Hello all! Although I am by no means new to FF, I will admit, I am at this moment an NCIS-fic virgin. This is my first attempt. Please let me know what you think!
I of course Disclaim everything.
The blue eye that stared at them, frozen and dead, had him jumping out of his seat. He moved so quickly he barely had time to realize his own movements.
He registered that he had backed away from the bar by just a step. The action was fast and, coupled with the realization of what was now melting into real, squishy, terrifying life on the counter, it had his eyes blurring as mild shock disoriented him.
He also registered that as he had jumped up and drawn backward his right hand had shot out on its own accord and wrapped itself around another. The cool skin of Ziva's hand immediately began warming beneath the slightly sweaty heat of his own.
Ziva, too, had noticed the small sensory organ carefully hidden in Tony's drink—she drew away with him. And she had most certainly noticed that he had grabbed her hand and was now holding it in a vice-like grip.
He recognized this truth with the faint squeeze of her hand.
It was such a small gesture, such a tiny action, and yet it did so very much in that moment.
He only just now noticed that his fingers had slid up to her wrist, resting on her radial pulse. It throbbed against the pad of his middle finger with what he knew was a slightly abnormal speed.
His vision did not clear. His head swam as the feel of his partner's skin, the rhythm of her pulse, took him momentarily back to a night he had buried not too very long ago.
Paris. They had argued over who claimed the one available bed. They had reluctantly agreed to share it. She had demanded he stay on his side—away from her; "No feeling me up, DiNozzo."
He remembered that he had not listened—not for long. He had lain awake for two hours, counting her breaths, watching her back rise and fall as she slept. She did not snore quite so badly when she was on her side. He had not intended to do what he did, and even now he still blames sleepiness for dampening his judgment.
He'd rolled over, scooted closer. His chest had just barely brushed her back. He'd told himself to leave it at that—"Close your eyes, Tony. Go to sleep."
His arm had snaked its way around her anyway.
And that when he'd felt it.
His hand had landed against her arm, and in his sleepy daze he'd instinctively wrapped his fingers around her wrist. The slow, soft thrum of her pulse sent lulling waves into his being.
That and the smell of her shampoo had eventually pulled him into sleep.
They'd chosen not to mention it when they'd woken in the morning to find themselves in the same exact position.
"Tony."
The soft throb was not so soft anymore—it pounded hard against his hand now, quick and somewhat panicked.
"Tony!"
His head snapped to the side.
His mind cleared and his vision sharpened.
The bar. The eyeball. Ziva.
She stared at him, and glanced down at their hands.
"You are starting to hurt my wrist now, Tony."
And yes, now that he was back in the present and the light-headedness had faded, he did take noticed of the strong grip he still had on his partner's wrist. His own hand was cramping. He loosened the vice immediately, embarrassed.
But he did not let go.
Why?
Ziva took the initiative, pulled away.
He found himself regretting her action more than he knew he should.
"We should call Gibbs, Tony. Or do you think we should call E.J.?"
The sound of his current lover's name had his gaze snapping harshly into her own. Their eyes communicated in an unspoken language that they knew well but chose to ignore. Unasked questions. Silent dares. He hated and loved when it happened.
His own pulse now threatened to beat incessantly in his ears, and he recognized it as a symbol to snap out of his "Tony world" and think straight.
The eyeball. The unseen man who now seemed to be mocking-slash-threatening him.
Gibbs. EJ.
"Gibbs. Call Gibbs."
Tony did not register how his voice cracked when he spoke, nor the darkened, questioning gaze Ziva set on him as she dialed her phone.