A/N - thanks for the reviews. I am very aware there is nothing else really happening here, just two people trying to work out the kind of realtionship they are capable of having. And, well - thanks for sticking with it. Though if you are hoping for more about cases and such I am afraid you will be disappointed.
Old Habits – part 3
Her prediction had been accurate. He'd dressed quietly and left about an hour later and, this time, she let him think she was asleep; knowing it was easier that way.
The next day had come and gone and they hadn't talked about it, of course. But then she wasn't sure they had anything to say. The important thing was, she wasn't sorry and neither, it seemed, was he.
On the surface nothing changed between them – he was certainly as oblique and as irritating as ever. Yet in the days that followed there were fleeting glances, moments when their eyes almost met and then skittered away. She knew the ground they stood on was shifting. It wasn't a shift of seismic proportions – no earthquakes to send them racing for cover. But, in a way she regretted that – there was very little to mistake in an earthquake after all.
It didn't exactly come as a surprise that they were still sleeping together.
The first time was just over a week later. She'd only been home for a half an hour when he had appeared at her door – a cup of coffee in his hand and a hollow look in his eyes.
She didn't need him to tell her that his latest case had got to him, that its conclusion had been bloody and difficult. She'd stayed out of his way, but kept watch from the shadows, making sure that he was still in control. She knew that he'd kept the demons at bay for only as long as it had taken to trap the killer – and now he was here – with her.
A different woman would have read all kinds of things into his appearance at her door once it was all over. But she knew him a little too well and she retained very few illusions about what he was capable of. In fact she suspected she saw more clearly than he did when it came to this – that he hadn't even started to think about what this meant and where it would take them.
The knowledge that he was looking for a place to hide should have been enough to make her send him away – home to his boat and his own bourbon. But instead she'd let him in, shared the meal Neomi had left for her and finally taken him to bed. Offering him the comfort she knew he was seeking, but would never ask for. Only wondering whether he would do the same for her afterwards, when they were lying tangled together in the darkness.
His hand was splayed over her hip, lips pressed to her shoulder; she could feel his breath, his heartbeat, his skin. In a sense it didn't matter what she would do, what he could give her because he was already too close.
She'd crept under his skin again, far more easily than he had expected. Their mutual lack of regret had been accompanied by an ease that had taken him by surprise; he'd been completely wrong footed by how everything about them seemed to just fit – slide smoothly into place as though nine years were less than a blink of an eye.
There was something different about them afterwards, though he wasn't surprised that no one else seemed to notice it. They were both very good at keeping secrets after all and he wasn't sure he could even begin to explain what the 'something' in question was; at least not straight away.
After that shattering case all he'd wanted to do was wash himself clean and crawl away into a corner to hide. But he hadn't wanted to be on his own. She seemed to understand how difficult the case was; he'd caught her watching the team once or twice and gathered that she'd asked both Abby and Ducky for updates. He'd been angry at first; annoyed that she seemed to be gauging whether or not she needed to intervene. But the more the case had clawed at him, the more he had realised that if she did assist it might enable them to reach a conclusion sooner. And he wanted to be free of it. Still he drew the line at asking her for help himself – sending Ziva in his stead, pretending not to know the identity of her 'source'.
The end was messy, bleak; the lives the killer had destroyed in his wake had touched all of his team – dampening even DiNozzo's exuberance. He sent them home as soon as he could – knowing if they had any sense they would grasp whatever comfort they could this night, do whatever it took to purge the terrors. And he was no different.
He half expected her to turn him away, to remind him that they weren't lovers, that they'd shared just a single night when a mixture of loneliness and nostalgia had caught up with them.
But it was more complicated than that, they were more complicated than that and he knew that when she looked at him she could see the need bleeding out him and he willed her to stanch the flow, though he couldn't bring himself to ask.
They didn't talk much; she gave him a glass of bourbon, led him into the kitchen and heated up some food. He ate under her watchful eye – not really noticing the meal, seeing only her; the way her hair curled into her shoulders, the hint of pale skin at her throat where she'd unbuttoned her shirt; an altogether different hunger.
When he finished the food she pushed the bottle out of his reach before he could refill his glass and sent him upstairs for a shower. He didn't argue, was glad to let the hot water wash over him, wanting to feel clean for what might be the first time in days. He wasn't altogether surprised when she slipped into the shower behind him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before kneading the tight muscles there with her fingers. He leant forward, enjoying her touch, the way she knew his body – how it responded to her ministrations. Finally, when he couldn't stand it any longer he turned, pushing her back into the tiles, letting the need and the hunger overtake him; seeking solace in her touch and her taste.
The love-making carried them from the bathroom to her bed and afterwards they rested, tangled together, his chest pressed to her back, breathing in the steamy scent of her body. He hadn't intended to stay, told himself he'd just shut his eyes for a while, since he was feeling drowsy. But for once his body made the decision for him and when he awoke it was to the low buzz of her alarm at 5.30am.
Neither of them was capable of conversation in the morning without coffee. But somewhere between making coffee, showering and retrieving a change of clothes from his car, the potential awkwardness disappeared. And along with it went the opportunity to have a conversation about what was really going on, what it meant.
He was already on his way back to the Yard before her car arrived to pick her up.
Somewhere deep inside he knew that one night stands shouldn't just slip into more without some discussion, but he wasn't ready to confront that thought. He was too distracted by feeling better to question what it meant that she could offer him comfort without leaving him weak or diminished and he he was carefully avoiding any thoughts that might raise the spectre of whether she'd let him do the same for her.
TBC