Hello, beautiful and broken Tiva shippers.
I've been working on a big, multi-chapter (possibly multi-story) fic for a while now, and I have been teetering around with whether or not I want to write some graphic sex scenes into it. I struggle to keep smut both hot and romantic when writing, so I wasn't so sure whether it was something I should include at all.
And thus, this little fic was born. It will be multi-chapter, but probably not more than 7 or so. It follows along with the season 13 finale (the bane of every Tiva shippers existence) and rewrites it in a more… friendly way. A less depressing way.
So anyway, here it is. Second chapter is smut. The rest will be… mostly clean? I think.
As always, I own nothing. Some dialogue, particularly in the first chapter, is taken directly from the show for authenticity sake and should not be credited to me. The cover photo is from a TV line article and is not mine.
Reviews are appreciated, especially for this story as I am seeing how well I can write a smut scene. Let me know what you think. Seriously, be brutally honest in the reviews. They will only make me a better writer (and my big upcoming story easier to read)
Enjoy!
Tony DiNozzo was sweating. Like a lot.
He kept telling himself it was the damn skylight. Or the case. Or just the general tension in the horrifically orange room. Basically, anything but the fact that he was desperately dialing number after number and typing email after email in an attempt to get any sort of communication with the woman that he spent the past 3 years pining over.
Getting over. He spent the past 3 years getting over her. Not pining. No pining took place. DiNozzos don't pine over anyone.
Still, to say it took 3 years to get over her was a little sad.
To say it took 3 years to not even get over her was just pathetic, and certainly not the reason he was sweating.
Another bland tone came through his phone followed by an automatic message. The number had been disconnected.
He pulled at his shirt collar, trying to get some form of relief from the burning on his neck by giving it some space to breathe.
"Ziva's cell is disconnected and she's not answering email," he reported as he thumbed through more numbers on his phone, wondering if any of his contacts would be useful at this moment.
"Boss, I'm calling everyone I can think of. No one knows where she is."
Tony looked over at McGee as he spoke. The younger agent looked fine. Sure, he was flustered and doing everything he could to locate their former teammate, but he didn't look nearly as sweaty or lightheaded as Tony felt.
There goes my skylight excuse.
"Somebody knows. Keep trying," Gibbs commanded, the vein in his forehead on full display as the apparent threat against his honorary daughter seemed to be looming closer and closer.
"It doesn't make any sense. Why is Jacob trying to find Ziva? She doesn't have any to do with his espionage case," Tony's finger hovered over a contact as he spoke: Adam Eschel. Was he that desperate?
"Agent Monroe is down with Ducky to see if he has any insight into Jacob's mental state," Bishop announced as she joined the team in the bullpen.
"We are missing something. The original CIA case files?" Gibbs was now leaning over McGee's desk, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it.
"I texted Kort to get over here, but I haven't heard back," Tony finally looked up from his phone, deciding to leave a conversation with Adam for a later time.
"You didn't say please," the bald-headed CIA agent came walking around the corner, as if on cue.
"I texted you an hour ago."
"I'm not your lap dog. I was working," Kort said, his accent slowing his words down to a nearly intolerable pace considering the current frenzy going on in Tony's body.
"Jacob Scott's espionage case, can you get us the case files?" Gibbs made his way around the desk and squared his shoulders with the outsider.
"Might I ask why?"
"Because he's looking for Ziva," Tim provided, his eyes barely leaving his computer screen for a second as he continued clicking through reply emails in regards to Ziva.
"Ziva? Well, that doesn't make any sense. She had nothing to do with…"
"We know that," Tony tugged at his cufflinks as he interrupted Kort, not anywhere near being in the mood to rehash things they already knew, "Just get the files."
"Worried about your girlfriend, DiNozzo?" The glint in his one functioning eye had Tony stepping forward and giving him a solid shove before he could even think to do it.
"What's that supposed to me?"
The two men stared at each other for so many long, tense seconds before Kort turned to address Gibbs.
"Are you going to call your attack dog off?"
Gibbs let out a small smile before moving back behind his own desk, "No."
"Fair enough. That was not one of my classier moments," he stepped a tiny bit closer to Tony, "Ziva can take care of herself, Tony, you know that. But I'll ask around. See if anybody's heard from her. Okay?"
Tony narrowed his eyes, biting back a few choice words about just how much Ziva can take care of herself. He knew Kort was right. But that didn't make this any less concerning.
He watched the CIA agent walk out of the bullpen and towards the elevator, not once letting his eyes drift from the back of his grey suit.
