I'm Glad There Is You
Ash. 15. Australia. I love NCIS, Tiva, and musicals. Currently reading the brick. Formerly cotederpablo.
Alternate end to Season 10. Parsons goes after Ziva. And he wins. (Inspired by Tegan).
The dripping of a leaky pipe woke Ziva from her pathetic excuse for sleep, and she shivered.
Jail cells were an awful lot colder on the other side of the bars, Ziva noticed almost immediately. After ten whole days, it seemed colder still.
But it was not the cold that brought the sting of tears to her eyes, nor was it the discomfort, the small space, the darkness. After many, many years of spending extended periods of time in equally bad (or even worse) places, none of those things particularly irked or bothered her. She could certainly think of a worse place to be rotting away the days. Those things left her mind the second they entered it.
No, the thing that made Ziva’s heart ache and her fists clench angrily at the bars that held her in, was the utter humiliation. Every time a guard walked leisurely down the row of tiny, matching cells, they would look at Ziva the same way they looked at every other criminal. That look was familiar to Ziva – she had probably worn it herself many times in her life. But she had never realised the sting it gave, befalling an innocent person. Well, a person who ranks somewhere in the very gray area between innocent and guilty as Ziva did. That look was a peculiar mixture of disdain and fear. Superiority and intimidation. Like all the good Ziva, or any other person in any of those other, anonymous cells, had done in the span of their entire life had been erased, and based on that, the person opposite them, outside the bars, was allowed to have the gall to proclaim that they were better people. That they were free and clean and all the things that Ziva longed for so badly after having them taken away.
But amidst that snobbery fed to each person locked up on a silver platter by every guard in the force, there was a sort of narcissistic fear. Fear that this being that simply poisons the world might snap and throw themselves at the bars, clawing and scratching, trying to satisfy some insatiable need for revenge.
It was all very fabricated and dramatic … except that was the exact reason Ziva had ended up here. That was the sting.
It was around late May when the fall winds that swept through Washington D.C. on a regular basis during the colder seasons realized that they had better back off and finally let the city thaw. And so the latest of flowers would finally blossom and there was finally not a flowerless branch in all of Washington. The sun began to show itself without the company of lingering winter storm clouds. People would admit that it was warm enough to walk instead of drive and the sidewalks became congested with pedestrians. Bicycles were ridden and dogs walked by all people, instead of just the ones who had some kind of superhuman resistance to Antarctic-worthy temperatures.
Ziva had always said that she liked this time of year. For a person that had once claimed that Israel was a nation devoid of the entire season of spring or any resemblance of it, she had taken a shining to the American version rather quickly – this had been starkly contrasted to her rather bitter approach to the snowy winter months.
She did like this time of year, though. She liked the way everything was colourful and full of new life. Life in its own sense had become something of high value to her over the past few years, but she never felt its brilliance quite as strongly as she did when everything around her was new and bright and blooming.
At least, that was how she had felt every other spring. This one felt different. It had arrived with little ceremonious anticipation, which she usually felt during the idle winter months. She had been somewhat preoccupied this year. In fact, this spring seemed so weighted with the events of recent months that she looked around her, at the flowers and trees and pedestrians, and saw little to like about it at all.
Maybe she was just in a bad mood.
If that was true, though, she’d been in a bad mood for every minute of every day since she placed her badge on Vance’s desk.
isn’t it weird how tony and ziva’s relationship has progressed emotionally over the seasons but physically has gone in the complete opposite direction
Tag to 10x23. Spoilers.
The night is almost irritating in its warmth. Tony scowls and presses his hand harder against the metal of the hood of Ziva’s car. Warm weather is supposed to be happy and calming and peaceful, and right now, that is not a reflection of his life. Its very presence almost feels like the universe is taunting him, rubbing in his face that most people’s lives are not this complicated all the time. Then again, this makes him think that the characteristics associated with warm weather are very seldom reflections of his life.
He feels guilty, almost, being the first one out of he, McGee and Ziva to leave the office, especially when Gibbs, of all people, is in so much hot water. But of course, when they are the ones being investigated, instead of doing the investigating themselves, there is little to occupy the agents’ hands. At least, little that is entirely following protocol.
But, more importantly, he knows two things for sure after all these years working with Gibbs: number one, he can look after himself. And the second is that when in doubt, his rule book is a good thing to consult.
Rule Eleven comes to mind: when the job is done, walk away.
Word Count: 3,063
Link to Previous Chapter: 34
Link to Fanfiction.Net: Here
no but remember when they got stuck in an elevator and we all thought it was such a massive deal WE HAD NO IDEA WHAT WE WERE IN FOR
I have been laughing at this for 732014987341 years
omg can we talk about how ziva told nora that she took the couch because of tony’s back and then in berlin she offered to take the foldout so that he could sleep comfortably
WHY HAS NO ONE TALKED ABOUT THIS
