A/N: I know, I know, I should be updating the next chapter of Aubade (new chapter should be up shortly :) ) but when I saw the MIPCOM spoilers we got on Tuesday, this little ficlet just popped into my head and wouldn't let go until I wrote it. I mean seriously those scenes...I am still flailing about them. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing, otherwise Tony and Ziva would already have a whole football team of children by now. ;)
tZt
She absolutely hates gathering bank records.
She's been on hold for nearly twenty minutes, blaring elevator music extracting a slow torture on her patience, much like the man across the bullpen from her. He's muttering off a list of names as he sorts through their victim's phone records, and Ziva's pretty sure it's a list of every single woman he's ever met.
"What about Jenna Bartowski, from accounting?" he asks suddenly, and she curses herself for getting involved in Tony's quest to find a date for the concert he and McGee recently won tickets to in an inter-office raffle. Every name he lists sends flood of irrational irritation through her, puts a bitter taste in her mouth that tastes a whole lot like jealousy. Which is utterly ridiculous. She's supposed to be helping her friend get back on his game as he calls it, not plotting the untimely demise of every person he names.
Maybe she needed to stop drinking so much coffee; clearly she was starting to lose it.
Forcing her mind back onto his suggestion, she scrunches her nose in distaste, "I thought you hated the way she speaks?" She waves her hand through the air, searching for the proper words, "Something about the way she 'elongates her vowels,' no?"
"Ah right," he agrees with a small horrified shudder, "reminds me of Sarah Palin, blech."
Rolling her eyes in response, she checks her watch for the tenth time in the last five minutes. She's beginning to suspect the banker who placed her on hold has forgotten she exists, abandoning her to this sadistic, repetitive tune.
"You know, technically I should be asking you out," he states nonchalantly, a light tease in his voice, "You did say the first woman I see."
The words cause her to freeze, staring at him perplexedly as her mind struggles to process what just came out of her partner's mouth. Her pulse roars in her ears, drowning out the never-ending loop of music in the phone receiver. Did Tony DiNozzo just allude to asking her on a date? Technically, she had told him to ask the first woman he saw that day, but she never intended for him to take her advice to heart. Panic settles in her chest; she doesn't have a clue how to respond to this. He's pushing at a boundary that they never discuss, no matter how much they may tease. Her mind feels clouded, making her feel out of control. So she does the only thing she can think of to reign in her traitorous emotions; she deflects.
"Cute," she throws her head back with a laugh, giving him a teasing smile, "but you had your chance."
The words are out before she has time to think about them, and they leave a strange taste in her mouth, making her feel even more bewildered. Because he's not taking the bait like he normally would, falling back into their carefully constructed game with a laugh and a quick remark. Instead, he's staring at her silently from across the room, green eyes filled with a mixture of emotions as his gaze probes hers, forehead scrunched slightly as though seriously considering her remark. She wonders vaguely if she somehow missed the moment they decided to stop dancing around each other.
"You two having a staring contest?" Gibbs barks as he barrels through the bullpen, causing them both to jump, "Need to interview the sister-in-law." He sits heavily in his chair and takes a long swig of coffee, staring at them expectantly, "Well? Go on."
His command breaks the moment, propelling them into a flurry of action. Tony pops out of his seat with a, "Sorry boss, on it boss," as she quickly fumbles for her Sig and backpack before following after him. Tony shoots her a chagrined smile as they head to the elevator, and she returns it hesitantly, attempting to quell the uncertainty pooling in her stomach. He must have been joking earlier; she was reading too much into this.
Tomorrow, she was definitely switching to de-caf.
tZt
You had your chance.
He can't stop mulling over her words as they interview the sister-in-law, the syllables running through his mind on repeat much like the broken AC/DC record he had as a teen. He wonders if she even realized what she said, or if like him, she had spoken without thought.
