Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS; I do not own it, I confess. I do not own it here or there; I do not own it anywhere! (Nor do I own Green Eggs and Ham, Ghostbusters, or any other number of money-making franchises.)
Tag to 9x18: "The Tell."
"You cannot expect a person to keep things bottled up inside forever, can you?" Ziva asks quietly.
Tony's mouth quirks faintly upwards, and he says, "No, I guess you can't. I mean, what goes up must come down and all that."
Ziva nods slowly, eyes intent upon his face.
"So you do not think that Gibbs had a… bounce in his step?" she asks again.
Why is she so insistent about this, anyway?
"Nah," Tony says, shaking his head minutely. "But just because he wasn't bouncing doesn't mean that he didn't have that gleam in his eyes."
"Gleam?" Ziva asks eagerly, pouncing on the new information.
Tony nods knowledgably. "Mmhmm. It's his gettin' some gleam."
"I am… glad for him," she says. "He has been alone for a long time, yes? His last friend was… Hart, I believe."
"No," Tony says, unwilling to believe it. He mulls over it for a few seconds, then says, "No, you're right, it was Hart. Wow."
"Unless he kept something very quiet," Ziva agrees.
"Nah, we'd have heard," Tony says dismissively. "Boss is here too many hours for him to be able conceal that kinda thing from us. Besides, if he'd been seeing someone, he'd have told us when we tried to play matchmaker."
"Perhaps," Ziva says with skepticism.
Frowning, Tony adds, "I just hope Gibbs knows what he's doing with Ryan."
"You do not trust her?" Ziva asks sharply, concern evident on her features.
"I dunno," Tony replies with a shrug. "She's a mind-gamer. Don't get me wrong, she seems to be good for Gibbs so far, but…"
Ziva sniffs. "You just do not like her because she called you a game show host."
"I am not a game show host," Tony insists, standing back up.
"Why does this bother you so much, Tony?" Ziva asks. "I would have thought you would be flattered by the comparison."
Tony's frown deepens. "Just… they're fake, you know? Sleazy. They make me think of…" He lowers his voice. "They remind me of my dad."
Ziva's expression softens.
"Tony –" she begins, getting to her feet.
"– do you want to grab a bite to eat?" he asks with false cheer. "Because I'm starving."
Brow creased slightly, Ziva says, "Food would be nice. But Tony, you cannot think that –"
"Great!" Tony says, rubbing his hands together.
Ziva sighs. "Whose turn is it to buy this time?"
"Mine," Tony admits. "I was thinking that 24-hour diner, if that's OK with you."
"They do have good cheesesteaks," Ziva concedes.
"Meet you there, then?" Tony asks.
Ziva nods. "Just give me a few minutes to put my things away."
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
As Tony drives to the diner, thoughts drift unbidden into his mind.
He didn't tell Ziva, but sometimes he's afraid he is nothing but a game show host, presenting a smiling face to his audience; a modern day snake oil salesman, selling them something that isn't quite real.
He doesn't think about this very often; he's a busy man with far better (more productive) things to do with his time. But Ryan's offhand comment poked at the old wound, and now he can't stop thinking about it.
"You are Tony DiNozzo, the class clown," Ziva had said once. "And that is why we love you."
The words had comforted him at the time, but now they just rub salt into the wound. Class clown, game show host… what's the difference?
-–- -–- -–- -–- -–-
"It has been too long," Ziva says, eyeing her Philly Cheesesteak with a look that Tony associates with the bedroom.
He agrees through a bite of his own sandwich, "Fawhtuhlahng."
Ziva rolls her eyes. "Do not talk with your mouth open, Tony. It is disgusting."
"What are you, my etiquette teacher?" Tony scoffs, but he makes sure to swallow his food before saying this.
Ziva smirks.
"You should be so lucky," she informs him.
"Oh, and I suppose table manners were a high priority at Mossad training," Tony snorts.
"If you were a spy expected to infiltrate certain circles, then yes," Ziva says a tad defensively.
They continue to bicker cheerfully until the check comes.
"Tony," Ziva says quietly, as they wait for the waiter to return with Tony's credit card, "you cannot truly believe that you are like your father. You one of the few truly good men I know."
