I feel the need to clarify that these drabbles have no order, rhyme, or chronology. They're as random as the titles.
Also; this drabble's context is set in the months that follow Somalia, so the December of that year.
jae
Impulse
After five years of partnership and a recovery long in the making, impulse at last urges him to act.
He's tread carefully, made his way closer and closer into the folds of the defenses she surrounds herself with. An iron-dense wall around an even more armored heart, he is the only one that will be able to infiltrate the last part of herself she keeps so heavily guarded.
He's held patiently, waiting for the moment he knows the last of her resistance will crumble.
Somalia.
It's the reason for his caution; the final barrier that she alone can allow him past.
The woman he pulled out of that God forsaken desert several months ago is different from the one he knew. But he loves her all the same. And so he told himself he must be patient as the earth, unyielding in his determination, if he hoped to claim her at all.
He'll prove to her no harm will befall her if it's he whom she entrusts her body, her love, her heart.
Regardless of the December chill, she makes it through the night in the gown that emulates the sky's dark hue; a midnight blue selection sweeping below her knees, which bares just enough of her calves to attract his gaze all throughout the night.
The dress is conservative by all standards, but in the context of Ziva, it's outright bold.
For the first time since summer had past, his partner bared the first glimpse of the physical evidence of the toll her body had taken.
He spends the night marveling at her elegance, her grace. In the midst of the agency's Christmas formal, she stands tall and proud and oh so very stunning. He tells her as such, a hushed compliment uttered only for her ears alone, and she acknowledges his meaningful glance with the only shy smile she grants herself that evening. Her confidence dulls the faint marks that peek just beyond the fabric's reach, marks that intensify and grow when she stretches swiftly or twists to glance over her shoulder; flashes that make his heart tighten and fists unconsciously clench. Her hair hides what the dress doesn't; the testament of Saleem's men forever engrained across her shoulder blades and the line of her spine.
There's a light to her smile that he hasn't seen in far too long, and her buoyant mood lingers as he escorts her home. It's only once they're inside the warmth of her apartment that her demeanor shifts. The laughter in her eyes fades as the intimacy of the setting suddenly overwhelms them, and when she returns from the depths of her bedroom, sans heels and her curls gathered gently in her grasp, the line she delivers next is what causes him to at last, impulsively act.
"Would you mind?" And it may just be entirely in his head, but the soft query is loaded, layered with so many more unspoken questions. She twists so her back is exposed to him, and when she doesn't flinch at the gentle touch of his hand on her waist; rather leaning into his warmth, he reaches for the zipper, drawing it slowly down, down, down.
Impulse brings his lips to the back of her neck, his hand to her shoulder as she shimmies the sleeve down and he slips it down her arm. Impulse brings his lips down over and over on the exposed skin of her shoulder, leaving a blazing trail across her shoulder blades and spine. She frees her other arm, causing the dress to slide down her body to pool at his feet, and his eyes feast over the bare expanse of her back. She falters as the seconds stretch on, for his eyes linger silently; memorizing every mark, every line. He's brought back to reality when her hand reaches for his at her ribcage. Her nerves are tangible, and he rushes to soothe her after intertwining their fingers against her body.
On Impulse, he brings his mouth to every angry mark, willing each brush of his lips to erase the lingering pain these reminders hold.
When she pulls him over the threshold of her bedroom that evening, his eyes no longer see them. But at long last, he sees the final wall fall away in her darkening eyes as she settles underneath him, affection pouring from every pore while he hovers over her with shaking limbs and a nervous smile she leans up to kiss away.
It's impulse on that cold, December night that brings his partner deliverance; with him, she reclaims herself, all that was lost, and all that was taken.
And it's impulse that grants him the greatest gift for Christmas that year; one he would have never dare to have.