A/N: Hello lovely readers. Sorry I haven't updated for a few days. I really have no excuse—just pure laziness, but I'm hoping you'll forgive me.
Not a lot to say about today's chapter. It's sad and nostalgic. My favorite.
I actually wrote most of the Tony angst with a double meaning in all this—while yes, I wrote it to be his reaction to Ziva's death, I also wrote it in kind of an idea of what he might be going through while Ziva is MIA. I've got my theories on that which I won't go into, but let me just say this: He'll get her in the end. It may take time, but he'll be there and they'll be fine. Better than fine, actually.
So yes.
Enjoy.
Tony lay on his couch. That is all he did. That is all he wanted to do. And it's all he could convince himself to do. It wasn't that he was being lazy or moping.
He just missed her.
Ha. Anthony DiNozzo, the independent, witty, charming, frat boy missed a woman so badly he didn't want to get up from the couch.
He had become a wimp. Pimp, he thought to himself as he remembered her blunder from years before. He smiled a little at the memory.
How he missed correcting her.
It was his first day off, and he was making his best use of it. After coming home yesterday at only three o'clock, he promptly heated up some pasta from a couple weeks ago, not really caring if it was still safe to eat. He ate it in his kitchen and then made his way to the couch where he fell asleep and didn't wake up until eleven the next morning. And after that, he just lay there. He didn't want to get up or drink or shower. He didn't care if he never did any of those things for the rest of his life.
His phone began to ring at four, but he didn't pick up. He couldn't. He just lay there quietly. But after the eleventh call, he finally picked up the phone, merely wanting to sit in silence.
"DiNozzo," He sighed, sitting up.
"Tony, Boss wants to--" McGee started.
"Why haven't you answered?" Gibbs demanded as he took the phone from the younger agent.
"Didn't feel like it," Tony said honestly.
He could hear Gibbs sigh a little bit, probably pulling the phone from his ear for a moment in frustration. "Did you eat?"
"Uh… I had dinner… last night,"
"Get something to eat, DiNozzo,"
"I'm not hungry, Boss," He confessed. It was true. He expected to have to debate with Gibbs, but was surprised by his answer.
"Okay," Gibbs replied after a moment.
"What?"
"Okay," He repeated simply.
"So… I don't have to eat?"
"Not yet," Gibbs clarified.
"Okay, then,"
"Okay," Gibbs said, hanging up.
"That was weird," Tony said to the empty apartment. He shrugged it off, looking around.
"She died alone,"
"We are all alone,"
Her voice haunted him at all hours of the day. He would close his eyes—not falling asleep, just closing his eyes—and he could swear he could hear her voice, soft and honest. But he would open them, and he would be alone again, like he always had been.
The next six days followed suit: he would wake up late, lie around for hours, occasionally find a little something to eat, then lie around some more, followed by sleeping until late the next day. Some of his time was spent merely watching the second hand on his clock tick by and by, and sometime he just thought. He thought about her. About their cases. About their fights. All of her English mistakes.
But mostly her smile.
It was amazing how quickly she had become "one of the team." Within the first few weeks, it felt like she had been there forever. She fit in so well—she never put up with his crap, rarely let him share his movie references, and teased them all endlessly. It was perfect. It was easy. Comfortable.
What he wouldn't do to get those days back.
Tony walked into the elevator that first morning back, a little later than usual. He knew Gibbs would be okay with it, at least for today. I'm tired of pretending.
Upon entering the squadroom, he was crushed into a King Kong-sized hug from the one and only Abby. "Tonyyyy! You're back! You're back!" She squealed he laughed and reciprocated her enthusiastic hug. He took a deep breath as they parted. Here it goes, he thought, dreading normal life and dealing with people, no matter how much he loved them. He hated having to put up a cheerful front, but he was used to it. His charming sense of humor, of course, would help with that.
"Welcome back," McGee said as he walked into the bullpen, a small smile on his face.
"Hey, McGoo," Tony used the nickname out of affection now, out of the need for normalcy. He sat down at his desk and put his SIG, ID and wallet in their usual drawer. He glanced across unwillingly. Ziva's desk had been cleaned out.
"They had to clear it out. We tried to stop them," Abby explained tentatively as the temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees with his silence.
"Vance's orders," McGee said after a moment, Tony still staring at the desk.
"He would, wouldn't he," Tony said. It was more of a statement than a question. He looked away, the dull ache in his heart growing by the minute. "Where's Boss?"
"Coffee run, probably," McGee replied.
"Figures,"
"So what'd you do on your time off?" Abby chirped up.
"Probably had a movie marathon," McGee said with a smile.
"James Bond, I'll bet," She said, grinning. She looked to Tony expectantly.
"Nah… Just kinda hung out," He said, his eyes wandering back to Ziva's desk, vacant and sad.
"That's all you did?"
"Yeah," He said quietly.
Abby and McGee exchanged a look—one of confusion, worry, and surprise. The Tony they had once known was gone, replaced with the fragile shadow of a broken heart.
Gibbs walked in. His pace was slower than usual, though his favorite Jamaican blend coffee was in his hand. He stopped at Tony's desk.
"Welcome back," He said quietly, sincerely.
"Thanks, Boss," Tony replied with tired eyes, despite the ridiculous number of hours he had slept that week.
Gibbs watched him for a moment before walking to his desk. "Dead Marine in Georgetown. Let's go," He said. The team gathered their things and headed out to the elevator quickly. They didn't say a word as they went down the building. They all knew.
I'm tired of pretending.
The drive to the scene wasn't long nor eventful. The Marine's name was Corporal Eric Kasing. He had been left in a back alley.
"He was shot with a silencer," Ducky said. "Death with instant and simple, all things considered,"
"There's nothing simple about a decorated Marine getting shot in the head, Duck,"
"Perhaps you are more correct than you think," Ducky said as he pulled back the collar. "This small dot here it most likely from a needle of some sort,"
"He was drugged?"
"Well, I'll know more when I do the autopsy. What I do know is that this puncture was not made in the past twenty four hours," He said as he inspected it. "The poor fellow's only been dead for five, maybe six hours. This puncture was from at least a day ago, judging by the scabbing. Even punctures need to heal," He pulled off his gloves. "Let's take him home. Mr. Palmer," He said, standing.
Tony was photographing the scene. He figured Gibbs didn't trust him with talking to the surrounding witnesses. Gibbs was right.
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