I should be asking you out
Not exactly his best move. One minute, he was mindlessly listing off women in the office that he might be able to convince to go to this last minute concert, occasionally becoming distracted by the way the sunlight caused his partner's soft curls to shimmer, and the next minute, he's obtusely asking out said partner in a moment of pure insanity, words slipping out of his mouth before he can stop them.
Her sentence plays over and over in his mind as they drive back to the Navy Yard, taking over his thoughts and stuttering his speech until Ziva eventually sighs in frustration and gives up on conversation with him all together. Each repetition of the scene causes his chest to tighten painfully, and disappointment to settle more firmly in his stomach.
He's not sure what's more insane actually: the fact that he asked her out or the fact that a part of him was hoping she might say yes. Because if he's honest with himself, he's been trying to work up the courage to ask her on a date since they were trapped in that damn elevator this past summer.
Her remark burns itself into his memory, fogs his senses, forms a despondent ache in his chest, and earns him two slaps from Gibbs over the course of the rest of the day as he stares off into space, dejectedly trying to make sense of her words.
You had your chance.
He feels like he's been robbed of something, like there's some grand moment he missed out on, where the universe was flashing a giant neon sign denoting his chance, and he missed it completely. He wants to demand a redo from fate, explain that it may have been his chance in the past, but he wasn't ready yet. He hadn't yet realized what he wanted from his life; hadn't yet come to terms with her being what he needed. And now here he is, finally almost ready to admit to it, and he's already missed his chance? It just didn't seem fair.
His confusion drives him to lie awake that night, combing through his memories of her in great detail, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he should have been paying more attention. Normally, his intense obsession over a girl's rejection would worry him. But then, he's already done crazier things in the name of Ziva David.
The more he digs through his memory, the more he feels like an idiot because she's absolutely right. He did already have his chance. In fact, he's had multiple chances, and he's ignored every single opportunity. He should have taken his chance trapped inside that elevator, could have hedged his bets and told her not to answer Ray's call all those months ago; hell, he could have admitted it to her the very first day he met her—although admittedly that probably would have ended with a one night stand or with him in a hospital, maybe both.
You had your chance. God, Ziva deserved a medal for putting up with him ignoring her for this long; he's had more chances than he deserved.
You had your chance. Suddenly, the words fully sink in, causing him to release an almost giddy chuckle of laughter in the darkness of his bedroom. Had your chance. Meaning at one point, Ziva had actually entertained the idea of him. At one time in the past, she had most likely had feelings for him. Recent memories float through his mind—the softness of her smiles as of late, the gentle, almost affectionate tone their banter had taken on over the past year— and his grin widens. He has a feeling those feelings for him might just be there still.
Now all he needed to do was convince her he was worth one more chance.
zTz
She had to stop thinking about it.
Taking a small sip of her mint tea, she attempts to still her mind in the mid-morning quiet of the break room. She'd been unable to stop obsessing over Tony's words yesterday, her mind replaying the scene on repeat, his suggestion, her response. With a frustrated sigh, she takes a larger gulp of her still hot tea, wincing as she scalds her tongue in the process. Honestly, she was being ridiculous. She responded perfectly normally to a blatant tease from her goofy partner. They were friends and co-workers; it's not like she wanted more. Confusion rips through her chest, and she begins to wish it was possible to remove memories, wonders if pounding her head against the break room table would do.
She's still arguing with herself when he finds her, cheesecake in hand. Flashing her a cheeky grin, he saunters over to where she sits. Her eyes follow him, throat suddenly dry as she swallows nervously. He's wearing that blue polo again, the one that shows off his forearms nicely and makes her heart pound furiously in a manner far from platonic.
What was she saying about not wanting more again? Because God, she really was a terrible liar.
"Hey," Tony begins, voice warm, almost melodic, "there was cheesecake down in HR, someone's birthday I think. Thought you might like some."
It's her favorite and such a wonderful gesture that she can't help but smile brightly back at him, even through her unsettled nerves. He's been doing that a lot lately—making her smile. Their relationship has evolved so much over the past year—they've grown so much—morphed into something she cherishes so deeply that she's mildly terrified of somehow ruining it with the slightest misstep.
