leroyss:

requested ficlets | Tony/Ziva - AU NYC | :equatorial-pygmies:

The coffee shop on 9th Street, just across the way from the neighborhood’s famous eatery, Uncle Rudin’s, was where he spent more than enough time thinking and musing. He clutched the leather bound journal to his chest as the wind picked up leaves and threatened to take his little scraps of climaxes, character plots, and story lines, written clumsily on napkins and sticky notes, out into the New York City gust. He tried to write this same novel for 135 days. He felt like he wasn’t progressing whatsoever. Tony DiNozzo, 9th Street’s famous hometown novelist, with a case of writer’s block, opened the door to his favorite coffee shop. A soft chime signaled his entry and his nostrils danced to the tantalizing scent of Colombian beans.

“Hello, Tony! The usual is already coming your way,” the older woman winked at him from behind the counter, as she quickly swirled a mountain of cream atop a steaming mocha. Jane knew Tony’s sordid history. She knew the private details of his life, the awful separation between he and his used-to-be significant other, the free spirited 16 year old daughter that constantly gave him headaches and heartaches. Jane was an inspiration for a character in his last novel.

“What would I do without you, Jane.” It wasn’t a question, just a pure statement. He’d be just as lost as he was years ago. He pulled out his usual seat and sat down at the rickety, wooden table.

“How’s my Waverly girl doing? Did she get her grades up in Chemistry yet?” Jane had half a smile upon her face as she sat a few napkins (he always managed to spill something), and Tony’s mocha, onto his table. He watched Jane’s smirk appear. “Did Waverly go to Chemistry yet?” She snorted knowingly, gave him a soft pat on the shoulder, and went back to her position behind the counter.

He shook his head and couldn’t keep himself from grinning; he wondered the same this morning. His daughter Waverly left the apartment with a few feathers strung into her wavy sun-kissed hair, an oversized Mickey Mouse sweatshirt lazily thrown around her shoulders. She carried not one chemistry book, yet he caught sight of her tattered edition of The Sun Also Rises by Hemingway in her grasp. He certainly couldn’t criticize her for that.

He reached for his hot drink, suddenly feeling a rush to write. It had been 135 days since he made progress in this story. It was missing a valuable gem and he knew exactly why. The missing puzzle to his success tingled in the back of his mind like a pulse. The soft jingle of the greeting bell caught his attention. He set down his mug and glanced up. He wasn’t bewildered at the sight of this incoming brunette beauty; she became a common sight to see in the coffee shop these past two months. He found her both uniquely stunning and painfully captivating, handsome, and he liked to imagine her as the charismatic heroine in her private, day-to-day life. Tony only saw a glimpse of her every morning from about 7am to about fifteen minutes after. She suddenly turned her head in his direction before reaching the counter, and they locked each other into a long gaze.

Her eyes suddenly revealed everything he wanted to know, as if being struck by a bolt of understanding— this woman’s soul poured fountains of information in a single glance. (He faintly wondered if his eyes told her his tumultuous story too). The depth of her brown eyes made him feel warmed to the core; as if he knew her previously in a different life. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a familiarity that could only come about with years of acquaintance. Those eyes contained passion, as if between lovers, and the intimacy of the gaze made his chest heavy.

With his mouth agape, Tony DiNozzo the neighborhood novelist, suddenly realized this was the inspirational break he had been waiting for these 135 days. She was the story.

He suddenly burned with desire to know her name. It was the most simplest of things, but he couldn’t figure out how to name her; how to justify such a face to a name he would choose. He wanted to be her creator more than he wanted anything for nearly half a year. His heart jumped when she squinted wonderingly at him.

He must have been quite the sight. A 40 year old man with a permanent expression of nosiness and quirky daydreams that filled his consciousness.

The woman blinked and tore herself away from his needy eyes. She grabbed her coffee to go, smiled thankfully at Jane and began to head out of the door. Her dark mane undulated down her back, and it seemed to tease him slightly.

He knocked over his steaming coffee clumsily across all of his work, simply trying to find his own wrist to know the time. Jumpy and suddenly nervous she had seen him, he looked up and caught sight of only the bell gently settling due to her departure. Tony frowned at his soaked months of work and decided to leave it.

His watch told him it was only ten after seven. She was leaving earlier than usual and he didn’t want her to go. Rushing to the entrance, he hoped to catch her before it was too late.

Standing on the sidewalk in the cool, NYC morning looking frantic, he glimpsed shiny, dark hair ahead.

“Excuse me!?” he called, his hands cupping his mouth as to amplify himself above the hustle and bustle of the New York City streets.

She stopped and pivoted on the spot. People passed around her and in front of her without interest, and he idly wondered what she must have thought of him at that moment. A foolish old man with a teenage daughter who was tipping dangerously to the hippie lifestyle, with a fresh coffee stain on his jacket sleeve, and an anxious look on his face. He imagined he must have been quite frightening.

His eyes wide, he quickly approached her.

He wanted to know one thing and one thing only.

“What is your name?” he let it out in an exasperated jumble.

She gaped at him, “I… I am Ziva.”

Ziva. Ziva.

His mouth spread into a wide, content grin of relief. His eyes seemed to sparkle with the news.

“Ziva.” It was electrifying to say.

Tony offered his hand to shake and her eyes searched him curiously.

“You are odd, but intriguing nonetheless.” And if it were possible, he could have sworn her voice cracked into the tiniest of smiles. x