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Title: Taking Chances: Part Two
Fandom: Navy NCIS
Characters: Abby Sciuto, Ziva David
Prompt: #1 Beginnings
Word Count: 1,503
Rating: R
Summary: Ziva invites Abby for dinner. Romance and complications ensue.
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
My Little Damn Table
Taking Chances - Part One
Fandom: Navy NCIS
Characters: Abby Sciuto, Ziva David
Prompt: #1 Beginnings
Word Count: 1,503
Rating: R
Summary: Ziva invites Abby for dinner. Romance and complications ensue.
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
My Little Damn Table
Taking Chances - Part One
Part Two
Ziva David studied the tattoos that covered her lover's bare back. She traced whirls and sharp lines alike with the tip of her index finger. Occasionally she would drop a feather light kiss on a particularly tempting bit of silky skin. Abby lay on her stomach, her head turned so that she could watch Ziva out of the corner of her eye.
Her golden tan against Abby's pale skin made an interesting contrast. Abby was entranced by the way that Ziva's wild hair fell down around her shoulders and tickled the bare skin of her arms and back. She shifted slightly, flipping over until she lay on her side, facing Ziva. Ziva looked miffed briefly, until Abby slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her into a languorous kiss.
When the kiss ended, Ziva traced the line of Abby's body down to her thigh. Abby didn't bother to try to stifle an involuntary gasp as Ziva kissed a sensitive spot on her stomach.
"You should be a controlled substance," Ziva whispered.
Abby grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should." Ziva shifted slightly, pushing herself up on her elbow. "Abigail-"
"Yeeessss," she drawled the word out, when Ziva hesitated. She usually hated it when people used her full name. Abigail had been her parents' little girl, the innocent child. She was none of those things, but she loved it when Ziva used her full name. It was different - special. She was already craving the sound of it from Ziva's mouth.
"I didn't plan on doing this," she gestured between them, "When I offered to cook for you tonight."
"I know." Abby tensed, drawing her knees closer to her chest. "I didn't either." She bit the metaphorical bullet. "Do you regret it?"
"No." Ziva's reply was sharp and quick. She reached a hand out quickly to touch Abby's, gently flipping her hand over and twining her fingers through the other woman's. She leaned her head down to place a reverent kiss on those fingers. "No, I don't regret it. You fascinate me and I would like to get to know you better."
"Better than this," Abby said with a teasing laugh. She meant it as a joke to defuse the suddenly serious moment.
Ziva was completely serious when she replied. "Yes, better than this."
She gazed into Abby's eyes, letting her seriousness show in her eyes.
Abby hesitated. Relationships had never treated her well. She had always felt confined by their boundaries and the proprieties that she owed her partner. She had felt stifled and suffocated. She had a feeling though, that Ziva was different - that a relationship with Ziva would be different. She made her mind up swiftly, once she had considered.
"I'd like that too," she answered with a grin, and raised her head to kiss Ziva.
Abby caught sight of something over Ziva's shoulder and froze. On the far wall of the small bedroom, standing on top of a dresser was a small picture. She pulled back to get a better look at it and then found herself scrambling away from Ziva.
She couldn't be in bed with a woman who had a photograph of Ari Hasswari on her dresser. It was wrong and horrible.
Ziva was rising slowly, startled and worried by her lover's sudden retreat. "Abigail?"
"Don't call me that," Abby snarled, pacing and searching for her shirt or skirt, anything that she could put on to get away.
"Tell me what's wrong," Ziva's voice was low and commanding, demanding that Abby pay attention to what she said.
"Him," she spat the word, with a gesture towards the photo. "You can't expect me to sleep with you when you have a picture of him."
Ziva didn't need to look over her shoulder to see what picture Abby was referring to. She seemed to sag into herself. "Abigail, I didn't mean for you to see him." She said bitterly. "I didn't mean-"
"He killed my best friend! It doesn't matter what you didn't mean!"
"He was my brother!" The cry was torn from Ziva almost involuntarily. She couldn't believe that she'd said it. She had promised. She bit her lip until she tasted blood and turned away. "And I killed him," she whispered the words. It was only the second time that she had said them. Her father had been the first to witness those words and his reaction had been cold, icy anger. This was almost worse.
They were suddenly engulfed in silence. Abby's rapid breathing sounded loud in the harsh silence. Ziva stood opposite her, trembling from her emotions and the sudden rush of adrenaline. The sound of her cell phone ringing from the other room startled both of them. Ziva ignored it, keeping her eyes fixed on Abby.
"You should answer that."
Ziva knew that she should. The only people that had her cell phone number were the other members of her team. The call would be about work, but she didn't want to deal with work. She wanted to erase the look of searing hatred and disgust from Abigail's eyes. "Don't go,"she tried to make the words a command, but they came out as more of a plea than she had wanted. She held her hand out to Abby entreatingly.
Abby didn't take her hand and instead stepped back to lean against the wall. She folded her arms over her chest stubbornly. "I'll be here."