"Me? Truly good?" Tony says with a weak laugh. "I think you've got me confused with someone else."
"You are insensitive at times," Ziva says, "and immature, and a tad self-centered –"
"– hey, I thought this was supposed to be a pep talk," Tony interrupts.
"–but," Ziva emphasizes, "you are a good man, Anthony DiNozzo, and I am honored – yes, honored – to count you as my friend. Ryan does not know you. You can play the game show host, but you are not one, not really. Not where it counts."
Tony shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but makes himself meet her eyes. They are warm and insistent, and he suddenly feels an overwhelming rush of affection for the woman sitting across from him.
Ziva has come so far from the Mossad agent he first met, the woman who insisted that feelings were a weakness best left unexpressed.
Don't get him wrong: every once in a while, he misses the old Ziva… that wild, reckless girl full of sly innuendo and certainty in her own judgment; fire barely contained, from her loose dark curls to her Mossad-issue boots.
But it's a rare occurrence, and moments like these only further cement his preference for the woman he knows today.
A small smile on his lips, he says, "You aren't so bad yourself, Ziva David."
Ziva smiles back.
"Besides," she adds a few seconds later, breaking the moment, "didn't Peter Venkman get compared to a game show host once?"
Tony's smile broadens to a grin.
"Agent David, have you been watching Ghostbusters?" he asks delightedly.
"It was on TV one night last month," Ziva says, "and I had nothing better to do."
"Good movie," Tony says reminiscently. He then adds, "I sincerely hope that you aren't saying Dr. Ryan is my Dana, though. Don't get me wrong, she's hot for her age, but I prefer 'em a little younger and less manipulative."
Ziva makes a face and says, "I had no intention of implying such a thing. Although now that I think about it…"
He throws a fry at her.
"I was joking," Ziva protests, flicking the fry away from her face. "You have to admit, though, that you have a lot in common with Peter."
"Oh?" Tony asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Mmm," Ziva says. "You share a sarcastic sense of humor, yes? And you are both self-proclaimed Casanovas."
"Then who would you be?" Tony asks. "Gozer?"
When Ziva raises an eyebrow of her own, Tony quickly explains, "Oh, come on, a powerful god of destruction in the form of a beautiful woman?"
Ziva accepts his logic and says, "McGee would be – "
"– Egon," they both say in unison, and then burst into laughter.
"And Abby would be Raymond," Ziva continues.
"What about Gibbs, though?" Tony says thoughtfully.
"I do not think that there is anyone quite like Gibbs," Ziva says.
Tony nods in agreement. "Good point. There's no substitute for the boss man himself."
The waiter returns with his credit card, and they fall into a comfortable silence.
Tony wonders idly whether Ziva knows just how irreplaceable she is to them. How irreplaceable she is to him.
"Well, Tony, this has been nice," Ziva says finally, winding her scarf around her neck, "but I am more than ready to get some eye-shut for the night."
"Shut-eye," Tony corrects her fondly. "It's shut-eye, Ziva, not eye-shut."
"Either way, I am ready to close my eyes and sleep in my own bed," Ziva retorts. "We are on-call tomorrow, and with our luck, we will be called in early."
"True," Tony says wryly. "Enjoy your shut-eye."
Ziva frowns slightly, upon seeing that he isn't moving. "You will also get some sleep?"
"Of course," Tony tells her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm just going to sit here a couple more minutes, prepare myself for the cold. Till tomorrow, then?"
"And hopefully not too early," Ziva huffs, buttoning up her coat. "Goodnight, Tony."
And with these words and a parting smile, she leaves the diner.
As he sits there, words swirl through his head.
"This is life calling collect, saying 'Hey, I'm short. Appreciate me.'"
"You should tell her, whoever she is."
"Cherish each other, that's all I'm saying. Every day."
"You cannot expect a person to keep things bottled up inside forever, can you?"
He pulls his bucket list out of his coat pocket and underlines numbers nineteen and twenty-six. Because Ziva's right… a person can't stay quiet forever.
A/N: This is undoubtedly a coincidence, but it's an amusing one: Ghostbusters contains both a Ray and a Barrett. Also, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man is referred to as a "sailor" at one point. ;-)