AN: AU set at the beginning of season 3, Kate and Ari didn't happen, though.

This was originally a one shot. Due to popular demand, which really surprised me so thank you dear readers and reviewers, I am continuing with this AU. But let's be honest, there is no plot here, other than Tony and Ziva flirting and bantering. Unfortunately, that also means I have no idea what I'm doing or if/when this story will ever be finished. I'm thinking I'll keep it open and add drabbles as inspiration strikes me. If that's not your cup of tea, I still feel the first chapter can stand alone, as a one shot, so you can just as easily read that and ignore the following chapters...clearly I haven't quite grasped the whole idea of being an author, because I'm pretty sure most authors wouldn't suggest not reading their material *rummages through desk drawer for an ounce of self esteem*

It was one AM on the dot when Tony turned the key and opened his front door. All he wanted to do was sleep for 3 days straight. Unfortunately for him, he was expected back at the Navy Yard in about 6 hours. He could be late of course, wouldn't be the first time. His coworkers would understand. He just spent a week partying in Tel Aviv with his frat brothers, they couldn't expect him to snap into work mode the second he set foot on American soil, could they? And well, even if they did, the head slap he'd surely receive from his boss for being late might actually keep him awake for the rest of the day.

Dropping his duffel bag next to the couch, he walked to his fridge, stomach growling. Empty, of course. He remembered throwing out some week old take-out boxes, the only thing the fridge contained besides two bottles of wine, before his trip. If he hadn't they probably would've walked out on their own when he opened the door just now. Pizza would probably not agree with him at this hour, but he was starving damnit; apparently he'd fallen asleep when dinner was being served on the plane and the flight attendants didn't want to wake him. So he grabbed his phone and ordered a pepperoni from Luigi's, who assured him it would be there in fifteen minutes.

While yawning loudly – maybe McGee was right, maybe he was getting to old for spring break – he filled a glass of water and half-sleepwalked towards the couch. Dragging the duffel bag onto the couch, he tore of the labels and haphazardly threw them in the direction of the coffee table. He'd promised to get Abby and McGee some typical Israeli souvenirs and figured he better put them in his work bag now so Abby wouldn't badger him all day for forgetting them. When he made the promise he'd been pretty clueless as to what "typical Israeli" was supposed to be. A jar of sand? Water from the Dead Sea? To be honest, he hadn't been sold on the idea of a vacation in Israel until one of his buddies mentioned half naked female soldiers on the beach. As it turned out he found something in a gift shop next to the hotel on the very first day. Unzipping the duffel bag to remove the gifts, his eyes went wide as he looked inside. He supposed the 3 handguns, assortment of knives, and lightweight bullet proof vest he saw could be considered typically Israeli, but he was pretty sure these weren't the gifts he'd packed.

-0-

Already running late due to a delayed flight, Ziva raced straight from the airport to the Israeli Embassy, leaving a cacophony of car horns and screeching tires in her wake. As the Mini that Mossad had leased for her came to a screeching halt in front of the embassy, she briefly checked the clock; 0045. Late, but Officer Bashan would still be waiting for her with the necessary papers for the liaison position she started tomorrow, well, today actually, and the key to an apartment.

She grabbed her duffel bag from the passenger seat and went inside, wondering why the bag felt a little lighter than she expected it to. She certainly hadn't noticed picking it up at the luggage belt. Then again, she had been somewhat distracted by the torn remains of the label and the hard time airport security had given her about the gun and knife she'd traveled with, even though she could provide the required unique identifier code. Maybe she just wasn't used to the weight of the bag yet. The one she'd traveled with for years had gotten lost somewhere in Cairo, during her last mission which had ended only 2 days earlier. As she waited for Officer Bashan to call her into his office she unzipped the bag to remove the gift she brought for the ambassador, and muttered a few choice words in Hebrew as she removed a portable DVD player and a number of DVD's.

15 minutes later, files, key and bag in hand, she rushed to her car, threw everything on the passenger seat and sped off to the address she had found in a side pocket of the bag. She hoped this Tony DiNozzo was home. And that he hadn't opened her bag. She still had to go over the files of the federal agents she would start working with, the last thing she needed was to spend the rest of the night at the police station trying to retrieve her stuff because a concerned citizen called the cops over a couple of guns.

-0-

As soon as Tony realized he'd grabbed the wrong bag from the luggage belt, he'd looked for the labels he'd thrown away. Picking them up off the floor where they'd landed, he read, "Israeli Embassy, Washington DC". Nothing else. No name. Not even a phone number. In short, not very helpful. He was pretty sure nobody at the Embassy would be interested in lost luggage retrieval at this time of night. But at least he was now somewhat reassured that he wasn't dealing with the luggage of a deranged terrorist. Turning the labels over and over in his hands he wondered what kind of a person, with obvious diplomatic ties, would travel from Israel to Washington DC, carrying a small armory. The only thing he could come up with that made any sense to him, was a Mossad Officer.

His mind, wide awake after discovering the guns, drifted off to spy movies and a documentary he once saw about Nazi hunters. Imagining a very disgruntled middle-aged, inconspicuous looking man, probably wearing fake, thick rimmed glasses, he wondered if he would get to meet the guy personally. It would make for an intriguing ending to his trip to Tel Aviv.

