Here's just a very small piece on Tim and Ziva's (Might have been/might be/should be) relationship. It's a bit angsty but not incredibly sad. I think.

Anyway, thanks for reading. As always, reviews are appreciated and received with enthusiasm and undying gratitude.

Almost Funny

They sit practically across from each other.

Funny.

They've always seemed to sit across from each other, they'd look up, exchange a smile, perhaps a 'Good morning' or a 'How are you?', and look back down. Occasionally gazes would stray and meet, and hold for more than the usual. They were locked onto each other, neither changing course, like two cars speeding at one another head on, neither driver willing to concede to defeat. To loss. And eventually, they would smash into each other, crumpled and accordion-like, one just as broken as the other.

But that never happens.

One blinks. Someone breaks the gaze, and it's over. Their other teammate none the wiser of their instant. Or perhaps he is. The two never linger on the moments long enough to find out. They just get rolled up and stuffed in some attic, behind a few old umbrellas and between an ugly bust wearing a wig and a tiara, and an old, worn wardrobe. They're not dug back up again. At least, not while in each other's company.

It's almost funny.

Almost.

Sometimes she notices a different look directed toward her. She blinks in vague confusion before realization sweeps over once again and she tries to ignore the torrent of strange emotions mixing in her stomach. She can't help it. That look of longing that spans the years.

No. That gazes through them, a look that is clouded by time, by the memories that obscure the mind. He isn't seeing her. He's seeing the desk's former occupant. That look of sadness, of yearning, of remembrance and of lo- No. At these times she turns back to her work, ignoring the fact that this took place. That one of the feelings writhing in her stomach might be (Not that she's admitting it) jealousy. That would be petty, pathetic and shallow. But it might be true. How could she compete with a dead woman?

Who was killed by her brother. Her half-brother. Who she shot and killed.

Like some sort of tragic, messy, twisted soap opera.

Funny, in a way.

But not really.

Sometimes he wonders if she'll ever see him. Well, she does see him. She greets him every morning. She brought him coffee regularly years ago. One day she kissed his cheek. He'll never admit that he stood just a bit taller that day, that the sun seemed to shine just a bit brighter. Never. But he'll privately remember it fondly. No, see him. In italics. She smiles at him, but does she ever truly look at him in the way he looks at her? Does he see him in the same light he sees her in? Maybe he'll never know. But he hopes she does. They've known each other for six years (Six years!) and he still can't tell if she truly sees him.

Sad.

And perhaps a bit funny.

If you like that sort of thing.

They kissed once. A real kiss. The kind of big screen, dramatic, deep kiss between the male and female lead that happens right at the end of the movie after some evil has been vanquished. Just once. In the elevator. A real kiss. The kind that makes the audience wish they could have a kiss like that, where the hero pulls the heroine sexily toward him and they just go at it like their lives (Or paychecks) depend on that one kiss. That one perfect kiss, that sails a thousand ships and lights a thousand firecrackers.

Of course, their kiss wasn't anything that smoothly choreographed. Though to him, that's what it felt like. Like someone had sent up fireworks in that enclosed space, that bloomed behind his closed lids as they kissed. He loved her. He loved her and she still couldn't see him. Or perhaps she saw him, and didn't want to.

Maybe that's why she said she didn't feel anything. That it was a mistake.

Maybe that's why he agreed.

For her, the kiss was everything that she had been looking for. That other kisses hadn't possessed, that which was missing. And with this kiss she was given the world. This kiss was everything seemingly. A connection. A true, binding connection that seemed to freeze the entire universe except for them. No. Not just freeze the world. There was no world, just them in the elevator. Nothing else mattered. She loved him. She loved him and he was still in love with another.

Maybe that's why she lied.

Maybe that's why he agreed.

It might be funny.

But it's not.

Not at all.