NCIS: Outside Her Door
Title: Outside Her Door
Author: ladyknight_fic
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony DiNozzo, the therapist mentioned in “Masquerade”
Pairing: Tony wanting Tony/Ziva (because Lord knows the rest of us do)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/General
Rating: T
Prompt: 25: A cell @ story_lottery
Summary: His car keys are heavy in his hand and she probably isn’t even home from the gym yet, but he doesn’t care. He’ll sit outside her door for years if he has to.
Spoilers: Season 7, up to “Masquerade”
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1165
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
- - -
The four walls are a soft eggshell colour. Tony doesn’t know why. He thinks maybe neutral colours are supposed to make people feel more at ease, more willing to open themselves up to strangers, but then he remembers the cool blue of hospital walls and decides he’s probably wrong.
He taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair in time with the ticking of the clock above the door. The seconds are loud in the silence and Tony wants to speak but he can’t think of anything to say.
Anne, the therapist he’s been seeing on and off for the last six months, watches him but she’s not staring. There’s a difference between watching and staring, and he knows this is fact because he stares at the counsellor who’s been loitering around NCIS lately but he watches Ziva.
If he stops to think about it, he realises he’s always watched her. Back when she first arrived he watched her because she was so exotic. When she became part of the team, he had to watch her because she was so…un-Kate-like. And then, somewhere along the line, he began watching her just because she was Ziva, with her arching eyebrows, and her quirky little smiles, and her big dark eyes.
“Why are you here, Tony?”
He tilts his head and smiles. It’s the same engaging smile that charms women of all ages but it never affects Anne. If it does, she’s pretty damn good at hiding it.
“Because,” he says, “these days you’re nobody if you aren’t seeing a shrink.”
“Do you think you’re a nobody?”
Sometimes he thinks so. Sometimes, like on Thanksgiving and he doesn’t know where his father is, or when he remembers Jeanne and how he hurt her, or when he thinks about how he was too late to save Jenny, he wants to be a nobody just so he won’t have all these regrets weighing him down.
But then he feels a ghostly head slap and thinks again. Could he stand to be a nobody if it meant not being Gibbs’ right hand man? Or McGee’s really annoying older brother? Or Abby’s friend? Or Ziva’s…whatever he is?
Slowly, he says, “No.”
Anne resumes her watching so Tony watches her. There are fine lines at the corners of her eyes and a couple of silver strands in her hair. It’s dark, Ziva dark, but not shiny and it ends at her chin. She doesn’t wear a ring and he wants to ask why. Is she divorced? Living with someone? Has she lost the ring, or does she just choose not to wear one? If he were married, he’d make sure to wear his ring all the time.
He’s so tired, just wants to close his eyes and sleep. It’s like it was all those months ago, when they left Ziva in Israel. The insomnia’s back and it’s her fault. If she hadn’t brought Saleem up while they were rooting through that old warehouse, this wouldn’t be happening, he wouldn’t even be here.
But she did, and it is, and he is.
He wishes he could behave with Anne like he does with Gibbs and the team. They let him be the big kid because they all have their coping mechanisms and being juvenile just happens to be his.
Anne doesn’t approve of that, though. He learnt that fast, even though she never spoke against it. She just never encouraged him and continued asking fair questions to his quips, continued probing against his jokes.
Ziva does that sometimes, or she did anyway. He can’t hide anything from her and he knows it. Even when she doesn’t question him, she gives him these looks, like she can see right into his head and read all his thoughts. If only she could; it might be easier that way.
“She won’t talk to me.” He doesn’t know if Anne is, but Tony’s surprised when he speaks.
“Ziva?”
Tony nods and breaks his gaze away to look out the window. There’s a brown brick building across the street and every time he comes here, it looks like it’s falling apart more and more. He’s certain that one day it won’t be there at all.
“Sometimes…” He can’t figure out what he’s going to say, what he wants to say. Maybe he should stop thinking so hard.
He sighs so softly that not even he hears it. “Sometimes…she looks like she wants to talk. Sometimes she looks like she will talk. But then she never does.”
