Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.

Just your average 'can't get over Kate's death' fic, written for a friend who also told me to publish it. Very Ziva-bashing and possibly OOC, so don't say I didn't warn you.

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'And then they shot at us and I had to...'

Tony zoned out again as Ziva began another long, boring story about being a rebel and shooting at people. They always seemed to involve her getting stuck in a life-threatening situation and escaping heroically. She was on her seventeenth and showing no signs of slowing down. They hadn't even finished their starters.

'So I loaded the last of the bullets into my gun- everyone agreed I should use them as I was the best shot-'

Jeesus. Not this again. If she wasn't paying, he'd have been out of here so fast... He poked his salad with a fork. He didn't even like salad, especially with the gooey dressing that seemed to appear on all fancy restaurant food. He eyed up the wine list again. Was it too early in the evening to get drunk? Maybe if he did something really embarrassing, she'd ditch him and his ears would get a rest.

'And I shot out another of the tyres...'

He put the last lettuce leaf in his mouth with a grimace. Ziva had barely touched hers. Probably something to do with not being able to talk and eat at the same time. He started tracing a pattern on the tablecloth.

'So what do you think, Tony?'

His head shot up, and he grinned at her out of reflex. 'Wow... sounds exciting,' he said, trying to avoid eye contact. Please don't ask me what did I just say please...

'It was. In that situation all you have to remember is...'

Oh god. Not again.

'Anyway!' he interrupted brightly, hoping she wouldn't notice him dying a little inside. 'Shall we order? I'm starving,'

'I guess...' She picked up a menu and began scanning it. Tony did the same. Their waiter took away their plates, and returned with a pad for ordering. Tony looked at the main courses. Steak, fish, chicken... Mmmmmm... chicken.

'I'll have the chicken a la carte, please,' he said. the waiter nodded, muttered something about it being an excellent choice and turned to Ziva.

'The steak with mushroom sauce for me, please,' Ziva smiled a little too widely at the waiter, who gave her an odd look, wrote it down and went back to the kitchens.

'Where was I?' Ziva asked, not waiting for a reply. 'Oh yeah. When you're in that situation all you have to remember is-'

'Kate liked steak,' Tony said absently, staring at a point a foot above and three feet to the left of Ziva's shoulder. He didn't think Ziva would notice, but she stopped abruptly.

'Kate liked steak. Why are you telling me this?' Her eyes narrowed.

Crap.

'Just a random fact. Conversation starter, y'know?' He tried smiling again, and she looked less angry. Maybe she wouldn't start breaking things after all.

' Tony... Kate is dead. She's not coming back,' Ziva was attempting a comforting look and just managing to look constipated. It would have been funny, if he had been in the mood to laugh.

'And I don't want you to just think of me as Kate's replacement,' she continued, oblivious. 'I was hoping... Well... I'm my own person, and I'm here now. Kate isn't. What does that show you?' Ziva reached across the table and touched Tony's hand. 'Don't waste your time pining over Kate. She's not worth it. I'm here now,'

Tony whipped his hand away and stood up. Ziva stared at him, shocked.

'Ziva...' He took a deep breath, trying to get his anger under control. 'I'm gonna 'pine over' Kate as long as I want. And don't you ever, EVER say she's not worth it,' Her reached under the table for his bag and swung it over his shoulder. 'Kate...' He hesitated, trying to think of what to say, but nothing he came up with sounded right. 'If Kate WERE here, she'd laugh herself sick,'

He stormed out, leaving Ziva alone with the bill. It served her right, he thought, glad he'd ordered one of the most expensive things on the menu. Thinking of food made his stomach rumble, reminding him he hadn't had dinner yet. Salad didn't count as a meal.

Great. Where could he go to eat this late?

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Tony swore as the prawn escaped from his chopsticks and fell to the ground, instantly gathering a thin coating of dirt. He really needed to practice.

After a concentrated effort he managed to get a hold of some noodles, and raised them to his face. A drop of rain splashed on the side of his nose. His hand jerked, trying to wipe it off, and the noodles went flying, landing with a wet splat on the stone he was leaning against. Oops.

He turned around and picked the noodles off the stone, wiping away the mark they had left on the T of Todd.

'Sorry,' he whispered, then settled back against the gravestone. he picked up the hated chopsticks again, only to have one slip and land point down in the dirt.

He'd have to finish it with his fingers. He was already soaked through from the rain. His shirt and trousers were so coated with thick mud he was sure they'd never recover. His food was almost cold.

He couldn't have been happier.