He sent Jimmy home promptly at five o'clock. There was still work to do, confirming the identity of the man in Anthony's car, but that could wait for the morning. Though well meaning the boy's constant chatter and periodic "can you believe it, Doctor Mallard?" was wearing on him. Strange, but once he left it was almost too quiet. It wasn't
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"Here's health and prosperity, to you and all your posterity, and them that doesn't drink with sincerity, that they may be damned for all eternity!" Her own broque was horrid but the toast itself genuine enough. Ziva took a sip, staring down at the amber liquid.
"Seems a bit more fitting than the toasts we made..." She paused, making a face. "Let's just say that toasting to avoiding car bombs and suicide bombers seems out of place tonight. Of course, I had also considered - May you die in bed at ninety-five, shot by a jealous husband."
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"That would suit Anthony, wouldn't it? Or at least who he was a year ago." Ducky smiled and took a sip of his drink. Any other night he might have teased the woman about her slaughtering of his native speech, but that seemed out of place tonight.
"This seems to be becoming a habit of ours, sharing a drink when the others are gone, be it liqueur or tea."
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"I wish there were more times it was tea and not alcohol,' she noted, taking another sip. "I also suspect it's that we both work harder than the others... except Abby but she has that drink so she doesn't need Scotch." It was a joke, Ziva knowing that everyone pulled their own weight. But noting that they had no one to go home to was cruel to them both.
"I asked Tony to go out for a drink but he said he was going home." Disapproval showed in her face and tones.
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"As for having tea more often I make a pot every morning. You know where to find me."
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