Just as he disappeared, Gibbs' phone rang on the desk beside him.
"Gibbs," the team leader answered. Nobody was paying the call much attention. That is until the grey-haired man stood up and leaned against his desk.
"Where are you?" he asked.
Tony turned to see his Boss' eyes. They were wide.
"Are you safe?"
McGee slowly stood from his own desk as the tension in the bullpen clearly started rising. This call was important, they could all tell that. But could it be…
"How fast can you get to DC? Quietly."
They all watched as their boss nodded along with whatever the caller was saying. His shoulders were relaxing beneath his jacket.
"Do it. Come straight here after you land," the man moved to hang up the phone but stopped himself, holding the receiver to his ear again, "And watch your back, Ziver."
There was a community gasp at the sound of the nickname. All of their hopes were confirmed. Ziva had called them back.
Gibbs slammed down the phone and looked up at his three agents, who were now all waiting on the opposite side of his desk, watching him closely.
"Boss?" McGee finally asked when he realized Gibbs wasn't going to offer any answers by himself.
"Ziva is on her way."
"Fast enough?" Tony asked, clenching and unclenching his fists at this new development. Ziva being safe was good. But Ziva being here… that might not be so good.
"Fast as she can, DiNozzo. It's a twelve-hour flight."
Twelve hours. Plus a couple to make the arrangements. At least an hour to maneuver the airport and get to the base.
No matter how you looked at it, Ziva was going to be here soon.
He was going to see Ziva soon.
And that had absolutely nothing to do with the new beads of sweat rolling down his back. Nothing at all.
Scott was in custody. And for a brief, blissful while, that meant the threat toward Ziva had been eliminated.
But, of course, Scott hadn't actually been the threat. It had been the slippery CIA agent - sorry - former CIA agent the whole time. And they had all but held his hand and walked him to the farmhouse Ziva had been staying in. Or was still staying in. They couldn't be sure. They had no way of knowing whether she managed to get out of Israel yet.
When Tony and Bishop returned from finding Kort's phone at the Zoo, the bullpen was bustling. Between the agents at work, the suspect in custody, and the men following behind him to keep him corralled, it was getting a bit claustrophobic. And hot. Had it always been so damn hot in here?
Turns out, it was about to get hotter. Right around 1,100 degrees hotter. Because as Tim put up a video of news coverage showing a burning house in the dead of night, Tony felt like the flames were burning through the screen. And when the voice on the video reported that the house had been formerly owned by Mossad Director Eli David, Tony swore they jumped through the TV and started engulfing the room, burning just as bright as the damn orange walls.
"Isn't that…" Tim tried to say something but stopped short.
Tony finished for him, though he could never tell you how he managed to speak over the smoke filling his lungs and burning his skin, "Where Ziva's supposed to be staying."
"The blast occurred just hours ago in this tiny Israeli Village on the outskirts of Tel Aviv. The farmhouse belonging to former Mossad Director, the late Eli David was the apparent target of mortar fire just before midnight. Several terror groups have already claimed responsibility," the young reporter standing in front of a burning house - the burning house - kept reading her script into the camera.
"More like a one-man terror group," Tim commented as he continued typing.
Tony gave a small nod of acknowledgment. He hadn't so much as grunted since he settled himself in front of the big screen, his legs set wide beneath him, his shoulders hunched as he repeatedly tapped his fist holding the tiny gold chain against his chin. He wasn't sure when exactly he opened his drawer and retrieved the… old friend as she had once called it, but he knew why he had. It was an odd comfort in the midst of a terribly heavy situation. It almost felt like he was holding her hand as he watched her house - and possibly her remains - burn brightly on live television for the world to see.
Don't joke about that, Tony. Not even in your mind.
He cringed at the way his inner voice had taken on a strange accent and a surprisingly high pitch. He has been so sure he had forgotten what her voice sounded like, and yet here it was, reading his own thoughts to him as if they were printed in one of her classic novels.
"Where's Trent Kort?" Gibbs asked as he threw a file onto his desk.
"Nowhere, Gibbs. All previous means of locating or contacting Trent Kort have been disconnected," Ellie reported from her desk.
"None of his former CIA people. No GPS to track. Nothing, Boss. It's like he fell off the grid," Tim added.
"DiNozzo?" Gibbs pulled him from his thoughts and Tony had to hold in a comment about him becoming the stand in Ziva expert. He supposed it was appropriate, given the fact that not a day had passed since he left her on that tarmac three years ago when he didn't think about her. Her laugh. The way she would scrunch her nose at his dirty jokes. What she would say if she saw him sneaking snacks from the break room when nobody was around. Her. He just always thought about her.