“Does that bother you?”
His hand tightens around the armrest and he turns to glare at her. “Of course it bothers me! I’m her partner! Her friend! If I have to talk to someone about Somalia, surely she does!”
“Maybe she is talking to someone. Would she tell you if she were?”
Tony sighs again, angrily this time, and rubs a hand through his hair. “No. She’d think it was a sign of weakness.”
“Have you told her about your visits to see me?”
“I…” He shakes his head and then thumps a fist on his thigh as he leans towards her. “I’m not the one who was held hostage by terrorists for months!”
“No, but you followed her in. You went to almost the ends of the earth to find her, not even knowing what you’d find, and I think you’d do it again.”
“Well, of course I would!” He pushes himself out of the chair and stalks to the window. From his new vantage point, he can see the people going in and out of the brick building opposite, and he wants to yell at them to stop because who knows when it’s going to collapse and kill them all?
He braces himself against the window ledge. “I just want her to know she can trust me.”
“I think she does trust you, Tony. Perhaps it’s herself she doesn’t trust.”
His exhalation fogs up a circle on the window as his shoulders slump. “So you’re saying what? That I do nothing?”
“I’m not here to tell you what to do.” A piece of paper rustles. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”
What does he want? That’s a loaded question. He wants lots of things, like to put the bad guys behind bars and let victims heal. He wants to be a better man than his father, and a better son than he is. He wants to hold off the day when Team Gibbs isn’t Team Gibbs anymore. He wants to learn how to command respect like Gibbs does. He wants…Paris back because if there’s one thing he knows more than anything else, it’s that Ziva never smiles at him in D.C. like she smiled at him in Paris.
And it’s then that he knows.
His car keys are heavy in his hand and she probably isn’t even home from the gym yet, but he doesn’t care. He’ll sit outside her door for years if he has to.
- - -
A/N: I’m hoping this felt slightly detached. I was trying to go for Tony being involved enough to want to remove himself. I don’t know if that makes sense, but if you got something like that, let me know. :)
----------------
Now playing: Lifehouse - Everything
via FoxyTunes
Author: ladyknight_fic
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony DiNozzo, the therapist mentioned in “Masquerade”
Pairing: Tony wanting Tony/Ziva (because Lord knows the rest of us do)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/General
Rating: T
Prompt: 25: A cell @ story_lottery
Summary: His car keys are heavy in his hand and she probably isn’t even home from the gym yet, but he doesn’t care. He’ll sit outside her door for years if he has to.
Spoilers: Season 7, up to “Masquerade”
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1165
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
- - -
The four walls are a soft eggshell colour. Tony doesn’t know why. He thinks maybe neutral colours are supposed to make people feel more at ease, more willing to open themselves up to strangers, but then he remembers the cool blue of hospital walls and decides he’s probably wrong.
He taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair in time with the ticking of the clock above the door. The seconds are loud in the silence and Tony wants to speak but he can’t think of anything to say.
Anne, the therapist he’s been seeing on and off for the last six months, watches him but she’s not staring. There’s a difference between watching and staring, and he knows this is fact because he stares at the counsellor who’s been loitering around NCIS lately but he watches Ziva.
If he stops to think about it, he realises he’s always watched her. Back when she first arrived he watched her because she was so exotic. When she became part of the team, he had to watch her because she was so…un-Kate-like. And then, somewhere along the line, he began watching her just because she was Ziva, with her arching eyebrows, and her quirky little smiles, and her big dark eyes.
“Why are you here, Tony?”
He tilts his head and smiles. It’s the same engaging smile that charms women of all ages but it never affects Anne. If it does, she’s pretty damn good at hiding it.
“Because,” he says, “these days you’re nobody if you aren’t seeing a shrink.”
“Do you think you’re a nobody?”
Sometimes he thinks so. Sometimes, like on Thanksgiving and he doesn’t know where his father is, or when he remembers Jeanne and how he hurt her, or when he thinks about how he was too late to save Jenny, he wants to be a nobody just so he won’t have all these regrets weighing him down.
