Fic: The Last Unspoken Summer
Fic: The Last Unspoken Summer (1/4)
Author: katy_moon_beam
Warnings: Some sexual references, nothing much above a PG13ish rating.
Spoilers: Set between Hiatus 1&2 and Shalom, but mentions some details we don't find out until Shalom.
A/N: Beta'ed by my dear friend G who I owe lots to, as always. Is my first offering to this community so I hope you all enjoy. Is also posted at ff.net on a friend's account, as I do not have my own... This is posted in sections, each having its own title. The sections go (ish) in pairs, so I am posting them two at a time, for ease.
Reviews and comments welcome and much appreciated.
Summary: “Starting three months ago Ziva, he has been visiting your apartment at least one night a week” (Shalom). What unfolded the summer between Seasons 3 and 4.
***
Comfort
His hands had threaded through her hair, gripping, cradling her head as he kissed her, his lips crashing down on hers with an almost desperation that she didn’t have to try hard to understand. She could feel his pain, feel his fear, feel his search for something unwavering in the way he brushed his lips against her skin. She would have pulled away - because he wasn’t thinking clearly, that much was obvious - but when she started to, he had reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking her in the eye. So she had stayed.
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before.
She couldn’t pretend that this time wasn’t different though. As he parked the car - because the last thing she had wanted to do after the day like theirs was get on a late-night bus - she thought back to what had happened. Gibbs had left. Gibbs had left. And she had known, when she watched him hand his badge to Tony, and when he turned his back on them, he didn’t plan on coming back. Not even Abby’s plea could stop him. They had stood, frozen in the Squad Room for almost a full five minutes before anyone had even thought to move. Abby had searched for comfort in Tony’s arms, before he had passed her off to McGee. Ziva knew he couldn’t handle being anyone’s rock right now. He needed his own comforting.
That was where she fit in.
She understood him, better than he realised even. For Tony, sex was simple and automatic, and detached. Concentrating on undoing the buttons on his shirt meant that he didn’t have to concentrate on other things. On Abby’s heartbroken voice. On McGee’s faltering surprise. On Gibbs, burnt and broken and barely remembering them, walking into the elevator, intending never to return. Keeping his lips busy with butterfly kisses and softly breathed teasing meant he didn’t have to voice his fears about whether he could do this, whether he was ready to stand in shoes that seemed far too big for him. Taking her into his bed meant he didn’t have to wake up alone.
She and Tony had been here before, all be it in pretend, but it wasn’t much of a step to make it real. She did trust him. Did feel for him. Did believe in him, which is what he needed most right now. As her curls tumbled over her bare shoulders, she tried to let him know - through her kisses, her touches, the arch of her spine - that she had his back. That she, at least, would be going nowhere. Her hands on his body and his on hers were so he would know she was solid and real; the silence of the room said he didn’t have to talk. She heard him anyways.
After, when the frantic had become calm, and the sweat was cooling, she lay, not quite relaxed, next to him. She didn’t pretend to be asleep, didn’t have to; Tony lay on his back, arms crossed behind his head, eyes fixed on the swirling ceiling fan. Since the end of the rain, the District had been heavy and humid and overbearing, but the Egyptian cotton was cool against her cheek. She didn’t pretend to sleep, just watched him as he breathed in and out and said nothing. Anyone else would have said such silence was eerie for Tony. Anyone else would have pressed him to talk. If she had been anyone else, he probably would have.
By the time Tony made any sound, Ziva was fighting to stay awake. Earlier worry and tears, not to mention over 32 hours with no sleep meant that when he finally exhaled, and turned his head to look at her, her eyelashes were brushing slowly against her cheeks. She would have looked almost serene, save the hand disappearing under the pillow that he knew was clasped around her Sig. The sight of it almost made him laugh, and for the first time in what seemed like the longest-fucking-day-in-history, Tony felt a slight weight lift from his chest.
“ Ziva?” he teased, stretching out the first syllable of her name so it echoed and trilled in the silence. He watched as she wiggled languorously and stretched, her bare legs and bare skin rubbing against his sheets and her cold toes brushing his calves.
She pushed herself up on one arm, blinking, her hair falling over her shoulder. “ Yes Tony?”
