A/N: Presented without comment. Except one: I have no idea how or why this went where it did.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
They say that necessity is the mother of invention. But Tony's escape from this windowless room has been what he considers necessary for about three hours now, and his attempts to invent a skeleton key for the metal door have so far fallen flat. To be fair to the half dozen innovative bones in his body, he doesn't have much to work with. A single wooden chair with uneven legs, a dim florescent light, two bucks in his pocket, and a ninja/girlfriend who is pacing the 8x10 room with pursed lips and crossed arms.
Undoubtedly, the ninja/girlfriend is the most valuable object in his escape-assisting arsenal. Their impressive pile of guns and knives (two are his, five are hers) is useless in this bare room, but Ziva is wily enough for this to not be a problem. Or so he thought. After Tony's single, brilliant plan of throwing brute force at the door of their concrete prison failed, he was sure Ziva would calmly nudge him aside, explain the top two ways in which he was an idiot, and then simply blow the door open with a little C-4 that she'd cunningly disguised as the underwire in her bra. It sounded silly, but with Ziva involved Tony didn't think it would be all that farfetched. It turned out that it was. After tapping on the door to gauge the sturdiness of the metal (very) and then glancing at the rickety wooden chair (totally useless), Ziva had simply sighed, walked over to the far wall and taken a seat on the floor. He thinks she might be losing her edge.
Three hours later she seems resigned to the fact that neither of them has the goods to get them out of this pickle. Instead, she has placed her faith in Gibbs' uncanny ability to track down his lost and distressed kin. While Tony prays to the same silver-haired God, he can't help feeling a little stung by her confidence in another man's abilities. And emasculated. And useless. Traditional gender roles have never played a large part in their relationship, but he is still chauvinistic enough the feel that he should be the one to save his ladylove. (Even if he started out hoping that his ladylove was carrying explosives against her breast.) He made a commitment to her almost a year ago, and he is of the opinion that with that commitment came a responsibility for getting her out of pickles or jams or any other sticky situation. To Tony, this doesn't mean just waiting for the patriarch of their strange little family to show up and save their asses. He badly wants to make a quick change into a Superman suit and fix the situation himself but the barrier to his superhero effort remains; they are stuck in a room with nothing to help them get out, and there is literally nothing he can do to get them out of there. He has no choice but to await the outside help he is positive is on its way. Their freedom is out of his hands.
It's a tough pill to swallow. His over-developed hero complex is turning him resentful of Gibbs' eventual moment of glory. It's a goddamn dick measuring competition he's creating in his head, and it's one he will fall short of winning. He's never had any true complaints from Ziva before (these days she is, in fact, consistently vocally and physically complimentary of his measurements), but he feels that no matter what he does the boss is always going to outdo him. And he can't help but wonder how long it will be before Ziva grows tired of his shortcomings and leaves him for someone who has bigger and better attributes.
His self-flagellating sigh at the thought draws the attention of the pacing ninja/girlfriend. She pauses on her path between concrete wall one and concrete wall three to aim a curious look at him. He returns something that he hopes says nothing to see here. But luck is definitely not on his side today. They've been in this room for three hours with nothing but an old chair and each other to look at. His sigh has been the first fresh piece of stimulation she's had since she grew tired of inspecting her hair for split ends half an hour ago, and she's not going to pass up the chance to explore it.
She walks over to him in those knee-high boots that always cause a stir in his pants and crouches in front of him, hugging her knees. The scent of the lime and coconut shampoo she used this morning in his shower wafts over to him, and even in his suddenly insecure state the familiar smell makes him smile.
"Explain yourself," she commands, although her tone is more playful than nut-shrinking.
He attempts a nonchalant shrugs and feeds her a lie of distraction. "My butt hurts."
She has worked in his personal space for more than seven years, and so he is not surprised when the lie is immediately detected. "You are upset."
He fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, well, we've been stuck here forever. I guess I lost the urge to sing and dance about the situation about two hours ago."
The ninja/girlfriend fights his sarcasm with armchair philosophy. "It could be worse," she points out. "At least we were not put in here by people who want to kill us."
Her optimistic approach is unlike her, and he detects a lime and coconut-smelling rat. "Are you enjoying this?"
The look she returns accuses him of harboring a brain injury. "Sure," she drawls. "After all, it was on my list of things to do today. Pick up dry cleaning, pay electric bill, get stuck in a room with Tony to force a conversation about—" She stops abruptly and stares at him, and if there was ever a combination of words and expression to make him worry more than these, he hasn't been exposed to them.
