Rating: PG for suggestive themes
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of DPB, CBS & Co. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Ziva isn't sure where she belongs...or with whom. Takes place immediately after "Agent Afloat".
Written for heartundone for the ncis_verse "Birthday Gift" challenge Unbeta'd - Comments & concrit welcome.
Unbeta'd - Comments & concrit welcome.
"You get orders, Tony. You may not like them, but you follow them. That's why they're called orders."
It's after 3 am, and Ziva David is wide awake. Tony is back – three months early. And she's not sure how she feels about that. Even now, she's uncertain to which orders she was referring – those that returned her to DC, or those that sent her home in the first place.
Home. Bayit. It's a relative term, and one that's never held great significance to her, at least not until now. Home, in the traditional sense, has not been a happy place, nor a safe place, not for a very long time. 'Home is where the heart is,' so the saying goes, but that's of little help either, since her heart is in two places at once.
There's no doubt where Tony's heart resides. "American soil." If only it were that simple.
"Something happened in Israel, didn't it?" he said. Damn. How is it that he can see right through her? But she wonders if he also saw the little upward curve of her mouth when she noticed the photos on the wall of his cabin. She knows Tony finds her sexy, and it pleases her. From the moment they first met, it's been a dance between them, a slow tease. Was his question born of jealousy, she wonders? Part of her hopes it was.
She stretches out across the full width of the bed. So empty. So cold. She misses those strong arms around her waist, that warm breath in her ear and that soft scratch of beard on her shoulder. Ziva is an intensely physical woman, with physical needs and wants that long to be satiated. She closes her eyes and imagines that Michael is there, making passionate love with her. For a few brief moments, she's back in Tel Aviv, in familiar surroundings, grounded and secure.
Her eyes are closed as he touches her softly. They move in perfect tandem, their bodies as one. She opens her eyes again to gaze into his brown eyes. Gentle, green eyes stare back at her. She lifts her hand to his cheek, and is surprised to find it clean-shaven. Gradually, the realization dawns on her that this is not Michael.
Her breath catches.
"You'll say you don't want to talk about it. But your eyes won't shut up."