Ziva let out a breath that she didn't know that she'd been holding and slipped a silk robe off of the back of her door as she walked into the living room. She flipped her phone open and answered it curtly as she belted the robe around herself.
"David."
"Officer David," Her father's cool voice sent shivers down Ziva's spine and she tugged the robe more tightly around herself. She found herself wishing that her service pistol was in her hand, rather than still in her bedroom.
"Director," she replied with equal distance.
"Now is that the proper way to greet your father, little Ziva," he spoke in Hebrew, with a hint of fatherly rebuke.
Ziva ignored the tone, knowing it to be false. Her father never called to simply inquire about her life. It had been years since they had spoken over anything but official channels. She wasn't particularly eager to change that and at the moment she was too distracted to care why her father was calling.
"What do you want, Director?" She enquired bluntly in the same language.
"Is this the way that it will always be, Ziva?" She could suddenly hear the exhaustion in his voice. "I've lost-" He bit the sentence off. "I do not wish to lose you, as well."
Part of her melted at the words that he spoke, but the larger part of her was suspicious. People didn't change and her father was no exception to that rule. She frowned, drawing a sudden, worrisome conclusion.
"Why the sudden worry," she asked pointedly. "I'm safer here in America than I have been in years."
There was silence, and then. "You know why," his voice was strained, but the explanation didn't ring true to her.
"What's going on," she demanded, anger flooding through her.
There was a dull click as the line went dead. Ziva resisted the urge to throw her cell phone across the room and headed back towards the bedroom. They needed to leave immediately.
She snatched their scattered clothes up quickly as she moved towards the bedroom. She dropped them in a pile on the bed.
"Get dressed," she said quickly to Abby. "We have to leave."
Abby must have overheard at least the tone of the conversation because
she didn't hesitate, but she did start asking questions. "What's going on?"
Ziva shook her head, wishing fleetingly that she knew sign language. It would make explaining easier. "Not here."
Abby nodded, but remained silent as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.
Ziva held her pistol in her right hand as she cracked the door into the hallway of her apartment building. Her father's warning - if it had been a warning and not a slip of the tongue - had been vague, but she had not survived for so long as a Mossad agent without employing a certain level of healthy paranoia. She looked around carefully and then stepped into the hall. When she saw that it was clear, she held her hand out to gesture Abby forward.
To her surprise, Abby caught her hand in a lose grip. Ziva was surprised by the gesture. Her training and common sense said that she should take her hand back, but she didn't let go of Abby's hand. She was actually more worried about Abby than herself at the moment.
Holding her hand would give her a tangible connection to the other woman, and immediate reassurance. Abby squeezed her hand lightly and Ziva returned the gesture quickly before she started down the hallway.
They needed a car.
Ziva David studied the tattoos that covered her lover's bare back. She traced whirls and sharp lines alike with the tip of her index finger. Occasionally she would drop a feather light kiss on a particularly tempting bit of silky skin. Abby lay on her stomach, her head turned so that she could watch Ziva out of the corner of her eye.
Her golden tan against Abby's pale skin made an interesting contrast. Abby was entranced by the way that Ziva's wild hair fell down around her shoulders and tickled the bare skin of her arms and back. She shifted slightly, flipping over until she lay on her side, facing Ziva. Ziva looked miffed briefly, until Abby slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her into a languorous kiss.
When the kiss ended, Ziva traced the line of Abby's body down to her thigh. Abby didn't bother to try to stifle an involuntary gasp as Ziva kissed a sensitive spot on her stomach.
"You should be a controlled substance," Ziva whispered.
Abby grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should." Ziva shifted slightly, pushing herself up on her elbow. "Abigail-"
"Yeeessss," she drawled the word out, when Ziva hesitated. She usually hated it when people used her full name. Abigail had been her parents' little girl, the innocent child. She was none of those things, but she loved it when Ziva used her full name. It was different - special. She was already craving the sound of it from Ziva's mouth.
"I didn't plan on doing this," she gestured between them, "When I offered to cook for you tonight."
"I know." Abby tensed, drawing her knees closer to her chest. "I didn't either." She bit the metaphorical bullet. "Do you regret it?"
"No." Ziva's reply was sharp and quick. She reached a hand out quickly to touch Abby's, gently flipping her hand over and twining her fingers through the other woman's. She leaned her head down to place a reverent kiss on those fingers. "No, I don't regret it. You fascinate me and I would like to get to know you better."
"Better than this," Abby said with a teasing laugh. She meant it as a joke to defuse the suddenly serious moment.
Ziva was completely serious when she replied. "Yes, better than this."
She gazed into Abby's eyes, letting her seriousness show in her eyes.
Abby hesitated. Relationships had never treated her well. She had always felt confined by their boundaries and the proprieties that she owed her partner. She had felt stifled and suffocated. She had a feeling though, that Ziva was different - that a relationship with Ziva would be different. She made her mind up swiftly, once she had considered.
"I'd like that too," she answered with a grin, and raised her head to kiss Ziva.
