snowdarkred

Title: The How and Why and What (or, Four Ways They Didn't Meet Over Drinks and One Way They Did)
Author: snowdarkred
Words: ~1.6K
Pairing: Ziva/McGee
Rating/Warning: PG-13, swearing, lots of alcohol (with recipes)
Author's Note: Set in the same universe as Scaredy-Cat and The Give and Take, though you don't need to read that one to read this. Crossposted...somewhere.

Summery: This is how they could have met, or they should have met, or possibly would have met. This is how they didn't meet. This is how they did.

The How and Why and What

This is how it happened:

They accidentally met at the same bar. She was a foreign translator Stateside with the Israeli dignitary. He was an MIT graduate looking to get drunk because the fancy computer company he had worked for fired him after they found out that he based his books off of their internal scandals. They hadn't been happy about that. He hadn't been happy about loosing his source of inspiration for his corporate espionage series.

She ordered three fingers of the hardest liquor the barkeep had, whatever it was, and he ordered an Ice Wine Poor Boy Cocktail. She turned to him in surprise, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“What did you just order?” she asked.

He snorted. “An Ice Wine Poor Boy Cocktail,” he said, his eyes rolling. She looked at him appraisingly, her eyes flicking over the nice suit and brand new Italian leather shoes that his police contact in the Baltimore PD had convinced him to buy.

“And what,” she said lowly, leaning closer. Her side rested on the bar, and she brushed her long hair out of her face. “Exactly.” She leaned closer, so close that he could smell the faint hint of her perfume. “Is in an Ice Wine Poor Boy Cocktail?”

---

Ingredients:
1 oz. ice wine
1 oz. VSOP Cognac
4 oz. champagne

Instructions:
Add VSOP Cognac to champagne flute or martini glass and then add champagne.
Add ice wine last.
Garnish with a lemon twist or slice of star fruit if available.

---- ----

This is how it happened:

They ran into each other at a business luncheon. Literally. She crashed into him, and his drink took flight. The highball glass crashed to the floor, drawing the attention of the room. Tim shook under the scrutiny, his hands fluttering about his person in a useless deflection technique. He felt his disgruntled boss's glare from all the way across the room.

The woman looked up, her pretty face framed by a few wayward strands of her hair. Tim had the urge to brush them aside to see her more clearly. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

A man cleared his throat gruffly. The woman blushed slightly and looked down at the wet floor in dismay. The cleaning staff descended upon them as they stood frozen ion place. The man's throat cleared again, closer this time. Much closer. Tim jerked and turned to stare at him.

“Ziva,” he said, his voice as smooth and cold as ice. “Why don't you go with Mr. McGee to get himself another....” The man trailed off, looking at Tim expectantly.

“Er, Bee Tea,” he stuttered. He flushed from his neck to his hairline, because this man was his company's new client, and Tim had just admitted that he drank something with Bärenjäger Honey Liqueur in it.

“Bee Tea?” the woman—Ziva—asked, her interest peaked. Tim could see the plain emotion that had shown on her face when they collided fade behind a mask of cool indifference. “What is in it?”

Tim glanced at his client and then back at her. There was a remarkable resemblance between the two Israelis.

“Come with me to the bar, and I'll tell you.”

---

Ingredients:
1 part Bärenjäger
2 parts fresh brewed tea
lemon wedge for garnish

Instructions:
Fill a highball glass with ice
Pour in the Bärenjäger and fill the glass with fresh brewed tea
Garnish with a lemon wedge

---- ----

This is how it happened:

They tripped over each other while rushing for the same taxi. It was raining, Tim was wet, and he was clutching a bag from the liquor store on the corner. And he was wet. They eyed each other next to the yellow cab, their hands both firmly grasping the door.

“Share?” He said, gesturing with the dripping plastic bag.

“Yes,” she said, sliding past him into the car. He got in after her, mindful to place the bag between his feet and the door.

He gave the cab driver his address, and she gave him hers. The backseat smelled like wet dogs and Doritos. The driver pulled into traffic and headed towards Tim's address first. The silence was awkward.

“Going to a party?” his seatmate asked, nodding at the bag dripping water unto the muddy floor mat. Her face was impassive.