But he wasn't pining. He was moving on. Of course, he was.
"Still no Ziva. I tracked down Adam Eschel in Belgium. He hasn't spoken to her in over a year but he was pretty sure she was staying at her father's old house."
He made sure to breeze over his conversation with Adam as much as possible. He didn't want to talk about the relief he felt when he heard he hadn't heard from her in so long. He knew it was wrong to feel that way. Adam could have been helpful in finding Ziva if the two had remained close. But it just felt so damn good to know that they hadn't.
"We are just receiving late word of a possible survivor being pulled from the rubble. No identity is confirmed yet as they rescuers continue digging," The reporter continued on, unaware of the way her words brought about a whole new environment in a room thousands of miles away.
"A survivor," Bishop said from right behind him, and Tony fought the urge to jump at her proximity. The news must have drawn her out of her chair, just as it seemed to have done to the now standing McGee.
"I can't stay here," Tony whispered as he watched the flames dance across the screen again.
"We know that," Gibbs said, still sounding far enough away to be at his desk.
"If that's Ziva, I gotta go," Tony continued on as if no one had spoken.
"We know. McGee, get him a flight."
"It's already booked. Your plane leaves for Tel Aviv in four hours. Boarding pass is in your inbox," Tim reported.
Tony didn't move.
"What are you waiting for?" Bishop whispered to him.
Still no movement.
"Hey," Gibbs called, snapping Tony out of his trance, "Go."
Tony nodded slightly as he picked up his bag from behind his desk and jogged toward the elevator.
"You'll wanna sleep on the plane, Son," Anthony DiNozzo Senior was following his son around the apartment as he grabbed clothes and other necessities to shove into his bag, "I can give you something that always works for me."
"That's alright," the younger Tony said as he clumsily folded a jacket before shoving it on top of the rest of his things, "I'm not gonna sleep, Dad."
"Look, it's gonna be fine, Junior. You do know that, right?"
"No, actually, I don't," Tony tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
"Well, I guess it's better to be prepared, but I've got this feeling-"
"A feeling what? A feeling she's still alive? So do I," Tony looked back down at his clothes with renewed interest as he fought against the frustration rising inside of him. He loved his father, really, but he just wanted to be alone for a while. He was thankful that he would be making the long trip himself.
"But I don't know that she's still alive. And nobody knows anything so what's the point in feeling anything at all," he shoved more items into his bag.
"I didn't mean to make things worse."
"Listen, I know you're trying to help. And I appreciate it," he started blinking quickly, trying to hold back those tears that kept springing to his eyes every once and awhile. They were really getting annoying, "But I'm a wreck."
Senior took a step closer and placed a hand on his son's shoulder, "You're a rock, Son."
The doorbell rang.
"That'll be my ride."
"You finish. I'll get it," Senior offered as he turned and walked out of the room.
"Thanks, Dad," Tony sighed as he zipped up his bag and went to throw it over his shoulder.
He looked back toward the door to see his father coming back into the room, followed by Abby and McGee.
"Hey, I'm on the run, I gotta-"
His voice faded off as a fourth figure appeared around the corner and entered his bedroom.
Her hair was shorter, barely falling past her shoulders anymore though she had left it down and curly. It was also lighter. Several shades, he would guess. Probably a side effect of the bright desert sun.
She was wearing a heavy sweater underneath a long coat despite the warm April air. And her jeans had tasteful rips at the knees, which was almost enough to make him laugh. Ripped jeans. She had never been the type.
Her lips parted slightly when she saw him, and he was pretty sure his had done the same. Her eyes were so bright, burning into his with an intensity he was sure he had never noticed before. Or maybe he had just forgotten. He had been moving on, after all.
"Ziva," he hadn't really decided to say her name, but it had fallen off his lips so naturally, and so breathlessly.
She smiled a bit, letting just the corner of her lips curl up in the action, "Hello, Tony."
The air was growing heavy as he tried to find something witty and remarkable to say. He wasn't coming up with anything. Why the hell couldn't he come up with anything?
"She called the office right after you left. Her plane had landed and she needed someone to pick her up. Gibbs told us to bring her here until we can arrange a safe house," Abby broke the silence in the way only Abby can, with a bubbly and informative summary of events to ensure everyone was on the same page.
"Which isn't likely to happen until the morning. He figured she would be safer on your couch than his, given the whole no-locks thing."
"But Kort is in Israel," Tony tore his eyes away from the slim brunette long enough to address McGee.