But then he feels a ghostly head slap and thinks again. Could he stand to be a nobody if it meant not being Gibbs’ right hand man? Or McGee’s really annoying older brother? Or Abby’s friend? Or Ziva’s…whatever he is?
Slowly, he says, “No.”
Anne resumes her watching so Tony watches her. There are fine lines at the corners of her eyes and a couple of silver strands in her hair. It’s dark, Ziva dark, but not shiny and it ends at her chin. She doesn’t wear a ring and he wants to ask why. Is she divorced? Living with someone? Has she lost the ring, or does she just choose not to wear one? If he were married, he’d make sure to wear his ring all the time.
He’s so tired, just wants to close his eyes and sleep. It’s like it was all those months ago, when they left Ziva in Israel. The insomnia’s back and it’s her fault. If she hadn’t brought Saleem up while they were rooting through that old warehouse, this wouldn’t be happening, he wouldn’t even be here.
But she did, and it is, and he is.
He wishes he could behave with Anne like he does with Gibbs and the team. They let him be the big kid because they all have their coping mechanisms and being juvenile just happens to be his.
Anne doesn’t approve of that, though. He learnt that fast, even though she never spoke against it. She just never encouraged him and continued asking fair questions to his quips, continued probing against his jokes.
Ziva does that sometimes, or she did anyway. He can’t hide anything from her and he knows it. Even when she doesn’t question him, she gives him these looks, like she can see right into his head and read all his thoughts. If only she could; it might be easier that way.
“She won’t talk to me.” He doesn’t know if Anne is, but Tony’s surprised when he speaks.
“Ziva?”
Tony nods and breaks his gaze away to look out the window. There’s a brown brick building across the street and every time he comes here, it looks like it’s falling apart more and more. He’s certain that one day it won’t be there at all.
“Sometimes…” He can’t figure out what he’s going to say, what he wants to say. Maybe he should stop thinking so hard.
He sighs so softly that not even he hears it. “Sometimes…she looks like she wants to talk. Sometimes she looks like she will talk. But then she never does.”
“Does that bother you?”
His hand tightens around the armrest and he turns to glare at her. “Of course it bothers me! I’m her partner! Her friend! If I have to talk to someone about Somalia, surely she does!”
“Maybe she is talking to someone. Would she tell you if she were?”
Tony sighs again, angrily this time, and rubs a hand through his hair. “No. She’d think it was a sign of weakness.”
“Have you told her about your visits to see me?”
“I…” He shakes his head and then thumps a fist on his thigh as he leans towards her. “I’m not the one who was held hostage by terrorists for months!”
“No, but you followed her in. You went to almost the ends of the earth to find her, not even knowing what you’d find, and I think you’d do it again.”
“Well, of course I would!” He pushes himself out of the chair and stalks to the window. From his new vantage point, he can see the people going in and out of the brick building opposite, and he wants to yell at them to stop because who knows when it’s going to collapse and kill them all?
He braces himself against the window ledge. “I just want her to know she can trust me.”
“I think she does trust you, Tony. Perhaps it’s herself she doesn’t trust.”
His exhalation fogs up a circle on the window as his shoulders slump. “So you’re saying what? That I do nothing?”
“I’m not here to tell you what to do.” A piece of paper rustles. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”
What does he want? That’s a loaded question. He wants lots of things, like to put the bad guys behind bars and let victims heal. He wants to be a better man than his father, and a better son than he is. He wants to hold off the day when Team Gibbs isn’t Team Gibbs anymore. He wants to learn how to command respect like Gibbs does. He wants…Paris back because if there’s one thing he knows more than anything else, it’s that Ziva never smiles at him in D.C. like she smiled at him in Paris.
And it’s then that he knows.
His car keys are heavy in his hand and she probably isn’t even home from the gym yet, but he doesn’t care. He’ll sit outside her door for years if he has to.
- - -
A/N: I’m hoping this felt slightly detached. I was trying to go for Tony being involved enough to want to remove himself. I don’t know if that makes sense, but if you got something like that, let me know. :)
----------------
Now playing: Lifehouse - Everything
via FoxyTunes