The clock had just ticked over to 4:33am, he was still awake, his Boss was gone, and he felt like he was adrift in an ocean with no sight of land. Starlight trickled in through the gap in the curtains that neither one of them had bothered to close on their arrival, and highlighted the smooth contours of her face. She was dangerous, imperious, and unflinching, but in this light, she almost seemed beautiful. He cleared his voice.
“ Nothing,” was all he managed, and then feeling the ghost of a Gibbs-slap on the back of his head amended, “ Thanks.”
The feel of her fingers wrapping around his almost made him start, but as she murmured,“ Al lo davar,” in a low, soft voice, he couldn’t help but squeeze them back.
Laying back against his pillows, Tony once against stared up at the ceiling. For this moment, at least, the ocean in his mind seemed to be stilled. It was only the faintest of touches, her finger against his cheek. “ Yasen, Tony. Sleep.”
He felt her shift on the mattress, and for a moment he faltered. “ You’re not - ” he started, and he could hear the trepidation in his own voice as it filled the quiet of the room. He didn’t know that she too could hear it - hear it, and see it, and feel it in the tautness of his body next to hers.
“ I will be here when you wake up,” she promised, yawning and drowsy, though her shadowed eyes were fixed on his. “ We will start tomorrow together, and work from there, yes?”
Her words were all he needed. Finally closing his eyes, he allowed his hand to search for hers, and held it tight. He didn’t need to be able to see her to know she was amused. Leaning over, he kissed where he knew her smile would be, and was relieved to feel her kissing back. “ Laila tov, Ziva.”
“ Buonanotte, Tony.”
For tonight, just to have her there would do.
***
Solidarity
They had stumbled blindly through the first few days, and before anyone knew it, a week has passed, and then two, and then a month had gone by without Gibbs. The spring had turned inevitably into summer, leaving DC sweltering and close, and by the time Tony had gotten used to sitting on the wrong side of the bullpen, he had gotten used to other things too: waking up to the smell of jasmine and sandalwood; a green toothbrush resting idly on the side of his sink; foreign and subtitled cinema mixing in with his James Bond dvds.
Neither one had expected it to go past that first comfort-sex thing. That lingering-attraction-comfort-sex thing. That essentially-curious-lingering-attraction-comfort-sex thing. But when they had made it through their first week - and their first case - ‘Gibbsless’, Abby had pointed out that she thought they all deserved alcohol, and a lot of it. Ignoring their overlapping protests, she harangued and pouted and alternated between smiling sweetly and stomping her platform-booted foot until she got her way. So it was that Tony had found himself in the corner booth of the Hawk and Dove - a haven for politicos and Federal types - late on a Friday, exhausted, but feeling oddly at peace as he watched Abby tease McGee as she and Ziva downed shots of tequila, Ducky nursing a large glass of froth-headed dark brown as he spoke at length to the bartender, who was mixing something sickly and green for Palmer.
He had been drawn from his musings by the feeling on a hand on his knee, and when he looked up he had been almost surprised to see Ziva had slid in the booth next to him. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, curls long and loose with the heat, and her head cocked to one side, amused. “ Abby says it is your round,” she conveyed, swatting gently at his knee with the back of her hand, a prompting gesture.
“ Tony!” Abby’s voice was exuberant and her smile slightly crooked as she appeared at the table and pulled him across the pub to the bar, making him almost trip over Ziva’s heeled feet as they passed. Abby didn’t even notice. “ Tony, Tony, Tony,” she murmured, leaning up against the bar and looking at him intently for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck. She squeezed tightly, pigtails bouncing around her head and the chains of her skirt clicking against their bodies. “ You’re doin’ real good.”
She let go as abruptly as she had grabbed him, seemingly forgetting about him in an instant as she stood on tiptoe and leant across the bar, calling for another order of drinks. Tony didn’t say anything as Abby poked him for his wallet and he handed over a fistful of bills without even checking what they were. Didn’t say anything as he carried the glasses back to the table and Abby doled them out, knocking back her own shot and placing the glass on top of her head with a laugh. Didn’t say anything an hour later as McGee advised Abby they called it a night, and he helped her into her coat and out of the pub, Abby waving merrily and tottering on her high platforms. Didn’t say anything as first Palmer and then Ducky too wended their way from the bar with genial goodbyes.