Such as the misstep of admitting to your partner that you can't stop thinking about his joking request to date you.
"Thanks," she replies as he sits down and passes her a fork. She takes a bite of the creamy dessert, humming slightly in appreciation.
They lapse into an easy conversation, punctuated occasionally with burst of lazy laughter, and she finds herself wondering if this is what is would be like to date him.
He makes an offhand comment, and she retorts with a quick quote. Raising his eyebrows in mild surprise, he cocks his head slightly as he considers her response. Green eyes shimmer adoringly at her, causing her breath to catch slightly. They don't usually look at each other this way, this openly.
She wonders if this isn't a date after all.
"Ziva David," he murmurs, incredulous, "Did you just quote a movie?" He's leaning into her now, voice low, gaze holding hers. She feels dizzy.
"No," she swallows hard, brow furrowing as she attempts the keep her focus amidst the havoc his proximity creates inside her. "I quoted a book," she explains, "that was made into a movie."
He chuckles softly, "Well, I'm still impressed," he insists, continuing to hold her gaze, a playful smile on his lips. She finds herself leaning further into him.
"Really?" she teases, unable to resist baiting him further, curious to see how far this new flirtatious Tony is willing to go. Because they haven't pushed at this limit with each other in a long time. He tilts his head, leans in close enough that she can smell his cologne, sending a thrill of excitement through her.
She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed this.
"Very," he replies, voice rough, barely above a whisper. His eyes flit over her features, lingering for a moment on her lips, and the air around them becomes supercharged. Suddenly, she desperately wishes this really was a date. Because he's looking at her in a way she's fairly certain he never has before—at least not outside of the fantasies she will never admit to—all wanting mixed with deep affection. Her pulse quickens, pounds a steady rhythm so loud she's surprised it's not echoing in the empty room. She remembers why they stopped pushing at this boundary: it became harder and harder to stop, to pull away from the game.
She has a feeling somewhere along the way this stopped being a game for both of them.
Her body moves closer to his of its own volition, they're almost nose to nose now, and she can feel the way his breath quickens against the skin of her cheek. They should stop this, because this is starting to feel a whole lot like the part of the date where they kiss. Which is crazy. Yet, she remains frozen, entranced in the moment, almost willing him to close the distance and…
His phone rings; McGee has a new lead in the case.
She's not sure whether to be relieved or frustrated by the interruption.
tZt
He hates telephones.
McGee's call forces them back into reality, and work keeps them preoccupied the rest of the day and into the next as Gibbs drags them down lead after lead until he's so hyped up on bad coffee and lack of sleep that he's not sure he even fully remembers yesterday much less if the moment in between his partner and him in the break-room was real or fantasy.
All he's really certain of is that he missed another chance.
Another day later, the case finally winds down; they catch their killer in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, confession and all. He finds himself alone with her again as they gather some last-minute evidence Abby needs to rerun for her report. The silence lingers awkwardly between them in the evidence lockup, and he's just beginning to believe he's ruined things between them completely when she finally speaks.
"So did you find someone to go with?" she asks, her voice hesitant, eyes fixated on the evidence in front of her. It has all the appearance of an innocent question, but he hears the slight uncertainty in her voice, the small almost imperceptible pause in her sentence that tells him she's not quite sure she wants to know the answer to that question.
He takes a gulp of much needed air, the atmosphere in the evidence lock up suddenly thick as his stomach lurches nervously. Because this is it. This is the universe handing him his millionth chance with her; another opportunity to stop avoiding his feelings, to finally start admitting to them. Yet another reminder that he needs to stop ignoring fate.
"Nah, figured I'd go stag," he can't resist the urge to draw out his response, provide himself with a few more moments of avoidance.
Her gaze snaps around to meet his, and he catches the mixture of relief and confusion that flickers across her face before she settles on a narrowed gaze of disbelief.
"Yeah," he continues, coy smile forming on his features, "the person I really wanted to go with said no."
