Nostrum Monumentum - A View from Paris
Title: A View From Paris
Rating: PG
Summary: Tripple drabbles - My interpretation of what may happened in that one-room Parisian hotel room. Tag 7.13 Jet Lag. TIVA angst
Character(s): Tony DiNozzo, Ziva David
Author's Note: It would be beneficial to read Death and Rebirth as a companion because I use some of the themes that was introduced in those drabbles. It eludes to what may have happened to Ziva in Somalia.
Prompt: challenge #152, ready, from ncisdrabble100
Word Count: 300
It was their first out-of-country assignment since it happened, but neither party was ready to verbalize that fact. In fact, they had been rather good at not talking about the whole Saleem /Africa “incident,” resorting to what they did best and that was their jobs. But, Ziva already anticipated that Tony would be in one of his moods, and he did not disappoint, as he spent the whole seven-hour flight exalting Paris as one of the most romantic cities in the world.
However, their situation certainly did not improve when it was known rather quickly at the hotel check-in that they had been booked for one room with a single bed. Ziva silenced her partner with one look, while grabbing the keycard, but this did not stop Tony from smirking.
“I promise I won’t snore, sweetcheeks.”
“It’s not about you,” and before Tony could have a proper retort, she had pulled out a workout gear, determined to use the hotel’s gym facilities. “You can have the bed, Tony. Your snoring does not bother me and I would avoid hearing any complaints about your back.” Facing the door, she missed how his polished green eyes followed her out the hotel room.
She swam laps around the pool, letting each stroke rejuvenate her body. It’s the flight, she told herself, but cursed softly when she found Tony waiting at the poolside. He had changed out of his suit and had with him a towel and cup of tea. “Take it, it’s not a bribe,” he quipped.
One raised eyebrow met the familiar words. “How long ...”
“Why do I get a sense of a deja vu here?”
“How long were you going to wait, Tony?”
“You said so yourself, Ziva, it’s not about me. That leaves a more logical question, are you ready?”
Prompt: challenge #156, change, from ncisdrabble100 Word Count: 300
They returned to the hotel room in silence. Ziva went to shower while he turned on the television. But he wasn’t paying much attention to the screen, but rather what was about to unfold in this Parisian room. In true Ziva fashion, she never gave him a direct answer at the poolside. Instead she reached for the towel and said, “This is not a movie. Some truths cannot be handled.”
“Let me decide for myself.”
Lost in thought, he missed Ziva coming out of the bathroom, until she walked in front of the TV. Pulling aside the blinds, she stood there staring at the view of Paris at dusk before turning to him and said, “C’est la Ville-Lumière, Tony.”
At his confusion, she translated, “It’s the City of Lights. Can you imagine a blackout in Paris?”
He came up beside her, scanning the cityscape, figuring the question to be rhetorical.
“The darkness is consuming: no sights, no sounds. You are left with only your thoughts, until even those betray you. In the end, you have nothing but guilt.” She spoke to the illuminated skyline, but hearing her voice, forsaken and lost, he knew that she was right back there in Somali with Saleem and his men.
“I can handle the truth, Ziva.”
“I was drugged and left chained in a windowless five by five cell. I did not know for how long.”
He would never forget that day, when Saleem pulled off that mask, as the shock and then relief coursed through his veins. Knowing the truth now that she had been placed in solitary confinement for an indeterminate number of time, he wondered if ...
“Don’t go there. That was all in the past.”
“Is that what you tell yourself at night?”
“No, that’s because I rarely find sleep anymore.”
Prompt: challenge #111, metamorphosis, from ncisdrabble100
Word Count: 300
In some cultures, snakes were often thought to be symbolic with healing and wisdom because they had contact with the underworld, thus able to carry the souls of the dead to guide the leaving. Others associated snakes with rebirth, for they would shed their old skin to grow a new one. Whatever the view may be, there was common theme of transformation of sorts.
Ziva David upon wakening up at five in the morning, Paris time, despite the time zone differences with Washington D.C. and the jet lag, felt the proverbial change in the air. She glanced over and was surprised to see a familiar pair of green eyes staring back at her. “Tony.”
“I forgot that you snore like a drunken sailor with emphysema, sweetcheeks.”
“So you watch me sleep instead.”
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Sleep.”
“I suppose I cannot avoid hearing your complaints about your back,” she said in turn as she got up from the couch. Neither of them had made use of the single bed. Instead, they ended up pulling the couch over to the window, basking in the glow of the Parisian night sky.
“Well, as long one of us is comfy.” At his reply, she realized that she had said the wrong thing.
She knew that upon hearing about her treatment in Somalia, he had been vengeful at the man who had been killed by a single sniper’s bullet. Waves of ferocious anger rolled off his body, but she found comfort in his intensity as she wrapped her arms around his body. As soon as they touched, his fury was transformed into an overwhelming passion. And in each other’s embrace, they had found that intangible, undefined catalyst to begin anew.