Ziva sat next to him, a shot in front of her and her elbows propped on the scarred wood of the table. He watched her as she tossed it back with a flick of her head, not even flinching, and then ran a finger around the edge of the glass, collecting the lingering droplets. She didn’t look at him. “ She meant what she said, you know. Abby. Even though she misses Gibbs,” - the name sounded so strange because they had all been trying so hard not to say it - “ she is behind you. She knows that you are the right person for this job.” Her tone was matter of fact as she licked a drop of spilled drink from her finger. “ McGee also. He may not always act like it, but he does trust you.”
“ And you?” They were the first words he had spoken in what seemed like hours, soft and low, and accompanied by a curious frown and a glance over the top of his drink.
Propping her head in her hand, she turned and observed him. She crossed one leg over the other with a swish of material, her skirt creeping up her thighs, skin glistening in the weak light’s glow. “ Do you have to ask?”
Leaning over, he kissed her, the two of them hidden in the shadow of the corner booth. Her lips tasted like tequila and salt and lime. His hands threaded through her hair and the sensation was so familiar it almost made him startle. Hands pressed against his chest made him pull back, and as he cupped her cheek she murmured, “ Stop, Tony.” Her eyes were wide and dark in the dim light, and as he stared at them, he could feel his mind racing. He was about to argue when she spoke again, her voice hushed. “ We should leave. Here, everyone can see.”
So deeply ingrained, her impulse to exist in shadows, he didn’t argue. Instead, he waited as she put on her coat, and they walked together to the exit. They didn’t hold hands, but walked so close that their arms touched, and as he opened the door, her hair brushed against his cheek. It didn’t take long to hail a cab. Or to get back to his apartment. Or to piss of his neighbours with something that wasn’t his surround sound.
This time, they talked after: teasing one another until eventually Ziva’s quiet laughter turned to yawning, and her head lolled to his shoulder. He pulled the navy sheets up over her, his hand lingering on her butt until she swatted him away with a half-conscious grumble. Her accent was much thicker in these moments between sleep and wake. Laughing, he settled his hand on her waist and waited for a renewed assault. When none came, he grinned triumphantly, and let his eyes drift closed.
In the dark she opened her eyes, and smiled softly.
***
Author: katy_moon_beam
Warnings: Some sexual references, nothing much above a PG13ish rating.
Spoilers: Set between Hiatus 1&2 and Shalom, but mentions some details we don't find out until Shalom.
A/N: Beta'ed by my dear friend G who I owe lots to, as always. Is my first offering to this community so I hope you all enjoy. Is also posted at ff.net on a friend's account, as I do not have my own... This is posted in sections, each having its own title. The sections go (ish) in pairs, so I am posting them two at a time, for ease.
Reviews and comments welcome and much appreciated.
Summary: “Starting three months ago Ziva, he has been visiting your apartment at least one night a week” (Shalom). What unfolded the summer between Seasons 3 and 4.
***
Comfort
His hands had threaded through her hair, gripping, cradling her head as he kissed her, his lips crashing down on hers with an almost desperation that she didn’t have to try hard to understand. She could feel his pain, feel his fear, feel his search for something unwavering in the way he brushed his lips against her skin. She would have pulled away - because he wasn’t thinking clearly, that much was obvious - but when she started to, he had reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking her in the eye. So she had stayed.
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before.
She couldn’t pretend that this time wasn’t different though. As he parked the car - because the last thing she had wanted to do after the day like theirs was get on a late-night bus - she thought back to what had happened. Gibbs had left. Gibbs had left. And she had known, when she watched him hand his badge to Tony, and when he turned his back on them, he didn’t plan on coming back. Not even Abby’s plea could stop him. They had stood, frozen in the Squad Room for almost a full five minutes before anyone had even thought to move. Abby had searched for comfort in Tony’s arms, before he had passed her off to McGee. Ziva knew he couldn’t handle being anyone’s rock right now. He needed his own comforting.
That was where she fit in.
She understood him, better than he realised even. For Tony, sex was simple and automatic, and detached. Concentrating on undoing the buttons on his shirt meant that he didn’t have to concentrate on other things. On Abby’s heartbroken voice. On McGee’s faltering surprise. On Gibbs, burnt and broken and barely remembering them, walking into the elevator, intending never to return. Keeping his lips busy with butterfly kisses and softly breathed teasing meant he didn’t have to voice his fears about whether he could do this, whether he was ready to stand in shoes that seemed far too big for him. Taking her into his bed meant he didn’t have to wake up alone.