Chocolate brown eyes soften as she holds his gaze, "I am sorry Tony." She nudges his shoulder encouragingly, "Maybe she will come around, yes?" Her words are sincere, laced with just a hint of disappointment, and he wants to laugh at the irony. Because even after he almost kissed her, she still thinks he could possibly want someone else.
He swallows hard, tempted to leave his answer vague. It would be so easy to fall back into their normal banter with a witty remark and a moment of self-deprecation, safe from his feelings and the possibility of her rejection. Clearing his throat, he attempts to stifle the blind panic that arises in him at what he's about to do. It's now or never. It's time to stop wasting his chances.
"Don't think so," he murmurs softly, taking a step toward her, words and gait surprisingly smooth despite the circus performance his insides are currently putting on, "She told me I'd already had my chance."
She gasps softly, eyes widening as she stares at him in shock. He's so close to her now he can smell the jasmine from her shampoo, and if he were a braver man he might be tempted to prove his earnest with a grasp of her hand or a kiss to her cheek. But he's not sure if that would be in his favor at the moment, or land him in a hospital wing; instead, he holds her stare with as much honesty as he can brave, unwilling to let her to think this is just another one of their meaningless games, to think his words could mean anyone else but her.
Her eyes flicker through a myriad of emotions, pupils dilating on a note of what he might call hope and longing had he wanted to tempt fate, mouth opening silently as she struggles to find a reply. After a moment, he drops his gaze shyly, ends the moment out of fear, because he's not certain he wants to hear her words when she eventually finds them.
"Yeah, well…" he clears his throat nervously, stooping to pick up a box of evidence before flashing her a small smile, "better get this stuff up to Abby."
She stares at him incredulously; mouth still agape as he turns and heads toward the elevators, letting out a sigh of relief, a small wave of excitement coursing through him at having been able to so obviously fluster his usually quick partner. The elevator dings and he steps inside, feeling much lighter even though there's a possibility he could have just shifted their friendship irrevocably-and not necessarily in a good way.
He's finally made his move. The ball's in her court now. It's her chance to lose.
Because he's not wasting his anymore.
zTz
She stares at the closed elevator doors in shock, her mind reeling, his words echoing in her head.
The person I really wanted to go with.
Wanted. Her. The room seems to spin, and she leans back against the cool metal of the lock-up table with a gasping breath. This all seemed too surreal. Emotions rage through her, making her heart pound and stomach churn; she's feels exposed, cut open.
Damn him.
In only three short sentences, he'd managed to effectively change everything. One simple phrase and suddenly the game they'd been playing for years, entrenched in only vague possibility and hope, became an all-too real reality where their actions now had consequences. A lot of them.
Her mind offers up her usual logic: Rule #12; Gibbs' wrath; this would ruin their partnership; they would surely kill each other; they had nothing in common, but each excuse seemed more futile than the last. She no longer believed Gibbs held onto his rules so dearly, and they were no longer the same people they were when she had first made those excuses to protect her heart. No, here she was, hiding behind dated reasoning, afraid of finally moving forward, terrified they might actually be good together, losing yet another chance.
God, they really were romantically dysfunctional.
The person I really wanted to go with. In one moment, in the middle of the evidence lock-up of all places, he's gone and ended their game. Called their hands, and left his on the table for her to decide whether to fold or go all in. She'd be angry with him for forcing the reigns of their relationship into her hands, if only his words didn't make her feel so damn giddy.
Fear spreads panic in her chest as she considers the uncertain future he's suddenly laid before her. They could just ignore this, shove everything back behind that line before it was too late, pretend it was all a misunderstanding until the awkwardness of the situation faded and they both moved on. She's wasted enough of her own chances with him over the years in exactly this manner, too frightened of exposing herself to vulnerability to act. Except this time, his words haven't left much for her to misinterpret, no matter how much she might claim English isn't her native tongue, and she's not so sure anymore that they could move on from this.
You'll find someone, someday.
