I seem to have a thing with writing stories late at night.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS
grey and gold Mirrors
The mirror, a perfectly-cut glass square marred by dust and finger-print marks, stood before him. He looked into the mirror as he brushed his teeth, which gleamed white with care and chemicals. It was a ritual, get out of bed, comb your hair and brush your teeth while looking into the mirror.
The mirror was like a prediction of how the day would go. Some days, he thought he looked ultra-cool and ultra-handsome, so he would act all manly and confident, put on his best suit and go to work. Yet other days, he would look into the mirror and see a sloppy, daggy-haired man with baggy eyes, and he would just don any random suit, and slouch off to work.
He didn't like to think that looking into the mirror wasn't manly. That basing a whole day on how he looked was not normal behaviour. Surely he wasn't narcissist?
Teenage girls were narcissist. They religiously checked for pimples and bemoaned their weight even though they were bone thin and ready to tackle a new impossible weight by eating lettuce leaves. Grown men weren't narcissist.
He tilted his head to the side, trying to admire his "sculpted" jawbone. But he still felt empty, empty and cold and upset.
Tony had woken up to two months of bad days. He would wake up and look in the mirror and feel empty, hideous and depressed. He thought that it was just the effect work, but he had never woken up to two months of bad days.
Every time he looked into the mirror, he would see a grown man in his middle ages staring back at him with gloomy green eyes, and hair too smooth for its own good. He would tousle the hair, but then he would stare into the mirror and think that he was a psycho try-hard. He would prod his skin and smooth his hair, but he still felt unsatisfied.
Now as he stared into the mirror, he felt bitter hate for the terrible-looking omnipresent figure. He felt bare and bland, and deeply unsatisfied.
Tony DiNozzo liked to think he was not narcissist.
Work felt terrible, with his whacko hairdo and his disgusting reflection. The reflection of his face had a certain misery to it, something that Tony could not pinpoint. He hated it and grumbled as he looked at Petty Officer Smith or whatever the dude's name was. At least Smith was decent, had a hairdo that matched his normal looks.
Tony DiNozzo liked to think he was not narcissist. That it was just a phase or something.
It became a habit, him staring at anything that reflected images. He would walk up to Abby's plasma, and see his reflection. He would feel terrible again, empty and cold. There was something wrong, he wanted to change it desperately, but he couldn't.
Even McGee and Ziva were beginning to notice. Tony would stare at his computer screen for ages, transfixed at his expression with a deep frown on his face. Tony wouldn't even notice the worried looks which McGee and Ziva exchanged.
Sometimes though, someone would move behind the reflective surface, and he would feel a jolt of completeness, before drowning in hollowness again. He could see the little wrinkles fraying the skin around his eyes, he could see the little black freckles appear on his nose. It wasn't them though. It was him.
Tony DiNozzo liked to think he was not narcissist. That it was just a phase or something. Because it wasn't about his looks, it was about him.
Tony became isolated from the going-ons, cold and insecure. He would shy away from people and outings. He was so preoccupied by his image all the time, and his self-hate, that he didn't notice the loud whispers, and the concerned looks.
One day, he was in the men's bathroom, looking at his dismal face, when the door creaked open, just that little. He didn't turn; he just kept looking at the sandy brown hair, the green eyes and the nose.
"I thought you would be here," the woman stated.
He didn't reply, just kept looking at his face, the tap a-whooshing in front of him. The woman moved forward and turned the tap off, before turning to face the mirror.
And suddenly, everything seemed complete; the sunshine seemed to pour out, golden, from the grey clouds. It felt like they were out in a clearing, the leaves crunching gaily under their feat, the sunlight tinting the leaves of the tall gentle maple trees which surrounded them. All of a sudden, Tony felt the gloom lifted, and he took the woman by the waist, and held her to him.
Her brown eyes, curly brown hair and pale, pointed face was perfect for him. Tony felt full and excellent, like the missing piece of the jigsaw had been put back to where it truly belonged.
"Yes!" he cried, "Yes! Yes!"
The woman's beautiful brown eyes opened wide in surprise, as she turned to face her partner.
"Tony? Are you alright?"
Tony turned his gaze to face her, and he smoothed back her stray curls.
"I missed you, Ziva."
And he landed a tender kiss to her lips, before picking her up and spinning her around, his hands held tight around her back.
And when he looked into the mirror, everything was whole and complete, everything was raining sunshine and dripping contentedness.
Tony DiNozzo wasn't narcissist. All he needed was Ziva.
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