Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Thanks to mcgeeksgirl, Reader, JohnnyP86, Crawcolady and puppypants for reviewing 1.
He left the café two hours after she did, returning to his apartment in the lower half of Paris, where he promptly put his notebooks and laptop away and then collapsed on his sofa, staring out at the Paris sky. This wasn't the penthouse apartment he'd imagined when he first arrived in the City of Light, but it was a start. Fitzgerald and Hemingway had both started out in small, cramped hovels in the dark alleys of Paris before garnering the fame they so craved, and if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for him. The soft clicking of nails on the hardwood drew his attention away from the window, and he turned, to see his pup, Jet- short for Jethro- come into the living room from the back of the flat. The dog, just three years old, jumped up onto the sofa, laying down and resting his head in his lap. He sighed, reaching up to stroke the dog's head.
He was exhausted, mentally. He loved to write, enjoyed writing, but it took its toll. Thankfully, the characters for his first novel had practically written themselves. And thanks to his cousin E.J.- an agent at NCIS for the last six years- he had all the highs and lows of being on a civilian agency team without actually being there. She sent him minute details on the various team leaders, agents and even the director, all of which he weeded through and then used to develop these characters. A moment passed, before he sat up, getting to his feet and going into the kitchen. He stuck his hands into his pockets, only to pull out a crumpled piece of paper. Slowly, he unfolded it, furrowing a brow as he read the name and number.
"Ziva... oh!" That's right, the girl who'd invited herself to listen to his novel at the café. They were meeting for dinner at the small café down the street tonight. Silent, he set the scrap of paper on the counter, and went about fixing tea. He glanced behind him when he heard whining, and saw Jethro sitting on the floor behind him, wanting attention. After a moment, he leaned down, scratching behind the dog's ears. "Go on Jethro..." He sighed, shaking his head. "I have got to talk to Sarah about using when picking animal names. Jethro's fine, cause I shorten it to Jet, but Leroy? Only Sarah could love a cat named Leroy."
When he finished fixing his tea, he took a seat at his desk, opening his laptop and proceeding to check his e-mail. He didn't get very far; an image of a living room popped up on the screen, followed by a voice. "There's my baby cousin! How ya doin' Tommy?" He sat back in his desk chair, watching as a pretty blonde slid into hers, some three thousand miles away in D.C. He snorted.
"I'm good, E. J. You?" She shrugged, tightening her ponytail.
"Eh, usual. Working all day, sleeping... most of the night." He wrinkled his nose, shaking his head in disgust.
"I really don't need to know about your love life with that idiot DiNozzo, Erica." She chuckled, sitting back in her chair and shaking her head.
"So how's the writing going, Tommy? Need me to get any more information for you?" He thought a moment. "No." She nodded, thinking. Several minutes passed in silence before she said, "I heard from Sarah today." His interest perked up instantly.
"How... how is she?" E. J. took a deep breath.
"Better. She had a bad relapse a few nights ago, but she's doing okay. Mom's watching over her. She was a nurse, so she's fairly well versed in eating disorders." He swallowed. "Don't worry, Tommy, she'll be okay. We caught it early-"
"She's in high school, E. J! She shouldn't be dealing with an eating disorder, she should be worrying about making friends and trying out for cheerleading and... and dating boys! Not that I wouldn't kick every guy's ass that asks her out, but still, those are the things she should be worrying about! Not ED." E. J. sighed, shaking her head.
"She's fifteen, Tommy-"
"She's still my little sister, Erica. I'm responsible for her-"
"You haven't been responsible for Sarah since you graduated in ninety-six! Sarah is responsible for Sarah-"
"But she's still my little sister, and I have a responsibility as her big brother to look out for her-"
"Tommy, it's okay. She will be okay. I promise. Look, I gotta go, but I'll keep you updated. I promise. I love you, cousin." He scoffed softly.
"Love you too, E. J." They signed off, and he pulled up the chapter he'd been working on. Though the novel was finished and the first draft sent to his editor, he still had twenty-some re-edits, and worked on them constantly. Currently, he was on yet another re-edit of Chapter twenty-three, where McGregor and Tibbs rescued Lisa from the torture camp in Afghanistan. The passage he'd been working on at the café had been one he'd just added in. His editor had stated wanting a more indepth look at Lisa's rescue, and so he was giving the book just that. He sat staring at the screen, suddenly becoming lost not in the words he was writing, but the image of the woman who had interrupted him that afternoon floated to the surface instead.
Her dark eyes, her long dark hair, the dimples in her cheeks, that shy smile. The soft skin beneath his fingers. Ziva.
Sultry, sexual, mysterious, a plethora of adjectives invaded his head, and after a moment, he pulled up the search engine, typing in her name. But before he could hit search, a knock sounded on his door.