He was on a case in Los Angeles, but, to his displeasure, it was in the Slums. He hated the dark alleys and loud shouts and screams from bars and the ramshackle houses.

It reminded him too much of his home.

He had been driving for hours, until he had finally gotten here. Mindlessly driving.

Tony rolled down his window. A sign that flickered to life and then faded to darkness read Molley Inn.

"It'll have to do." He sighed to himself. He pulled in between two faded white lines and turned off the engine.

The case was exactly what he needed.

He had to get his mind off Jeanne.

*FLASHBACK*

"I wish I had never met you." Jeanne said coldly, storming out of interrogation and slamming the door shut behind her.

Tony had never felt so broken.

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the small back box he had planned to give her mere hours before. He opened it to reveal the sparkling diamond. Suddenly, a tear fell from his eye, and fell onto the polished gemstone. A glare bounced off the stone and his tear. He watched it slide down the precious stone, down the silver, and onto the soft velvet cushion.

Suddenly, he made a choking noise, and fell on the table, his body shaking with silent sobs.

*FLASHBACK END*

He suddenly threw open the door, choking slightly with the force to keep himself from crying. It was then he noticed the bright sign. It said The Roadhouse in bright, glowing letters.

I could use a drink, Tony thought. He got out of the car.

Just a drink.

He was heartbroken. He didn't know another girl that made him feel the way Jeanne did.

Well, one girl. But he hadn't seen her since high school.

Suddenly, Tony felt her delicate yet strong hands on his chest, gently guiding him. He could see her deep brown orbs, and he smiled, her curving smile matching his.

Until he realized he was standing in an old, godforsaken parking lot, in front of his shit undercover car.

And that he was completely and utterly alone.

The smile that was on his face was suddenly replaced with a sad, almost longing look. He then proceeded to run across the street, a fistful of cash in one hand.


He opened the door. Men sat at tables, sometimes accompanied by a lap dancer in the stringiest, thinnest getups he had seen. They laughed and yelled and slammed down large bottles and cans of beer. Tony turned away. He had remembered when this was what he used to do. Before he had joined NCIS, of course. He sat down.

"Hi, I'm Cherry, I'll be your waitress tonight." A cheery voice suddenly said. He turned around. A tall brunette stood there, clad in a short top and absurdly tight jeans. She had small apron-like thing around her waist, and was waiting on his order. "What'll it be?"

"Uhhhh…just a Heineken." He muttered. She arched her eyebrow.

"That's it? Your kind usually order more." She asked. Tony was taken aback at this.

"What do you mean?"

"No lap dances? Or pole dances? Unless you're not into the whole foreplay thing. In that case, if you're staying at that shit hotel across the way, I'll send one of my ladies over. Just tell me your room number."

Tony frantically shook his head. He couldn't have sex! It would just screw him up even more!

"That won't be necessary. Just the beer."

She shrugged. "Whatever." She turned on her heels and walked away. Tony turned to stare at the guys getting lap dances. One man had a lady quite literally all over him. She was running her hands up the length of his body, and he had his head thrown back. Tony felt…..just the tiniest bit jealous. No sex, but at least a little turning on could do.

"Here ya go." The green bottle was clunked on the table in front of him. He shook his head. "Yeah, uhh, thanks."

"You're welcome." Cherry turned away, when, suddenly, Tony blurted out "Room 4."

"What?" She turned around.

"That's my room. Room 4."

She smiled. Not greedily, not mischievously, but knowingly. She had spent years at the club. She could tell when a guy was drunk and just wanted sex, or drugged (in which case she would usually deny him anything) She could tell right now he was heartbroken, and that he needed a girl.

"All right. I'll send one of my girls over." She began to walk away before Tony yelled again.

"Who?"

She smiled. "I've got someone in mind that I think you'll like."


Tony opened the door to his room. He sighed.

It was no Marriot. It was a simple bed, with a bathroom and a shower. The bed was king-sized, and covered in a down blanket and white pillows. He walked over to the windows. To no surprise, they could be snapped shut by pulling the small lever by the pane. The curtains, which were long and thick, could be pulled together and tied. He walked over to the nightstand. Inside was a Bible, a hotel phone list, and something else. Tony pulled out the small little foil packet in the front, but then threw it down upon realizing what it was.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Tony switched off the lights.

"It's open."

The door opened, but in her shadow, he couldn't see what she looked like.

"Cherry told me you ordered me?" A voice said. He couldn't place it, but it rang familiar in his ears. The slight accent, the loving caress.

"Yeah."

"Darkness?"

"Yeah. I just….." he trailed off, shrugging.

"Fine with me." And, suddenly, he was being pushed on the bed by a pair of gentle yet strong hands. A mouth was on his, the delicate tongue tracing the edges of his lips. An intoxicating scent that he knew but yet again could not place. The same hands undid his button down shirt, and gently tugged it off of him.

In the bright light from the club sign, he looked into the prostitute's eyes.

They were chocolate brown orbs that made his breathing stop and his heart rate sped up.

"Wait." He whispered.

"What is it?" She whispered. "I'm so sorry- you don't like my dominance?" She asked, concerned. Cherry usually sent her to beta guys, guys that liked girls on top.

What has she gotten me into? She wondered.

The woman stood up, concerned. It was then it clicked. The slender yet sturdy frame, the matching hands, the dark brown, curly ringlets that fell in a glowing waterfall down her shoulders, illuminated by the club's neon light through the window…

It all made sense now.

"Ziva?"


Damn plot bunnys can't leave me alone.

Just a new thing I came up with.

Please, guys, no flames!

-Vi