Abby caught sight of something over Ziva's shoulder and froze. On the far wall of the small bedroom, standing on top of a dresser was a small picture. She pulled back to get a better look at it and then found herself scrambling away from Ziva.
She couldn't be in bed with a woman who had a photograph of Ari Hasswari on her dresser. It was wrong and horrible.
Ziva was rising slowly, startled and worried by her lover's sudden retreat. "Abigail?"
"Don't call me that," Abby snarled, pacing and searching for her shirt or skirt, anything that she could put on to get away.
"Tell me what's wrong," Ziva's voice was low and commanding, demanding that Abby pay attention to what she said.
"Him," she spat the word, with a gesture towards the photo. "You can't expect me to sleep with you when you have a picture of him."
Ziva didn't need to look over her shoulder to see what picture Abby was referring to. She seemed to sag into herself. "Abigail, I didn't mean for you to see him." She said bitterly. "I didn't mean-"
"He killed my best friend! It doesn't matter what you didn't mean!"
"He was my brother!" The cry was torn from Ziva almost involuntarily. She couldn't believe that she'd said it. She had promised. She bit her lip until she tasted blood and turned away. "And I killed him," she whispered the words. It was only the second time that she had said them. Her father had been the first to witness those words and his reaction had been cold, icy anger. This was almost worse.
They were suddenly engulfed in silence. Abby's rapid breathing sounded loud in the harsh silence. Ziva stood opposite her, trembling from her emotions and the sudden rush of adrenaline. The sound of her cell phone ringing from the other room startled both of them. Ziva ignored it, keeping her eyes fixed on Abby.
"You should answer that."
Ziva knew that she should. The only people that had her cell phone number were the other members of her team. The call would be about work, but she didn't want to deal with work. She wanted to erase the look of searing hatred and disgust from Abigail's eyes. "Don't go,"she tried to make the words a command, but they came out as more of a plea than she had wanted. She held her hand out to Abby entreatingly.
Abby didn't take her hand and instead stepped back to lean against the wall. She folded her arms over her chest stubbornly. "I'll be here."
Ziva let out a breath that she didn't know that she'd been holding and slipped a silk robe off of the back of her door as she walked into the living room. She flipped her phone open and answered it curtly as she belted the robe around herself.
"David."
"Officer David," Her father's cool voice sent shivers down Ziva's spine and she tugged the robe more tightly around herself. She found herself wishing that her service pistol was in her hand, rather than still in her bedroom.
"Director," she replied with equal distance.
"Now is that the proper way to greet your father, little Ziva," he spoke in Hebrew, with a hint of fatherly rebuke.
Ziva ignored the tone, knowing it to be false. Her father never called to simply inquire about her life. It had been years since they had spoken over anything but official channels. She wasn't particularly eager to change that and at the moment she was too distracted to care why her father was calling.
"What do you want, Director?" She enquired bluntly in the same language.
"Is this the way that it will always be, Ziva?" She could suddenly hear the exhaustion in his voice. "I've lost-" He bit the sentence off. "I do not wish to lose you, as well."
Part of her melted at the words that he spoke, but the larger part of her was suspicious. People didn't change and her father was no exception to that rule. She frowned, drawing a sudden, worrisome conclusion.
"Why the sudden worry," she asked pointedly. "I'm safer here in America than I have been in years."
There was silence, and then. "You know why," his voice was strained, but the explanation didn't ring true to her.
"What's going on," she demanded, anger flooding through her.
There was a dull click as the line went dead. Ziva resisted the urge to throw her cell phone across the room and headed back towards the bedroom. They needed to leave immediately.
She snatched their scattered clothes up quickly as she moved towards the bedroom. She dropped them in a pile on the bed.
"Get dressed," she said quickly to Abby. "We have to leave."
Abby must have overheard at least the tone of the conversation because
she didn't hesitate, but she did start asking questions. "What's going on?"
Ziva shook her head, wishing fleetingly that she knew sign language. It would make explaining easier. "Not here."
Abby nodded, but remained silent as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.
Ziva held her pistol in her right hand as she cracked the door into the hallway of her apartment building. Her father's warning - if it had been a warning and not a slip of the tongue - had been vague, but she had not survived for so long as a Mossad agent without employing a certain level of healthy paranoia. She looked around carefully and then stepped into the hall. When she saw that it was clear, she held her hand out to gesture Abby forward.
To her surprise, Abby caught her hand in a lose grip. Ziva was surprised by the gesture. Her training and common sense said that she should take her hand back, but she didn't let go of Abby's hand. She was actually more worried about Abby than herself at the moment.
Holding her hand would give her a tangible connection to the other woman, and immediate reassurance. Abby squeezed her hand lightly and Ziva returned the gesture quickly before she started down the hallway.
They needed a car.
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Well, I don't know about the wonderful atmosphere part, but I will certainly be posting more of this soon. I've got the next part written, at least. I was hoping to get it finished before I posted part three, but oh well. ;)
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