Damon, Damon. What have you gotten yourself into now?
I do not own NCIS or any of its characters, especially Damon Werth. I wish I owned him, but sadly I dont. Very sadly. First NCIS fic so please read and review. It would be greatly appreciated.
As the elevator doors opened, Ziva's chocolate colored eyes swept the hallway and adjacent doorways for signs of trouble. Tony called it paranoid. She called it the reason she was still alive. Being sloppy with your surroundings could get you killed. Finding no overt signs of impending attack, she slowy exited. When she reached her door, she looked around one more time before kneeling. It was her habit not to use keys when entering her own home. Keys were too easy to copy. Instead, she produced a slim pair of lockpicks. She took a cursory look at her neighbor's door. The woman was nosy to say the least. First time she had done this, the woman had called the cops. She had told them that a terrorist was breaking into her neighbor's apartment. Ziva had been able to spin some story about losing her key and using her goverment sanctioned actions to get in. It also helped some that she worked for said goverment, with the credentials to match. The cops had promised to leave her alone from then on. The woman's door remained closed. Thanking God for small favors, she turned back to the task at hand. The moment her fingers brushed the doorknob, it swung open. Ziva was on high alert, and had her gun drawn before she was fully upright. She felt her mouth go dry, and her palms start to sweat. Ever since Somalia, this had become a common occurance. Whenever she would draw her gun, She would see her teammates being tortured. It wasnt unusual for her, having gone through Mossad training at an obscenely young age, but watching her friends go through it was another matter. Shaking the haunting images away, she slowly pushed the door open, dreading the thought of what could happen next.
Before she fully entered, she glanced at the powder blue carpeting on the floor. It was another one of her habits to vacuum the carpeting from her bedroom, down the hallway, to the front door. Every morning. It always left the carpeting pristine. Which was exactly the way she had left it that morning. Except now it had a set of footprints leading back to her bedroom. It was only one set, so whoever it was had to still be there. She swept through all the adjoining rooms anyway. She couldn't find any other footprints, but you could never be too cautious. Finally satisfied, she crept into her bedroom. No one would assume that the blue and white bedroom suit belonged to her. That was why she liked it. It was unexpected. Abby was the nly oe who knew about it having helped her pick it out. There was no one in the bedroom proper, but a light shone from the adjoining bathroom. A constantly moving shadow and unintelligable mumbling told her that her intruder was there. This confused her slightly. She kept no valuables in there, not even medication. Who broke in just to use the bathroom? Pushing her confusion, and the almost overwhelming anxiety aside, she turned the corner and started to yell for them to freeze, but the word died in her throat before it had a chance to escape.
Her intruder wore nothing but a pair of snug fitting jeans that hugged a perfectly shaped body. She could only see him from the back, but what little she saw, she liked. He was about 6'2", with dark hair cut short, military style, with broad muscular shoulders and lightly tanned skin that told her that he was no stranger to hard work, especially outdoors. She also noticed that he was barefoot. A quick peek revealed no shoes in either the bathroom nor the bedroom. She hadn't seen any on her walkthrough of the apartment. What kind of burgler, broke in without a shirt or shoes? A longer look revealed much of the same, except this time she noticed the blood. He seemed to be bleeding from his lower lefthand side. Which explained why he was in her bathroom. He had one of her black handtowels pressed up against his side to stop the bleeding. It appeared to ba a gnshot wound. It hadn't hit him directly, just grazed his lower ribs. In her assessment, he would live. Without warning, he spun, throwing the towel at her. While she was distracted, he bowled straight at her. He was quick, but she was quicker. Not even thinking, she ducked to the side and, in a move that would make tony proud, stuck her foot out. He hit it pefectly, and went sprawling into her bed. He fell into the mass of ruffles and ribbons and twisted to pull himself up. Ziva winced slightly at the smear of blood he left on the pale blue coverlet. Before he could regain his footing, Ziva closed the distance with a single leap and landed directly on him, pinning his arms down with her legs. A sig-saur to the forehead put an end to his thrashing around and it was then that she was able to get a good look at him. His gaze met hers defiantly. Amazed, she lowered her gun slowly. Beautiful Hazel eyes, full pouty lips that rarely curved in a smile. She knew him. She had never forgotten once haunted her dreams. At least, till Somalia. She whispered his name, it almost sounding like a sigh.