The bar is dark, and smoky, and from where they sit, huddled into the corner booth at the furthermost reach of the room, the rest of the world is blurred in a gray haze. Much like they cannot see the world, the world cannot see them.
That’s his logic, really, as he tips his head back and drinks the dregs of his beer- likely the final one of the night. Ziva still has half a glass to go but she’s alternating between little sips and quiet laughs that make her inch closer to him, curls tumbling down her shoulder as she turns. Her scent is invading his senses the nearer she gets, and soon he...
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