She and Tony had been here before, all be it in pretend, but it wasn’t much of a step to make it real. She did trust him. Did feel for him. Did believe in him, which is what he needed most right now. As her curls tumbled over her bare shoulders, she tried to let him know - through her kisses, her touches, the arch of her spine - that she had his back. That she, at least, would be going nowhere. Her hands on his body and his on hers were so he would know she was solid and real; the silence of the room said he didn’t have to talk. She heard him anyways.
After, when the frantic had become calm, and the sweat was cooling, she lay, not quite relaxed, next to him. She didn’t pretend to be asleep, didn’t have to; Tony lay on his back, arms crossed behind his head, eyes fixed on the swirling ceiling fan. Since the end of the rain, the District had been heavy and humid and overbearing, but the Egyptian cotton was cool against her cheek. She didn’t pretend to sleep, just watched him as he breathed in and out and said nothing. Anyone else would have said such silence was eerie for Tony. Anyone else would have pressed him to talk. If she had been anyone else, he probably would have.
By the time Tony made any sound, Ziva was fighting to stay awake. Earlier worry and tears, not to mention over 32 hours with no sleep meant that when he finally exhaled, and turned his head to look at her, her eyelashes were brushing slowly against her cheeks. She would have looked almost serene, save the hand disappearing under the pillow that he knew was clasped around her Sig. The sight of it almost made him laugh, and for the first time in what seemed like the longest-fucking-day-in-history, Tony felt a slight weight lift from his chest.
“ Ziva?” he teased, stretching out the first syllable of her name so it echoed and trilled in the silence. He watched as she wiggled languorously and stretched, her bare legs and bare skin rubbing against his sheets and her cold toes brushing his calves.
She pushed herself up on one arm, blinking, her hair falling over her shoulder. “ Yes Tony?”
The clock had just ticked over to 4:33am, he was still awake, his Boss was gone, and he felt like he was adrift in an ocean with no sight of land. Starlight trickled in through the gap in the curtains that neither one of them had bothered to close on their arrival, and highlighted the smooth contours of her face. She was dangerous, imperious, and unflinching, but in this light, she almost seemed beautiful. He cleared his voice.
“ Nothing,” was all he managed, and then feeling the ghost of a Gibbs-slap on the back of his head amended, “ Thanks.”
The feel of her fingers wrapping around his almost made him start, but as she murmured,“ Al lo davar,” in a low, soft voice, he couldn’t help but squeeze them back.
Laying back against his pillows, Tony once against stared up at the ceiling. For this moment, at least, the ocean in his mind seemed to be stilled. It was only the faintest of touches, her finger against his cheek. “ Yasen, Tony. Sleep.”
He felt her shift on the mattress, and for a moment he faltered. “ You’re not - ” he started, and he could hear the trepidation in his own voice as it filled the quiet of the room. He didn’t know that she too could hear it - hear it, and see it, and feel it in the tautness of his body next to hers.
“ I will be here when you wake up,” she promised, yawning and drowsy, though her shadowed eyes were fixed on his. “ We will start tomorrow together, and work from there, yes?”
Her words were all he needed. Finally closing his eyes, he allowed his hand to search for hers, and held it tight. He didn’t need to be able to see her to know she was amused. Leaning over, he kissed where he knew her smile would be, and was relieved to feel her kissing back. “ Laila tov, Ziva.”
“ Buonanotte, Tony.”
For tonight, just to have her there would do.
***
Solidarity
They had stumbled blindly through the first few days, and before anyone knew it, a week has passed, and then two, and then a month had gone by without Gibbs. The spring had turned inevitably into summer, leaving DC sweltering and close, and by the time Tony had gotten used to sitting on the wrong side of the bullpen, he had gotten used to other things too: waking up to the smell of jasmine and sandalwood; a green toothbrush resting idly on the side of his sink; foreign and subtitled cinema mixing in with his James Bond dvds.
