tilted her head quizzically at the strange image on the screen, sucking down the last of her drink through a straw.
"Let me buy you the next one?" he asked over her shoulder as he approached. Ziva's expressive lips smiled at his greeting.
"You working?" Michael asked, not wanting to assume that she was there as Ziva and not her alter ego.
"No," she responded lightly. He raised an eyebrow.
"Uh huh..." He had to test her, make sure that she was there to relax and not to get him to confess to some kind of connection with Hoffman.
"No really, I'm not working, just—drinking. Heidi! Uno mas, s'il vous plait!" Michael laughed at her multi-lingual request.
"You're, uh, mixing your languages," he informed her.
"And my liquors," she said in a bittersweet tone.
"Not exactly the place to come if you're not on the case. There's a thousand bars in this town," he teased.
"I like the atmosphere—and Heidi makes one killer mojito," she said seriously. Michael noted that her spanish was perfect. He let out a breathy laugh.
"I thought maybe you took a shine to one of the patrons," he said, trying to draw a response from her. Ziva looked at him with eyes that knew his game. If she fell for his advances it would be of her own accord.
"And you?" she asked, choosing not to respond to his suggestion. "You are here no doubt, in search of Debbie?" Michael realized that she wasn't completely trusting of him either. She knew he was still hung up on his ex.
"Devon," he corrected her, although he suspected that she had gotten the name wrong on purpose.
"Potato, patato," she teased.
"Yeah well not searching—just drinking," he told her, knowing what she wanted to hear. Michael watched as Ziva's fiery eyes dipped down to his chest flirtatiously and then up again. She leaned in close to him and his eyes went wide. She wasn't usually the one to make advances. But instead of kissing him or playing with his tie, Ziva reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out that last thing that he wanted her to see; a picture of Devon. So he told Ziva about his ex, about her terrible sense of direction, her intelligence, her selflessness. The truth was that she was perfect, and he missed her with an intensity that bordered on pain.
"I'm not looking to get back with her," Michael lied. "I just want to know she's ok." Ziva didn't look fooled.
"I'm gonna help you," she said gently, silently letting him know that she knew about his stong, lingering feelings for Devon.
"You already have," he admitted, thinking about how fearful he would be right now if Hoffman were still on the loose.
"How so?" she asked.
"By killing Hoffman. He's one less nightmare." Michael watched as Ziva's eyes went distant. She sat unblinkingly, obviously recalling a troubling memory. He wondered how she had succeeded in killing a man who had taken so many lives. He wondered if she had been alone and frightened. He wondered if Devon were alone and... no. No, he wouldn't think about that now.
"You ok?" he asked trying to draw Ziva back to the real world. She started.
"Never better," she lied.