AN: I'm exhausted and I can't sleep. And I really need to get my sleep schedule back on track as I will be starting my new job sometime between Wednesday and Friday of this week. So I'm hoping this little bit of drivel will help my brain to shut the hell up. No Sebastian on this one. He's been asleep for hours. The town and house in this story are both based on a place I lived for a couple of years as a kid.
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The case was finally over. She should be happy, relaxed. Instead, Ziva David found herself awake at shortly before 0300. Insomnia was not new to her; she had been struggling with it for years, long before ever coming to this country. But after two weeks of the undercover op from hell, she had prayed for one good night's rest. The case had taken the team from DC to Illinois, where it had proceeded to rain daily for their entire twelve day stay.
They had been in a house about sixty miles south of Chicago, posing as the world's most dysfunctional family. Gibbs was, as always, the patriarch, and McGee and Tony his faithful sons. The only plus side of the entire situation had been that the size of the house had allowed them all far more privacy than they were usually granted in such situations. But, somehow, once again she had been forced to play the happy couple with Tony.
That part of the op had been relatively simple. It was easy to enjoy being in Tony's company, to pretend to be his wife. What was not easy was to make sure it was all pretend. Whenever they had to pose as a couple, he would touch her. The contact would be near constant and, minute by minute, she would feel her carefully erected walls come unglued.
Sighing, she shoved herself out of bed and exited her room. She had been granted the only room in the lower level of the house by Gibbs, meaning she had not had to share a bathroom with the three men on her team. She snuck through the family room and up the half flight of stairs to the main level. Gibbs was a notoriously light sleeper and the last thing she wanted to do was deal with him should she happen to wake him.
It wasn't until her feet hit the cool tile of the kitchen that she realized how warm she was. That could be attributed to the Gentleman Jack that Gibbs had passed around when they'd arrived back at the house an hour ago. Whiskey always heated her up.
Ziva opened the fridge and bent to look inside. After a moment of deliberation, she reached in and grasped a bottle of water.
"I'll take one of those too, if you don't mind."
She jumped at the sound of his voice and immediately regretting having let her guard down. "You startled me, Tony." She plucked a second bottle from the shelf and extracted herself from the cool air, swinging the door closed as she turned to him.
"Well, that's a first. I got the drop on Ziva David. Too bad I didn't get that on camera. No one is ever going to believe me."
Rolling her eyes, she slammed one of the cold bottles into his chest. "I was thinking. I did not feel the need to be on guard with the case closed. Why are you even awake?"
When he took the bottle from her, his fingers brushed hers and she felt her body temperature notch up another degree. "Dunno. Just couldn't sleep, I guess."
She stalked out of the kitchen, intent on going back to the solace of her room. She realized as she reentered the family room that he was behind her, following her, and moved instead to drop herself on the loveseat. She couldn't risk him following her into any room with a bed.
Instead of choosing either the couch or the recliner, Anthony DiNozzo lowered himself into the space next to her. He was close enough that she could feel his body heat, hear his heartbeat. She shifted as far as she could against the arm of the small sofa, trying to keep as much distance from him as possible.
"And why are you still up, My Ninja?"
She was not sure when the term had become a nickname. He never used it in front of anyone else after the initial time years ago. Now it was almost something private that they shared. The way he would say it struck a chord in her heart each time.
She took a long, slow drink of water before answering him. "I am just trying to unwind from the case."
He said nothing further and she was eternally grateful. She managed to finish her bottle of water in relative peace, his proximity her only distraction. When she recapped the bottle, however, her luck seemed to run out.
"Okay, spill it."
She focused on the empty bottle in her hands, fidgeting with it nervously. "Spill what?"
"What's wrong?"
She sighed, her fingers busying themselves futzing with the edge of the bottle's label. "Nothing is wrong. I just do not sleep well in unfamiliar places."
As he snatched the bottle from her hands, she turned to look at him, slightly surprised by the intense look on his face. "Cut the crap, Ziva. You've been avoiding me since we slapped the cuffs on our suspect. And you've been distant since the op briefing. What's going on with you?"
"It is nothing. I am fine." She pushed herself to her feet and moved toward her room. She needed to put a door between them.
Somehow, he managed to catch her by the arm before she could open the bedroom door. He used his grip to spin her to face him, and she nearly crashed into his chest. Her hands instinctively rose between them, pressing into the soft material of his shirt. She glared at him for a moment, reeling in her emotions so she could avoid yelling at him. "Let go, Tony."
He shook his head without allowing his gaze to falter from her own. "I don't think so, Ziva. I'm done 'letting go'. For good."
Before she had time to question what he meant, his mouth came crushing down on hers. His taste was not unfamiliar. Over the years and the course of this case they had kissed many times before. This time, however, there was an emotion, a passion behind the kiss that had never been let loose in the past.
She tensed for a moment before giving in to the sensation and reciprocating his movements. Her hands slid up his chest to loop behind his neck, planting his lips more firmly to hers. She vaguely recognized the door to her room pressing against her back.
After years of fighting whatever this was between them, she was done. She did not know where things were going to end up with them, and for once, she decided not to care.
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Gibbs closed the door quietly behind him, one third of the way into his own private routine. Any time he managed to have the three agents that were more like kids to him than subordinates all under one roof, he always started the day in the same way. He was always up before any of them, even if they had been up late, as with last night. He would usually check on McGee first. Then he'd move on to Tony. Ziva would be his last stop before going to the kitchen to make coffee.
He walked quietly down the hall to Tony's door and twisted the knob slowly. He eased open the door and peered in. Surprised, he opened the door fully and stepped in. The light was on, the bedding was disheveled, and the room did not contain his senior agent. A quick glance across the hall let him know the bathroom was unoccupied as well.
He took Tony's sidearm off of his nightstand and moved to the stairs. He quickly cleared the main level of the house before moving down to the lower level. The family room was empty, but he noted a pair of empty water bottles on the coffee table.
He moved silently to the door to Ziva's room and opened it, leveling the gun as it swung agape. What he saw nearly made him drop the weapon.
There, on the twin bed, lay his two agents, Ziva's back pressed tightly against Tony's front. His arm was draped over her waist above the blankets, his face buried in her hair. A trail of clothing ran from the door to the bed, leaving no doubt as to the state of his agents beneath the covers.
After a moment of shock, the older man smiled. Lowering the gun, he backed out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. Still grinning, he went back upstairs to return Tony's gun, then moved on to the kitchen for his morning coffee.
As the brew dripped into the pot he made a decision. He would kill Tony if he managed to screw this up. He had been waiting for years for the pair to finally stop dancing around their feelings. Rule 12 be damned, those two belonged together.
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AN: Brain is finally almost as tired as my body. Hope you enjoy the fruits of my insomnia.