Ashleigh Anpilova


Tony has a particular fantasy, but he doubts he'll ever act on it.

A pre-het story.

Written: February 2011. Word count: 500.



Tony has fantasies, of course he does. After all he's a hot bloodied man, who likes women and sex, thus when it comes to both of those things he has a very vivid imagination, and more than once his fantasies have become reality.


But there is one fantasy he has which he doubts will ever become reality, no matter how much he wants it to. It started off as a now and then fleeting fantasy, but over the years it has gotten more intense, deeper, involved; real in a way he knows it never can be.


His fantasies revolve around a girl with long dark brown hair, deep dark brown eyes, who has an Israeli accent and is a walking weapon. Ziva David: the girl he'd fallen firstly in lust with and finally in love with.


He fantasizes about what their life together could be like if only they gave it a chance. He fantasizes about kissing her, holding her, caressing her, making love to her, feeling her move beneath him or on top of him, feeling her lose control, seeing the arousal in her eyes, tasting it on the air, hearing her cries of intense passion as she loves him as he loves her.


He fantasizes about her holding their first baby, how gentle she is, how the killer becomes the mother, how her face softens as she looks at the miracle they'd produced, how he sits with his arm around both of them, his girls - because the first baby would be a little girl who'd be just like her mommy.


He fantasizes about their second a child, a boy, the next Anthony DiNozzo. She'd love him as much as she loves their daughter. He sees her with the baby in her arms, the child by her side, a wonderful mother to the babies and still a wonderful lover to him. It's his family and he'd do anything for them; he'd lie for them, cheat for them, die for them, kill for them.


He fantasizes about the children growing up, marrying and having children of their own. He fantasizes about growing old with Ziva, seeing her dark hair become flecked with grey and gradually turning completely grey. Her eyes maybe dulling a little, but she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever known. He fantasizes about them dying together.


He fantasizes about the day he tells her how he feels. But he knows he won't. He can't. There's too much history between them. He killed the man she loved; she told him to lie to the woman he loved.


So he won't tell her, he won't get to make his fantasies a reality. He'll keep on flirting with her, teasing her, bickering with her, keeping her just at arm's length, doing what he can to keep her safe, being with her as a friend and coworker, nothing more. He'll keep his heart in check; he won't tell her he loves her. Why? Because it's better this way, isn't it?



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