"What?" he pushes carefully. God, he almost doesn't want to know what she wants to have a conversation about. The woman has a knack for blindsiding him with deeply introspective thoughts that require equally deep responses on the fly, and he almost always fails to deliver.
But she shakes her head dismissively before turning to sit beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder. "I forgot to pick up my dry cleaning," she says with a sigh. "That actually was on my list of things to do today."
His shoulders relax as he accepts her word. It is not that he objects to having deep and meaningful conversations with her about relationship-related pros and cons. It is just that he prefers to have them someplace where either of them can walk away and take a time out when things get heated. Which they usually do.
"Well," he starts, sounding sulky, "they might still have it waiting for you when we get out of here next winter."
Brown eyes turn his way and a shoulder bumps his. "You do not like being stuck in a room with me."
"No, I love being stuck in a room with you, usually," he argues. "Just not this room, right now."
Her sigh complements her tiredness. "Gibbs will find us."
Words meant to soothe instead rub salt into the wound. "I know."
She challenges the edge in his voice, not his words. "You do not want him to find us?"
"Yeah, of course. Although I'm not really looking forward to explaining how we got stuck in here."
She sighs and drops her head against his shoulder. "It was wide open when we came in," she reminds him. "We were not to know that barely brushing against it would make it slam shut."
"I kind of feel like he's probably going to think we were supposed to know that," Tony returns.
Ziva gives a dismissive sniff. "So what? He will be mad tonight and normal tomorrow."
He sighs heavily because he's seeing more to it than that. "It's just frustrating when something dumb happens to the two of us because it gives him more ammunition for his I was right and you were wrong argument."
"He never makes that argument," she says, sticking up for the boss like she always does.
He bites his tongue instead of arguing further with her. He learnt long ago that there is no point taking her to task over matters involving the boss. Gibbs is the biggest wedge that comes between them, and Tony prefers to go around the obstruction rather than through it.
And she knows it. "You are avoiding conflict again."
"Yes."
"You do not need to." Her tone is gentle, devoid of argument now. "You should say what you want to say."
He knows she worries that sometimes her 'enthusiasm' for an argument can be misinterpreted as her not wanting to hear him at all. Sometimes she's right about that. But not now.
He turns his head to kiss her forehead. "I'm just picking my battles, sweetcheeks."
"Oh," she says, and then bumps his shoulder. "Then what would you like to battle about?"
He chuckles, but shakes his head. "Believe it or not, but I don't want to battle at all when we're stuck in a small room with no way out."
"I am sure I could learn something from your maturity," she comments.
The side-eye he aims at her is heavy with suspicion. He thinks she might be attacking him, and so he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her against him in a gentle wrestle, figuratively neutralizing the ambush. "You're making a crack about my age."
"I am not!" she protests, but allows herself to be subdued by his arms. "I was trying to pay you a compliment. And I like your age."
He puts his other arm around her and pulls her over his thigh to sit between his legs. "Yeah, well I don't," he says as she resettles herself against him. "A younger Tony would've been able to get us out of here by now."
"I sincerely doubt that even college athlete Tony, at the peak of his fitness, would have been able to ram the door hard enough to get us out," she says sensibly. "Unless that Tony took a lot of steroids."
"He did not."
"Then get over it."
He doesn't. "And yet Old Man Gibbs, fuelled by nothing but coffee, will no doubt bust through he door like it's butter."
She pauses, and he thinks if he put his ear to hers right now he'd be able to hear her brain ticking over. She sits up from her position reclined against his chest and looks him in the eye. "What is going on with you?" she asks in a no-nonsense tone.
He spreads his hands, defensive of his justification. "I just get sick of always relying on him to save the day, you know? And he never gets in situations like this himself. He's frigging Teflon and it drives me crazy." His bald-faced honesty is testament to how far his allegiances have shifted in the last few years. Once he never would have dreamed of badmouthing his mentor—not to Ziva or anyone. Now he feels not only safe but also relieved that he can confide in her.
She stares at him thoughtfully. "You wish for him to be endangered more often?"
"No," he sighs. She's not getting it. They still have a way to go on some of their communication issues. "What I wish is that when I take risks, they pay off. You know, he does just as many dumb things as I do. He goes off into dangerous situations without backup, without telling us where he's going, and he always comes out of it smelling like roses. When I take a chance doing something equally stupid but with good reason, I always end up with a new hole in my body and Gibbs screaming at me at the end of the day. How is that fair?"