“Yeah,” he said. Maybe he could shock some emotion onto her face. “My friend is unveiling her coffin. How 'bout you?”

He watched as she raised an eyebrow at his words, but she visibly chose not to comment on it. “My partner got kicked out of his ex-girlfriend's apartment in the rain. I'm going to laugh at him.”

“Partner?”

“We're on loan to the FBI.” she said. She was staring at the bag. “He is, how would you say? A goof-ball?”

“What are the chances of two federal agents sharing the same taxi?” She gave him an odd look. “I work for NCIS,” he explained lamely.

The driver pulled up in front of Abby's apartment, right along side her bright red hearse. She stopped him before he left the car, pressing his own cellphone into his pocket. “You should be more careful with your belongings,” she said.

He got out and stood in the rain, watching as the taxi pulled away. His phone buzzed. He checked his text messages.

What's in the bag?

He typed a reply and sent it to her:

The makings of Dirty Girl Scout Shots.

---

Ingredients:
1 oz White Crème de Menthe
1 oz Vodka
1 oz Kahlua
1 oz Bailey's Irish Cream

Instructions:
Mix the Vodka, Kahlua, and Bailey's
Pour over ice
Pour the Crème de Menthe down the center of the glass

---- ----

This is how it happened:

They passed each other in the hotel lobby. The security conference was packed full of politicians and body-guards. The hotel had moved his room three times before he was finally settled in a tiny single on the second floor. He dumped his bags at the end of his bed and turned right back around, gunning for the hotel bar.

He passed her again on the stairs. She was going up, and he was going down. Her eyes flickered over him as it happened, and Tim felt his face heat under the scrutiny.

The final time they passed was outside the bar, because the damn hotel really had overbooked, and every important person and their three unnecessary bodyguards had decided to get drunk. He saw the woman from before pause and then walk towards him with purposeful, even steps. He felt his mouth go dry.

“Hello, my name is Ziva,” she said, holding out her hand. He shook it with the hand that wasn't clutching at his drink. Her hair reflected the light shining from one of the neon signs hung in the window.

“Tim,” he managed. She was hot, he was a geek, these things didn't happen.

“Why don't you and your drink come up to my room?” she said bluntly. Her hair brush along her bare shoulders, calling his eyes to the dip of her shirt collar. She squinted at his glass. “What is that, anyway?”

“Watermelon Julep.” His ability to form full sentences was officially shot to hell. The woman—Ziva—was not the kind of woman who usually went for Tim. And she wasn't the type of woman he was used to getting.

She frowned at the drink in confusion. “What is it? I have never heard of that before.”

“I'll explain...later,” he said. He didn't want to be rude, but....

“Right,” Ziva nodded. “Later. After. You will explain to me what a Watermelon Julep is.”

---

Ingredients:
1/4 ripe watermelon
1/2 oz. simple syrup
3 sprigs of rosemary
2 oz. Grey Goose vodka

Instructions:
Smash watermelon till it turns to juice
Pick out seeds
Muddle 2 sprigs of rosemary with syrup
Add 3 oz. juice and vodka and shake with ice
Strain
Garnish with sprig of rosemary

---- ----

This is how it really happened:

They truly met at a bar. He slung back another shot and motioned for the bartender to pour him another one. He wanted to be drunk enough to forget everything, to fall into a stupor and not wake up, to not see Kate leaning against the bar three feet away. Because Kate was dead, and he couldn't even take down her killer himself.

She approached him, so afterward he was never sure if they met by accident or design.

“I am sorry,” she said softly. “I know that your team was close.”

“Is,” he snarled. She blinked in surprised and stepped back. “Our team is close.”

“I am sorry,” she repeated. He hated the finality of her voice and the way her shoulders sagged. She lost her brother, and he lost his teammate, and this whole month was one fucked up event after another. She avoided his eyes and looked at his drink instead. “What are you drinking?” she asked him.

“Whiskey,” he said shortly.

“I'll have two shots,” she told the bartender as she took a seat beside him.

---- ---- -----

Comment and be awesome! All the alcoholic beverages are real. ;) Drink responsibly.

Pst--Let's play Where's Gibbs' Team? See if you can spot them!