"Well, we think. Or we hope. And we aren't going to risk it. As far as anyone outside of this room is concerned, Ziva David is dead. Well, anyone outside this room and the big orange room, I guess. We have to keep it that way until we track down Kort. For her safety," Abby wasn't watching close enough to see the way Ziva flinched at the notion that she was dead.
But Tony was. And he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to her. Pretending she was dead was a little too close to pretending her father wasn't dead after he had been shot by that Swedish mercenary. He hardly thought this was the way she would want to make her return to DC and NCIS.
"Well," Tony managed to catch Ziva's eye again just in time for his charming wit to recover from its shock, "I hope you like Ramen. Because I wasn't exactly planning for guests."
The smile that spread across her face was small, but it carried a loaded message: Thank you. Thanks for not making this weird. Thanks for breaking the tension. Thanks for not turning her away.
"I can live with Ramen."
He smiled back and tried to ignore the weighted glances his coworkers were exchanging in his peripheral vision. He felt like one of Abby's experiments, or one of Tim's book characters: being watched and analyzed for the slightest hint of insight into his mental state. He wondered if they would run back to the office and gossip to Ducky about the tense reunion. Surely the doctor would have some psychological explanation for why Tony felt the need to crack a joke and Ziva felt obligated to laugh lightly at it. Tony hoped he would never have to hear it.
"Is there anything else you guys need to tell me?" he turned to look at them and they quickly stopped their telepathic conversation.
"Just that we're going to find Kort. And we're gonna make sure Ziva stays safe while we do. We'll call in the morning with the details for the safe house," Tim lightly grabbed Abby's elbow and started dragging her out of the room. Ziva smiled at them as she stepped out of their way and watched them leave. She turned back to Tony after they heard the door to the apartment close.
"Ziva," Senior stepped toward her and engulfed her in a hug, "I knew you were alive. I could just feel it. Junior felt it too, but he was still so-"
"Dad," Tony grabbed his bag off of his bed once again and took a step toward the two, who were still stuck in an embrace, "Do me a favor and go see if you can get that blow-up mattress from the lady down the hall."
His father pulled away from his hug with Ziva reluctantly, "Why? You have a perfectly good couch to-"
"You know my back has been bothering me lately. The couch isn't a good idea."
"I can sleep on the couch," Ziva offered quietly.
He sent her a pointed look before continuing with his insistence, "You are a guest. I won't have you sleeping on such an uncomfortable couch. Just, please, dad?"
Senior sighed, "Alright."
They both watched as the older man left the room and listened to the sound of the door closing once again.
"Seriously, Tony, I can sleep on the couch," she said as she turned back to him.
"I know. I just wanted him to leave."
Her eyebrows shot up, "Why?"
"So I could do this without him making it weird," he mumbled before crossing the room and pulling her into a simple, friendly hug. The 'hey, I'm glad you're not dead' kind. Nothing more.
Because he was totally getting over her.
She slid her arms around his neck and gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze as she rested in the embrace. She smelled like coconuts. And shea butter.
Fuck it. Who was he getting over again?
"I'm really glad you're okay, Ziva," he whispered.
He felt her smile a bit against his shoulder, "So am I."
He let out a light laugh as he pulled away from her. His heart ached at the loss of contact.
Over her? Who was he kidding?
"So, was that Ramen comment true, or were you just making a joke?"
He smiled as he stepped around her and made his way to the kitchen, "It was a little bit of both. I really only have Ramen. But I know a 24 hour Pizza place I can call."
She was following behind him. He noticed that she had removed her coat as she slid onto a bar stool next to his island, "Pizza sounds good."
He squinted at the flier stuck on his fridge as he typed the number into his phone. He ordered a large thin crust pizza, half pepperoni, half vegetarian. He hung up the call before turning back toward her, finding that she was watching him carefully.
"What?"
She shrugged, "You did not ask what I wanted on it."
"Did you want something other than vegetarian?"
She shook her head, "No. It is just… funny that you remembered."
Whoomp, there it is, he thought as he felt the awkward tension filling his tiny kitchen, spilling out into the dining room, and engulfing the living room. So much for a stress-free reunion.
He nodded slightly before making his way to the alcohol shelf. He poured two glasses of Bowmore and placed one in front of her. If they were going to make it through this night, they both needed a little bit of liquid luck.
She tossed her head back as she finished off the whiskey. His eyes glued to her neck as she swallowed. He watched the veins move as her throat constricted underneath her olive skin.
He tore his eyes away and finished off his own glass.