She's pretty sure she already has. The only real question here is if she's willing to take the chance; because she's doesn't think either of them will find the courage to cross this line again if she isn't.
She is. The burst of clarity finally pushes through the fog of her emotion muddled senses, emboldening her as she pushes off the table and heads toward the elevator determinedly. Her words before had been the wrong tense. Tony still had a chance with her if he wanted it.
And it was time she made sure he realized that.
tZt
The bullpen is quiet by the time he makes his way back from Abby's lab, the rest of the team already home for the night except for his partner sitting at her desk, clearly recovered from her earlier shock. With a sigh he makes his way over to his desk, giving the keyboard a perfunctory tap to bring the computer back online.
Ziva is silent across from him, eyes focused on the computer screen, fingers purposefully flying across the keyboard as she types her report. Dread pits in his stomach, and he wonders if this is her answer, to ignore his words completely, to let this just be another blip in their case report, locked up in evidence along with the completion of this case.
"Tony."
His head snaps up at the sound of her voice, she's stopped typing, deep brown stare focused entirely on him, "About earlier…,"
She twists her hands in front of her, looking down at grey hard plastic of her desk, and a panic settles in his chest. This is the part where she lets him down gently; tells him he's been reading far too much into their interactions over the past years, lets him know this is all one sided. He gulps nervously, feeling mildly nauseated.
"Ziva, look…," he begins quickly; ready to cut her off, put them both out of their misery, allow them to retreat back into the comfort of the friends and partners only zone they've carefully built for seven years. But she shakes her head roughly, halting the words on his tongue.
Clearing her throat softly, she snaps her gaze up to meet his, "You never actually asked, you know." She sends him a small smile, "How do you know her answer if you never really asked her?" Her words are quiet, almost timid, but they echo loudly in the dim light of the deserted room.
Her eyes flirt with his in the soft lighting, all the air seems to disappear from the room. She bites her lip anxiously, and he watches a brief flash of terror cross her features; it hits him that she's just as petrified of this as he is.
Jesus, he was a lucky bastard. Somehow, they've finally ended up on the same page.
He's out of his chair and halfway across the room before he realizes it. Ziva's eyes widen in surprise, and she stands abruptly to meet him as he rounds the corner of her desk. Clearly, she wasn't quite expecting him to react so quickly. But then, neither of them is playing by their usual rules tonight.
"Ziva," he begins breathlessly, determined to see this through before he runs out of courage completely.
She looks up at him expectantly, moves closer to him until they're almost touching, "Yes, Tony?"
He finds himself momentarily mesmerized by the way she says his name, soft, almost intimate. He's pretty sure she's never said his name like that before. Never looked at him this way either, cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly as she takes a shallow breath, gaze open, finally holding nothing back. It makes his pulse jump erratically; he hopes it's going to become a more common occurrence now. Provided she said yes, this is.
His stomach twists nervously at that thought, and he forces himself back to task at hand. Swallowing thickly, he continues, "I was wondering…," He takes a deep breath, "if you would like to go out with me on Friday? I've got tickets to a concert, and we could try that new Persian place you've been talking about." The words come out slightly rushed, but they're there, finally.
Her eyes search his, "We as in, you and me?" she echoes his past words softly, and yeah he gets it, the need for no more ambiguity between them.
"Yeah, you and me…us." And there it is; no take-backs, no more uncertainty. All that's left are answers. A smile spreads across her features at his reply.
"Yes," she answers at last, brown eyes sparkling up at him in a way that makes his breath catch and his heart pound rapidly. "I would love to."
His head spins as his mind struggles to process her answer. He holds her stare, amazement mixed with intense bursts of happiness swirling in his chest as he tries to convince himself that he isn't dreaming.
"Great," he eventually manages to say, unable to stop beaming at her, "It's a date."
She returns his wide grin, chuckling softly as she nods her head, affectionate gaze never leaving his as she affirms, "It is a date."
It's the most beautiful sound, he decides, the sound of a chance becoming reality.
zTz
A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are lovely and make me smile. :)