He was just about to unload the rest of the luggage on his coffee table when there was a knock at the door. His stomach growled in response and he completely forgot about the possibility of meeting up with a spy from one of the most notorious agencies in the world when he opened the door.

"I can honestly say, you're the hottest pizza delivery boy I've ever seen," he grinned, the trademark smile that always seemed to work with the ladies in place. "Though, now that I think about it, that's not that much of a compliment. I'm sure I can come up with something better. Why don't you give me your phone number and I'll give you a call when I do." He waggled his eyebrows for good measure, completely missing the narrowing of eyes and jutting of chin of the girl in front him. Not to mention the lack of a pizza box.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me," she stated, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. She didn't have the time or patience to deal with a sexist buffoon right now.

"Hey, I'm all yours, baby," he leered and slowly looked her up and down.

"Do lines like that actually work on American women?" She would be working in the US for several months, at least, so she supposed now was as good a time as any to learn more about the archetypal American male.

He snorted a little and said, "Only the ones I don't plan on seeing more than once."

Ziva huffed, rolled her eyes and shoved the duffel bag against his chest. His arms closed around the bag, even though his brain was otherwise preoccupied. She was feisty. He liked that. And he liked her accent, he'd gotten used to hearing it this past week. Wait…the bag. The guns. His smile faltered as his brow furrowed. This couldn't be…the imaginary Mossad Officer?

She smirked at the look on his face, "I assume you opened my bag."

His mouth opened and closed and he quickly glanced behind him towards the couch and coffee table, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

His initial idea of inviting the gorgeous woman in became even more exciting once he realized those were her weapons spread out on his coffee table. He was a sucker for girls with guns. Particularly if they looked like Bond girls, he thought, giving her another once over. The wrinkled camo pants and sand colored jacket wouldn't normally catch his interest, but they made her appearance even more intriguing. And well, he was sure he didn't look his best after traveling for almost 18 hours.

"Tony DiNozzo," he said, million dollar smile back in place, as his eyes landed on hers again.

"I know," she drawled. At his look of confusion, she jutted her chin in the direction of the bag he was still clutching to his chest.

"Oh, right."

"Look, I could stay and flirt with you all night, but I am quite frankly not in the mood. And from the way you have been looking at me I am pretty sure you already have enough material for a soaked dream."

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it in confusion. He grinned when it dawned on him what she had meant to say, "You mean wet dream."

"Same difference. My bag, please."

Instead of acknowledging what she just said, he kept staring her straight in the eye, thinking about all the things he could possibly dream about tonight, the things he wanted to do to her, with her. And yes, part of him hoped he could get under her skin, because she looked like a tough nut to crack, and he liked a good challenge. Her only response was to lift her chin ever so slightly and stare right back. As the tension became more palpable, he noticed her pupils were dilated, but then again, he was sure his were the size of saucers, so that wasn't exactly a win in his book.

After several minutes of neither giving in, his ringing cell phone broke the silence, but not the eye contact. She raised an eyebrow noticing he wasn't planning on answering his phone immediately.

"It might be one of those women you do not plan on seeing again. If you want to get…" she tilted her head to the side, looking for the correct word, "lucky tonight you should probably get that," she said in a honeyed voice while moving into his apartment and heading towards the coffee table.

He grinned as he noticed that there was room for her to enter his apartment without the need to brush her body against his. Not that he was complaining. As he watched her check each weapon methodically, before placing it back into the duffel, he went to answer his phone.

"Finally! Why is your cell phone off?" McGee said. And before Tony could reply that he had forgotten to turn it back on when he landed, he continued, "Nevermind. Gibbs wanted me to let you know that if you're even 5 seconds late, you'll be in a world of pain for the rest of the week." Well, so much for that plan, he thought absentmindedly, looking at the Israeli. He briefly wondered why he wasn't more worried about the fact that there was a complete stranger handling lethal weapons in the middle of his living room.

"I'm surprised you didn't keep this information to yourself, probie. You never seem to mind me getting chewed out," he replied distractedly, admiring the Israeli's behind as she bent over to pick something up off the floor.

"If you get punished you'll just take it out on me," McGee grumbled.

"True," he answered with some glee. "Hey, wait! You never told me your name. I don't even have your phone number, what if you forgot something at my apartment tonight," he blurted out, completely ignoring the phone, as he saw Ziva walk out the door, lifting his right arm as if to stop her.

She glanced over her shoulder, smiled enigmatically and closed the door behind her. His face fell along with his extended arm. The one time he meets a girl that actually intrigued him beyond the usual 'I wonder what she looks like naked' and he has no way to contact her.

"Ugh, you're disgusting, DiNozzo. You spent a whole week chasing women on a different continent, you can't spend one night on your own?" McGee grated in his ear. Tony felt slightly annoyed that McGee assumed he caught the tail end of another one night stand. He supposed his reaction wasn't uncalled for with his track record, but the woman he'd just met was definitely not one night stand material.

"You're just jealous," he replied, trying to keep irritation from seeping into his voice. He could hear McGee huff at the other end of the line.

"Oh, before I forget, according to this morning's scuttlebutt, the new director appointed a Mossad Officer to join our team as a liaison. That could get interesting, right? See you at the office."

"Wait, what-," Tony replied confused, but McGee had already ended the call. He lowered the phone and stared at the door contemplating rule 39; there's no such thing as coincidence.