Neither one had expected it to go past that first comfort-sex thing. That lingering-attraction-comfort-sex thing. That essentially-curious-lingering-attraction-comfort-sex thing. But when they had made it through their first week - and their first case - ‘Gibbsless’, Abby had pointed out that she thought they all deserved alcohol, and a lot of it. Ignoring their overlapping protests, she harangued and pouted and alternated between smiling sweetly and stomping her platform-booted foot until she got her way. So it was that Tony had found himself in the corner booth of the Hawk and Dove - a haven for politicos and Federal types - late on a Friday, exhausted, but feeling oddly at peace as he watched Abby tease McGee as she and Ziva downed shots of tequila, Ducky nursing a large glass of froth-headed dark brown as he spoke at length to the bartender, who was mixing something sickly and green for Palmer.
He had been drawn from his musings by the feeling on a hand on his knee, and when he looked up he had been almost surprised to see Ziva had slid in the booth next to him. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, curls long and loose with the heat, and her head cocked to one side, amused. “ Abby says it is your round,” she conveyed, swatting gently at his knee with the back of her hand, a prompting gesture.
“ Tony!” Abby’s voice was exuberant and her smile slightly crooked as she appeared at the table and pulled him across the pub to the bar, making him almost trip over Ziva’s heeled feet as they passed. Abby didn’t even notice. “ Tony, Tony, Tony,” she murmured, leaning up against the bar and looking at him intently for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck. She squeezed tightly, pigtails bouncing around her head and the chains of her skirt clicking against their bodies. “ You’re doin’ real good.”
She let go as abruptly as she had grabbed him, seemingly forgetting about him in an instant as she stood on tiptoe and leant across the bar, calling for another order of drinks. Tony didn’t say anything as Abby poked him for his wallet and he handed over a fistful of bills without even checking what they were. Didn’t say anything as he carried the glasses back to the table and Abby doled them out, knocking back her own shot and placing the glass on top of her head with a laugh. Didn’t say anything an hour later as McGee advised Abby they called it a night, and he helped her into her coat and out of the pub, Abby waving merrily and tottering on her high platforms. Didn’t say anything as first Palmer and then Ducky too wended their way from the bar with genial goodbyes.
Ziva sat next to him, a shot in front of her and her elbows propped on the scarred wood of the table. He watched her as she tossed it back with a flick of her head, not even flinching, and then ran a finger around the edge of the glass, collecting the lingering droplets. She didn’t look at him. “ She meant what she said, you know. Abby. Even though she misses Gibbs,” - the name sounded so strange because they had all been trying so hard not to say it - “ she is behind you. She knows that you are the right person for this job.” Her tone was matter of fact as she licked a drop of spilled drink from her finger. “ McGee also. He may not always act like it, but he does trust you.”
“ And you?” They were the first words he had spoken in what seemed like hours, soft and low, and accompanied by a curious frown and a glance over the top of his drink.
Propping her head in her hand, she turned and observed him. She crossed one leg over the other with a swish of material, her skirt creeping up her thighs, skin glistening in the weak light’s glow. “ Do you have to ask?”
Leaning over, he kissed her, the two of them hidden in the shadow of the corner booth. Her lips tasted like tequila and salt and lime. His hands threaded through her hair and the sensation was so familiar it almost made him startle. Hands pressed against his chest made him pull back, and as he cupped her cheek she murmured, “ Stop, Tony.” Her eyes were wide and dark in the dim light, and as he stared at them, he could feel his mind racing. He was about to argue when she spoke again, her voice hushed. “ We should leave. Here, everyone can see.”
So deeply ingrained, her impulse to exist in shadows, he didn’t argue. Instead, he waited as she put on her coat, and they walked together to the exit. They didn’t hold hands, but walked so close that their arms touched, and as he opened the door, her hair brushed against his cheek. It didn’t take long to hail a cab. Or to get back to his apartment. Or to piss of his neighbours with something that wasn’t his surround sound.
This time, they talked after: teasing one another until eventually Ziva’s quiet laughter turned to yawning, and her head lolled to his shoulder. He pulled the navy sheets up over her, his hand lingering on her butt until she swatted him away with a half-conscious grumble. Her accent was much thicker in these moments between sleep and wake. Laughing, he settled his hand on her waist and waited for a renewed assault. When none came, he grinned triumphantly, and let his eyes drift closed.
In the dark she opened her eyes, and smiled softly.
***