“I have your back, Tony, as you have mine. I will not easily forget this.”
Rating: PG
Summary: Tripple drabbles - My interpretation of what may happened in that one-room Parisian hotel room. Tag 7.13 Jet Lag. TIVA angst
Character(s): Tony DiNozzo, Ziva David
Author's Note: It would be beneficial to read Death and Rebirth as a companion because I use some of the themes that was introduced in those drabbles. It eludes to what may have happened to Ziva in Somalia.
Prompt: challenge #152, ready, from ncisdrabble100
Word Count: 300
It was their first out-of-country assignment since it happened, but neither party was ready to verbalize that fact. In fact, they had been rather good at not talking about the whole Saleem /Africa “incident,” resorting to what they did best and that was their jobs. But, Ziva already anticipated that Tony would be in one of his moods, and he did not disappoint, as he spent the whole seven-hour flight exalting Paris as one of the most romantic cities in the world.
However, their situation certainly did not improve when it was known rather quickly at the hotel check-in that they had been booked for one room with a single bed. Ziva silenced her partner with one look, while grabbing the keycard, but this did not stop Tony from smirking.
“I promise I won’t snore, sweetcheeks.”
“It’s not about you,” and before Tony could have a proper retort, she had pulled out a workout gear, determined to use the hotel’s gym facilities. “You can have the bed, Tony. Your snoring does not bother me and I would avoid hearing any complaints about your back.” Facing the door, she missed how his polished green eyes followed her out the hotel room.
She swam laps around the pool, letting each stroke rejuvenate her body. It’s the flight, she told herself, but cursed softly when she found Tony waiting at the poolside. He had changed out of his suit and had with him a towel and cup of tea. “Take it, it’s not a bribe,” he quipped.
One raised eyebrow met the familiar words. “How long ...”
“Why do I get a sense of a deja vu here?”
“How long were you going to wait, Tony?”
“You said so yourself, Ziva, it’s not about me. That leaves a more logical question, are you ready?”
Prompt: challenge #156, change, from ncisdrabble100 Word Count: 300
They returned to the hotel room in silence. Ziva went to shower while he turned on the television. But he wasn’t paying much attention to the screen, but rather what was about to unfold in this Parisian room. In true Ziva fashion, she never gave him a direct answer at the poolside. Instead she reached for the towel and said, “This is not a movie. Some truths cannot be handled.”
“Let me decide for myself.”
Lost in thought, he missed Ziva coming out of the bathroom, until she walked in front of the TV. Pulling aside the blinds, she stood there staring at the view of Paris at dusk before turning to him and said, “C’est la Ville-Lumière, Tony.”
At his confusion, she translated, “It’s the City of Lights. Can you imagine a blackout in Paris?”
He came up beside her, scanning the cityscape, figuring the question to be rhetorical.
“The darkness is consuming: no sights, no sounds. You are left with only your thoughts, until even those betray you. In the end, you have nothing but guilt.” She spoke to the illuminated skyline, but hearing her voice, forsaken and lost, he knew that she was right back there in Somali with Saleem and his men.
“I can handle the truth, Ziva.”
“I was drugged and left chained in a windowless five by five cell. I did not know for how long.”
He would never forget that day, when Saleem pulled off that mask, as the shock and then relief coursed through his veins. Knowing the truth now that she had been placed in solitary confinement for an indeterminate number of time, he wondered if ...
“Don’t go there. That was all in the past.”
“Is that what you tell yourself at night?”
“No, that’s because I rarely find sleep anymore.”
Prompt: challenge #111, metamorphosis, from ncisdrabble100
Word Count: 300
In some cultures, snakes were often thought to be symbolic with healing and wisdom because they had contact with the underworld, thus able to carry the souls of the dead to guide the leaving. Others associated snakes with rebirth, for they would shed their old skin to grow a new one. Whatever the view may be, there was common theme of transformation of sorts.
Ziva David upon wakening up at five in the morning, Paris time, despite the time zone differences with Washington D.C. and the jet lag, felt the proverbial change in the air. She glanced over and was surprised to see a familiar pair of green eyes staring back at her. “Tony.”
“I forgot that you snore like a drunken sailor with emphysema, sweetcheeks.”
“So you watch me sleep instead.”
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Sleep.”
“I suppose I cannot avoid hearing your complaints about your back,” she said in turn as she got up from the couch. Neither of them had made use of the single bed. Instead, they ended up pulling the couch over to the window, basking in the glow of the Parisian night sky.
“Well, as long one of us is comfy.” At his reply, she realized that she had said the wrong thing.
She knew that upon hearing about her treatment in Somalia, he had been vengeful at the man who had been killed by a single sniper’s bullet. Waves of ferocious anger rolled off his body, but she found comfort in his intensity as she wrapped her arms around his body. As soon as they touched, his fury was transformed into an overwhelming passion. And in each other’s embrace, they had found that intangible, undefined catalyst to begin anew.
“I have your back, Tony, as you have mine. I will not easily forget this.”