She shrugs as she struggles to find the supportive answer of a ninja/girlfriend. "It isn't. But he is the one who makes the rules."
The thunk that his head makes as he drops it back against the wall is an appropriate comment on its own, but he verbalizes his irritation anyway. "What number is the rule that says I've always got to be the master's apprentice? The bumbling side kick?"
The girlfriend overthrows the ninja to answer this one. "There is not one," she says gently, and puts her hand over his. "So if you do not want to keep being the side kick or the apprentice, you do not have to be."
From day one of their partnership he always considered the ninja side of Ziva to be her scariest. Indeed, at the moment their partnership tipped over into a relationship he still held that belief. But it only took about three days for him to discover that while the girlfriend may not make threats to remove his spleen through his butt while he sleeps, she instead delivers scary, white knuckle honesty like nobody's business. Sure, she is supporting him right now. But he's less keen on her support when she's making the argument that he should step out of his comfort zone.
Even if he knows she's right.
He breathes heavily, pushes aside his nerves over the possible outcome of the conversation, and looks at her for help. "You think I should move on?"
"I think you should do what makes you happy."
It's not just lip service. He knows she really means it. He knows if he told her that becoming a lion tamer would make him happy, she'd tell him to go for it. But he doesn't want to be a lion tamer. And he's not sure if he's done being an apprentice. The thought brings a nasty stab to his chest, and that can only mean that leaving would be the wrong decision. Doesn't it?
"Maybe I just have cabin fever," he tells her, calming down now that the pressure of his irritation has been released. "I'm starting to get delirious in this room. Crazy thoughts running though my head."
She sees him stepping away from the edge, but doesn't let him retreat. "Tony, I know that you are often not as confident within yourself as you make out."
"You're not supposed to say that out loud," he reminds her, going for flippant.
"But you are brilliant agent," she continues. "And you do not need Gibbs in order to keep being brilliant. If you want to move on then you should do so, and know that you will succeed."
Her honesty continues to scare him. But on the other hand, few things make him happier than when she shows such barefaced support for him. He smiles his thanks and tries to take some of her confidence for himself.
"Time will tell, huh?"
"I suppose," she says, "but I am also telling you now."
His smile grows and he puts his hand on her cheek to guide her in for a kiss. "Thank you. You would've made a good cheerleader, you know that?"
The face she makes in response suggests that her US citizenship did not come with a free coupon to redeem an all-American high school cheerleader experience. "I can do the splits, but I would not think I am nearly perky enough to be a cheerleader."
"No, you're not," he agrees. "But if you ever get the urge to dress up like one, you should. I would support that."
"Perhaps for your birthday."
She settles against his chest again, and he rubs her thigh as he entertains the thought of her in a little flared skirt, cropped Spandex top and a ponytail. "That's still three months away."
"Good things come to those who wait."
"Yeah, whatever," he sighs dismissively. "Why are you so optimistic and philosophical today?"
"I did not realize that I was."
"You are," he accuses. "Mossad Ziva wouldn't have approved."
"Mossad Ziva would have killed you ten minutes after we got locked in here, so count your blessings," she advises.
"Mossad Ziva was kind of crabby," he tells her softly. Honest Girlfriend Ziva might be scarier than Ninja Ziva, but the latter can still pack a prize-fighter punch.
She aims an old school glare at him. "She is not dead, Tony," she warns. "Given a good enough reason, she will come out again."
He smirks weakly at the warning and leans in to kiss her neck, reminding her that she likes him a whole lot these days. "Seriously, why so philosophical?" he asks again. "Why so calm about this predicament? Why so 'be what you want to be'?"
She sits up to look at him, and her expression suggests she is vaguely hurt. "I am being supportive," she says obviously. "Am I not usually supportive? Do you think I want you to be miserable and always regretting not taking a chance when you could have?"
"What chance?"
"The chance to lead your own team," she says. "Tony, you obviously want to do it."
He frowns at her like she's speaking in tongues. "What do you mean obviously? I never talk about that."
"You never talk about it because you are loyal," she says. "But we see it in your face. The frustration at being held back."
His hands come off her, and the act telegraphs his displeasure with her continued insistence on scary honesty. He decides to counter-attack by picking a fight of diversion. "Who's 'we'?" he wants to know.
