Disclaimer: I own nothing.
His Whiskey
Chapter 3
Michael sat in front of an apartment building in his dark car, staring up at the window that he knew belonged to the third floor apartment, second room from the elevator. He knew that the door was labeled 3C with golden letters on an oak door. He knew that the walls were painted cream and that the room often smelled of the coffee that wafted up from the cafe on the first floor. He knew every inch of that apartment, from its smooth teak floors, to its chipped porcelain sink. He also knew that there was nothing left inside for him. The window was dark and Devon had always kept a light on, a warm light had shone out on to the street from behind vermilion curtains.
The harsh green glow from his car's dash board told him that it was 9:45. Michael turned the key in the ignition, thinking that he knew just what he needed to ease this aching pain.
He caught Ziva just as she was leaving the bar.
"Well I hope you weren't looking for me," Michael said with false bravado. Ziva looked tired tonight, but she played along.
"Is that really what you were hoping?" she asked sarcastically.
"Not even close," he replied truthfully. What he was hoping is that tonight, she could help him forget.
"You know, I could buy you a drink, or..." he tailed off.
"Or what?" she asked, although he suspected that she knew exactly what he was about to suggest.
"You could come home with me," he said. Michael hoped that his face remained composed; despite his bold offer he wasn't usually this forward with women, but Ziva was an exception. She laughed at his frank suggestion.
"Why would I do that?" Her tone was more playful now, and Michael relaxed a little.
"Because you feel guilty about lying to me," he said laughingly before deciding to take the plunge and play to her weakness. "Or because you just killed someone and you need someone to hug." The words sounded slightly ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but it had the desired effect.
"Why do I have the feeling that you are angling for more than just, a hug?" she asked.
"Angling no—hoping..." Michael trailed off and gave her what he hoped was a charming smile. He didn't know how well he would handle her rejection tonight if it came to that. Ziva's brown eyes narrowed slightly and she tilted her head, trying to size him up.
"Have you been telling me the truth about your girlfriend? Or are you just taking advantage of my—raw, emotional state?" she asked finally. Michael thought for a second. Was he telling the truth that he did not want to get back together with Devon? Absolutely not. But in this moment, his need was greater than his honor.
"Yes, and—yes," he answered, deciding that Ziva deserved to know the truth to at least one of her questions.
Michael could feel the mind numbing rush that her company always provided beginning as she slid into the passenger's seat of his car a few minutes later. He had driven to the bar without the radio on, and now he was acutely aware of the silence in the small, dark space. He listened to the sound of the tires gripping the road and glanced over at Ziva. Her hair fell over the left side of her face, effectively hiding her expression from him. The street lights cast a flickering orange light inside the car every few seconds, revealing her silhouette against the shiny glass of the window. The anticipation built as they neared their destination, and soon Michael could feel himself paying more attention to her than to the road.
By the time they arrived in front of his apartment, he had managed to clear his mind of Devon.