Title: Unconditional
Pairing: suggested McGee/Ziva
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Het
Cat: Drama, Angst
Spoilers: Small one for About Face.
Warnings: Disturbing content.
Summary: And he would do anything for her, anything at all.
Author's Note: Um, this comes from the urge I had to write a fic about someone stalking someone else. The person speaking is NOT any of the NCIS characters, just to clarify. I'm not in the mood for ruining characters, thanks. And I wanted to write this for the Weekly Writing Challenge #3 on NFA, because it's in first person. So consider it an entry for that, as well.

Look at her. Standing at the counter, her fingers drumming the faux wood finish, while she waits for her morning coffee. Hazelnut. That's what she orders. Grande hazelnut. Every morning. This morning, a smile creeps over her face as she asks for another drink, as well - plain black. I hear her words to the barista - "For a friend."

Is it possible? She should have noticed me by now, with her investigative skills. She's Mossad, too, a spy. I have been careful, though. I did not want her getting the wrong impression. She can be dangerous when she chooses. But she has no reason to hurt me. I would never hurt her.

I love her. She is beautiful, exotic, mysterious, unlike any other woman I have ever met. She's different from American women. So much so. She isn't afraid to fight. She carries herself with a confidence and ease of self I am not accustomed to seeing. She knows she is more lethal than an electric chair wired up for a death row inmate, so her assurance in herself is well-founded. Because of her perfection, most men do not understand how to handle her.

I am not most men. When the time is right, when I feel she is seeking me, I will appear from her shadows and offer myself to her. She will be so impressed with how much I know about her, how I have studied her and made myself part of her world, how I care for her unconditionally, that she will have no choice but to be with me, to love me as I love her.

She is handed the cups of coffee and thanks the barista, then turns, her curls bouncing as she walks from the shop, the smile from earlier still painted on her face. She must sense I am here, is hoping to surprise me with a drink and a chat before she heads off to work at NCIS. I don't even drink coffee, but for her, I would make it my constant diet. I would do anything for her.

My breath hitches as she nears my table. So close . . .

She continues walking past, pushing the door open and stepping into the dim sunrise light. I cannot help but stand in shock and confusion, watching as she places the cups on the roof of her Mini and unlocks the door, then retrieves the drinks and ducks inside, slamming the door and starting the car. She swerves into oncoming traffic, drawing a series of honks and angry words yelled out open windows as she cuts other drivers off. It brings a slight smile to my face, but I cannot help but feel sad, and more than that, a bit angry. Who is this friend of hers? From the smile on her face, it is not a "friend" at all, but rather someone she wishes to be romantically involved with. There is only one way to find out.

I move for the exit, knowing I have to follow her. It is difficult to get near her with her profession, but I always manage to find a way. I am nothing if not clever. Smart. I think she would appreciate my intelligence, how I would get access to her in the most inaccessible place of a federal agency. Surely it is a trait to be admired by someone as stealthy as she.

I see her car ahead of me, turning into the Navy Yard, and follow suit. I have every minute of our encounters planned to the last detail, and have made preparations for when I need to follow her to her work. I am a master of forgery and have an ID that even these trained guards cannot decipher as being fake. It is just another sign that we should be together, that I would not be allowed even near her if it were not meant to be.

I park and watch her walking towards the building, a skip in her step. It is someone here she is eager to see, whom she wishes to be with. She cannot possibly realize that none of them will know her or understand her as I can. She will always be let down by these men and their ideals of how she should be. I love her the way she is.

The guard at the door asks for my ID and I allow him to see it, putting on my usual charming expression. He smiles as he gives it back, and I head for the second floor, to where she works, to discover the secret she has been keeping from me.

As I step off the elevator, the feeling in my chest expands into a burning ball of rage as I watch her traipse into the squad room, making a beeline for one of her partners' desks. They are the only ones there right now. She hands him the coffee and leans down to kiss him on the cheek. I cannot hear what she says to him, but he is happy to see her and they share smiles as she leans over his shoulder to study his computer screen.

This is who she would rather be with? A portly computer geek? It must be his money. He is a world-renowned author now. Not that his novels are anything worth reading.

Well, my Ziva dear, I will find a way for you to notice me. Even if it means disposing of any distractions.

My rage slowly dissipates as a smile takes its place. Yes, I believe I know what to do next.

Timothy McGee, watch out. Your days are numbered.

fin