"All of us." The information is delivered with a shrug, as if he should not be surprised. But he is.
"What, you all just sit around and talk about it while I'm not there?"
"No—"
"You're supposed to have my back, Ziva," he says, suddenly getting carried away on the frustration he's been feeling since the door to this room closed behind them and his self doubt started taking control. "You're not supposed to talk about me behind it with other people."
She stares at him, surprised by his sudden aggravation, and he can't really blame her. But she's sprung another deep conversation on him (perhaps not intentionally) and once again he feels like he must scramble for his footing. Although he said he wanted to avoid an argument just five minutes ago, he now wants to have it out. Ziva, however, is clinging to that sense of calm that has been with her for the last few hours, and she responds to his fight-picking with a sigh and careful words.
"I always have your back, Tony. You know I do." She pauses. "Perhaps you are sensitive about this because you are feeling guilty about even considering leaving."
He sighs and untangles himself from her to stand up and start pacing. Ziva remains seated, looking up at him with concern he's not keen on acknowledging. She's hit the nail on the head, but he's not ready to admit it aloud just yet.
"You seem pretty eager for me to go," he throws at her.
"Tony." A hint of warning creeps into her tone. "I am eager for you to do the things that make you happy. Because that makes me happy. And it makes us happy. I will hate to lose you as a partner. All of us will hate to lose you from the team. But all of us want what's best for you."
"And you think it's best for me if I leave."
She meets his eyes unflinchingly. "Yes."
Honestly, the truth stings. He wasn't expecting her to accept his departure from Team Gibbs so easily. "I see."
Ziva sighs and gets to her feet. When she faces him her expression is heavy, and he thinks she's about to drop another bomb. The air between them changes and his chest gets inexplicably tight, and he doesn't know what's coming but now he has the urge to tell her that he wants to drop the entire conversation and go back to the silence of the last half hour.
"It would be good for us," she tells him thickly. "We have been balancing our work and our relationship for almost a year, and mostly it works. But it will not stay that way for much longer."
He inhales sharply as panic hits him. He really doesn't like where this seems to be going. His eyes scan the room one more time as he prays for an escape hatch they missed the first ten times they searched for another exit. He finds none, and so has to offer a response.
"Are you saying that if I don't leave the team, then we have to break up?" He begins to wonder if she planned getting stuck in this room together. This is the conversation she wanted to force. She's been wanting to give him an ultimatum, and—
But she shakes her head quickly, firmly, and steps towards him. "No, Tony. But I am saying that there are things I want from you that, if we are to stay on the same team, we may have to sacrifice. That I might have to sacrifice."
He expects her to elaborate, but she seems to think that her statements are clues enough to her thoughts. She says no more but looks at him expectantly. He thinks he has a vague clue where this might be headed, but he can't bring himself to guess in case he is wrong.
"Ziva, this might be one of those conversations we have where you've got to be really specific about what you're saying," he suggests. "Because I don't know exactly what you want from me. And I know I don't want you to sacrifice anything you want for me."
He thinks he identifies a brief look of hurt cross her face, and he panics because that wasn't what he was aiming to get out of her. But she takes his advice and spells it out for his feeble brain.
"I want to live together, Tony," she says plainly, and the pain of panic in his chest starts to ease just a little. "I want to marry you one day. I want to have children with you one day. But I do not think we will be successful at any of those things if we are working together full time. That is the sacrifice I am talking about."
She watches him with nervous but hopeful eyes as Tony stands before her, trying to absorb the sudden and important turn in their conversation and their relationship. He finally gets where she's coming from and he feels stupid for not seeing it sooner, but perhaps he was trying not to think about it because he was nervous about where she stood on the marriage and babies line. Now that he knows, he devotes five silent seconds to imagining the life described and realizes that she's right. To have that life that they both want, they're going to have to make some sacrifices. And for her, for their kids…he will.
He smiles as his panic from moments ago is wiped away by his blessings. He's lost count of how many nights in the last 11 months he's spent looking at her and wondering how the hell he managed to get her to love him, and he wonders the same thing now. He doesn't think he'll ever work it out, but concedes that some things are better left just accepted and unexplored. She loves him. And he knows she'll keep loving him even if he can't help himself from screwing with her just a little bit right now.
"If you're asking me to marry you, it'd be traditional if you got down on one knee."
She smiles but looks vaguely uncomfortable. Like she knows he's joking, but isn't sure how to respond. They haven't talked about the serious big picture stuff before in any more depth than making an agreement to commit for the very long term. Talking about marriage and kids after spending six years denying they even had feelings for each other is kind of…awkward.
"I am not, yet," she says softly, and then crosses her arms and defends herself with derision. "I am just saying that there may come a day I the future where I do not find you as repugnant as I do now, and so we may need to think about preparing ourselves for such a time."
He smiles at her brief return to the Ziva of old and then takes her face between his hands. "I love you, too."
He waits until her eyes soften and the corner of her mouth lifts before moving in to kiss her, this woman he will marry and raise a family with. His hand slides into her hair and he holds her close, and her hands grip the front of his shirt. Suddenly he's quite happy to be trapped in this small room with her for a while longer. Even if they only talk about deep relationship-related things.
"I guess you've got a pretty good point," he tells her, going back to the bit where she talked about sacrificing their work partnership for a fully-fledged home partnership.
"It does not mean that I want you gone from the team," she reiterates, but then chuckles. "Although there are advantages. I cannot see myself getting trapped in a room with McGee very often. Or getting in bar fights with him. Or car accidents."
His eyes narrow as she forgets her loyalty. "So, today is my fault?"
"No," she says with a knowing smirk. "I am just saying it is something that would only ever happen to me and you."
Three seconds' thought devoted to their history convinces him that she is right. And then he is reminded why he's been so pissed off in the last couple of hours. Grey clouds gather over his head again (not as dark as before—she did just tell him that she wants to have his babies, after all), and he sighs under their weight.
"You sure you want to live with me and marry me and spawn with me when it's a foregone conclusion that crap like this is going to keep happening to us?" he asks. "And when it's a foregone conclusion that the only way I'll be able to get us out of these ridiculous situations is by crossing my fingers that Gibbs really does have psychic powers and will come save the day?"
Ziva's expression turns what Tony would call 'neutral', and he wonders if this means she has been aware of his decidedly less-than-super powers for longer than he has.
"Are you concerned that you have lost…" she struggles with the terminology, "man points today?"
"No!" he says quickly and way too defensively.
Her poker face turns to affection tinged with amusement. "Tony," she says softly, and presses an ego-stroking hand to his chest. "You are perfectly manly. And it is not solely your responsibility to get us out of here."
He knows she doesn't even realize that she just undercut the manliness she built up, and he can't quite let it go. "You're not worried that I'll get our offspring stuck down a well on our way home from day care or something?"
She frowns, and he accepts that she had probably not worried about that. Before now, anyway. "No," she says at length. "I think it is more likely that you would move heaven and earth to keep them safe."
"Damn right I would," he replies firmly, and he is surprised by the unbelievably fierce stab of protectiveness that suddenly cuts through his chest over people who do not even exist yet. It is how he knows he is telling the truth though, and wonders if maybe his man points aren't that much at risk after all. Because what is more manly than being an amazing father?
Holy crap. He might—will—be a father one day. Maybe not so far from now. Maybe it's only two, three years away. So maybe, just maybe, it's time he stopped worrying about whether having Gibbs come to the rescue made him less of a man and—
"Ohhh," he says softly.
"What?"
"I just worked it out," he tells her. "Why Gibbs is always at the ready to come to the rescue. He's being a dad."
She gives him a look that suggests this is old news, but it's cute that he's just coming around to it. "Yes."
"I mean, I know he feels paternal to all of us," he's quick to assure her. He's not that clueless. "But he's always on call. Not because he's waiting for us to screw up, but because he can't help but want to be there if we do."
She nods slowly, finding the distinction. "I suppose."
He wonders what it must be like for Gibbs, to have appointed himself the guardian of four grown kids who all have a natural predilection for getting into trouble. Like getting locked into concrete rooms. Or getting arrested for murder…repeatedly. Or attracting creepy stalkers. Or…actually, McGee has to be a pretty low stress kid. He wonders if worrying about them keeps him awake at night, and if there will ever come a time when he stops worrying about them. He wonders if Gibbs is such a loose canon at times because he can't protect his kids within to confines of the rules handed down from above. He wonders how much the loss of his flesh and blood child colors his actions now. He lost one already—two actually, because Kate was his daughter too—and he'll sacrifice himself to keep from loosing another.
His former irritation with their patriarch fades into something much warmer that he will not voice aloud. He still has man points to make up, and gunnery sergeant Gibbs wouldn't stand to hear warn and fuzzy words from him, anyway. But he resolves to be nothing but grateful and well behaved when Gibbs finally does come through the door to free them. It's the least he can do. Aside from striving to do Gibbs proud when he becomes a dad himself.
He wraps his arms around Ziva's shoulders and hugs her to his chest. "We're pretty lucky to have him," he says into her hair.
"We are," she says thickly.
"You think I'll develop psychic powers when we have kids?" he asks. "And when they're in trouble I'll just know it and be able to spring into action and save the day?"
Ziva is slow to answer, but what he initially mistakes for ego-crushing disagreement turns into nerve-tingling excitement when she focuses on the heart of the issue.
"You are confirming a desire for children?
He smiles into her hair, and for a second he's so excited by the idea that he almost feels dizzy. "Yes. Definitely."
Strong arms tighten around his waist and he feels her lean more weight against him. She breathes deeply against his chest before answering his original question with a voice so thick with tears that it makes his own eyes burn. "I think you will know exactly when they need you."
He is glad she has faith in him, and realizes it's about time he develops it in himself. He is never going to be able to get his act together and focus on family until he does. He owes it to her to try.
She lifts her face from his chest and he is quick to swoop down and draw her in for a warm, loving kiss. He wants her to know that he's committed to this. Not just the kids, but the other stuff too. The loving and honoring in sickness and health until death. As an Italian Catholic kid he always assumed he'd partake in the institution of marriage, but that train of thought had kind of derailed around the time he joined NCIS. It hadn't been a conscious decision he'd made. He hadn't been heeding the cautionary tale of Gibbs' many trips to divorce court, and he hadn't made a deal with himself to focus on work at the expense of anything else. Life had just turned out that way, but he doesn't want Ziva to think that it's the way he wants it to remain.
He slides his hands down to her hips and rests his forehead against hers. "For the record," he tells her, "I want to marry you one day, too." He pauses as she smiles. "But when the time comes, I want to be the one to ask you. Call me traditional."
Ziva tilts her head to kiss him once more. "We'll see," she says softly.
He grins, but he doesn't have the time to retort before the metal door busts open with an almighty clang and Gibbs and McGee sweep into the room with their guns drawn. It's Tony's first instinct to turn and shove Ziva behind him with one hand while reaching for his gun with his other, but he doesn't even manage to unholster it by the time Gibbs and McGee relax their aims.
Gibbs looks his troublemaker charges up and down with forced distain, but he can't hide the relief from piercing blue eyes. "Hope we're not interrupting anything, DiNozzo," he drawls.
Tony grins at his father figure. "Hey, boss!" he says with all the cheer of a love-drunk man who is semi-engaged. "Thanks for coming to the rescue."
Gibbs looks around the room and then spreads his arms in question. "What the hell happened?"
"The door does not have a handle or lock in this side," Ziva explains, swapping her girlfriend hat for her ninja hat. "We got stuck."
Behind Gibbs, McGee rolls his eyes so hard he almost falls over. For his part, Gibbs seems unconvinced but too annoyed to ask for a better explanation. He cocks his head at the door and without another word he turns and storms out of the room.
McGee waits until the boss is a few steps away before aiming an irritated look of his own at the twosome. "Stuck," he repeats, as if the idea is so farfetched that no one could be expected to believe it. Then he turns on his heel and follows Gibbs.
Tony looks down at Ziva. "Maybe I should quit now to appease them and get a head start on all this." He gestures between them.
But Ziva shakes her head and takes his hand as she leads him out of the room. "Not yet, Tony," she says. "But soon."
He stops her as they are about to cross the threshold into the corridor and pulls her back for one more quick kiss. "Hey, I love you."
She scrunches her nose at him in that way he finds so irresistible. "I love you, too."
Their exchange is practically whispered, but today Gibbs' hearing is as supersonic as his patience is thin.
"Shut it, both of you!" they hear from down the hall and around the corner. "Get in the damn car!"
The two of them break into a jog, his ninja/girlfriend in the lead as Tony checks out her rear. He knows that as soon as they get back to the Navy Yard Gibbs is going to smack his head so hard he'll see stars, but he decides it will have been worth it. His stupidity today has resulted in employment plans, an almost-fiancé, future babies and probably some pretty great sex when he and Ziva finally get home.
Three hours trapped in a small room and a mild concussion courtesy of Gibbs doesn't seem too high a price to pay. And he no longer cares that Gibbs had to save the day. Sometimes, that's just what fathers do.