Tony stole a quick glance at his watch before the elevator dinged announcing his arrival; 6:30.

Perfect, he thought. His timing was spot on; it was just early enough to steal a few extra minutes alone with his favorite ex-Mossad officer. His afternoons were consumed with cases, paperwork, and a few murderers thrown in for good measure; his mornings, however, were reserved for one very special Ziva David.

He was pretty proud of himself on this particular morning; he'd woken up early enough to stop at the local coffee shop to buy Ziva a cup of her favorite green tea. Her smile alone would make the next ten hours fly by.

His optimism fell as he made his way to the bullpen, evident she had yet to arrive. Ziva had always been a morning person, with her infamous runs at ungodly hours, but a part of him liked to think she had picked up on the reason behind his newly adopted work ethic. It bothered him to think Ziva may have been oblivious to his incentives, and it brought back the old, nagging feeling that their 'thing' was more one sided than Tony wanted to admit. Recently, they'd been perfectly in sync; perfectly back.

He'd barely set the tea on her desk when he heard footsteps behind him. Tony smiled to himself;

See, he thought. She knows; when he turned around, however, Tony wasn't looking into Ziva's sparkling, chocolate eyes, but rather those of an unknown, quite suave looking man.

Tony straightened and his chin tilted in silent curiosity.

He was roughly the same age and height as Tony; maybe a bit more muscular, not that Tony noticed. He was suddenly reminded of being thoroughly embarrassed on a Friday night not too long ago, when Abby started catcalling at a special showing of The Thomas Crown Affair. Abby thought it was funny; Tony and McGee did not. This man may not have looked anything like Pierce Brosnan, but he was what Abby would call tall, dark and handsome.

"Can I, help you?" Tony offered.

"I sure hope so," he replied, in a deep Australian accent. "I'm looking for an Agent Jethro Gibbs?"

"Ah," Tony was surprised by the accent, although he shouldn't have been. They'd been told someone from the AFP would be arriving sometime this week to initiate a joint investigation. They'd been pursuing Samuel B. Clarke without luck for the better part of the decade, and now that he was under investigation for the murder of two Petty Officers, collectively the two agencies would seek to bring him down. "Agent Gibbs isn't here just yet, but you're welcome to wait. You're with the AFP, right?" Tony extended his hand, quickly accepted in an easy handshake. "Tony DiNozzo," he introduced himself. "I'm on Gibbs' team."

"Nice to meet you," the man smiled. "Simon Frasier. But, no, I'm no longer with the Federal Police."

"No?"

"No. This case was mine a few years back, and when I moved on to ASIO, I kept tabs on it. This bastard's been able to evade arrest for seven years. The bodies keep piling up, but he's been one step ahead of us the whole damn time."

"ASIO?" Tony asked.

"Security Intelligence." He clarified. "I believe it is the equivalent to your FBI?"

"Oh, right."

"But I've heard some great things about NCIS; you guys have an impressive track record. Hopefully I can help you guys catch Clarke, and we can nail him to the wall."

Tony liked him already. Apparently the Australian FBI knew of a little thing called manners. It seemed like Simon was willing to take the backseat on this one.

Now all he had to do was say 'mate,' and they would be best friends.

Simon dropped the box he'd been carrying to his feet and gestured to Ziva's chair. "Do you mind?"

"Do I mind?" Tony laughed."No…Ziva on the other hand, she'll definitely mind."

"Your partner?" Simon asked, interest obviously peaked. He looked over the few personal touches on her desktop: hand cream, a pencil holder that housed both an American and an Israeli flag, and one of those huge desk calendars, each day filled in with scribbling Tony was sure only Ziva could read.

He was almost certain that if he were to swivel her computer monitor around, it still adorned an old black and white, somewhat unflattering, photo of Tony from his school days. Luckily, unless intensely scrutinized, nothing would give away his true identity.

"Yeah. She'll be in soon, so I suggest you sit anywhere but there." He thought for a moment. Tony had never been able to understand her call for personal space when she held no regard for his own. The phrase 'inappropriate touching' came to mind. Probably more of a territorial thing than a privacy thing, he justified.

However, Ziva had been allowing far more intimate moments, without cause or reason, as of recent. And Tony didn't dare question it. Yes, he had undeniably felt the eyes from other agents upon them, but he chalked it up to confusion, or jealousy. Who wouldn't want to be close enough to Ziva to smell the subtle hint of apple from her shampoo? Or the tangy citrus scent that lingered on her clothes; he had yet to determine if it was her detergent or fabric softener, but did it even matter? All Tony knew was that whether they were elevator bound, or he was perched behind her desk reading over her shoulder, Ziva smelled good enough to devour.

"Yeah, even sitting at Gibbs' desk might be safer," he added.

"This Ziva, she's a pistol, huh?"

"Yeah." Tony couldn't help but smile at a reference to Ziva as a pistol. Firstly, it was the understatement of a lifetime; secondly, if she'd been anywhere within a mile of here, poor Simon would have to work this case minus an arm; or an eye. "You'll just have to see for yourself."

Tony booted up his computer and took a seat. "Your safest bet would be to sit there," he told Simon, pointing towards McGee's corner. "Probie won't mind, and even if he did, he wouldn't say anything."

"Alright then. Thanks, mate." Simon kicked the box towards Tim's desk.

Tony stifled his laugh. Mental note, he said mate. I win. McGee buys lunch.

"Actually," Simon interrupted his thoughts, "is there a bathroom somewhere close by?"

"Yeah, down that hall, second door on the left." Simon nodded in thanks as he exited the bullpen.

It was only a few minutes before Tony heard Ziva's humming as she stepped out of the elevator. He chose not to look up at first; he didn't want to look too eager.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

When he finally stole a glance, she was faced away from him. She was wearing her lime-green coat, and her hair was down.

He'd always liked it when she left her hair loose. When she'd first joined the team, her hair was wild, like her personality. It was fascinating really; he'd never really cared either way how other women had worn their hair; but ever since their first night undercover, when he had been allowed to tangle his fingers in her dark curly tresses, pulling it away from her face as he kissed her, under false pretenses of course, but no less passionately, he'd always preferred it let down. These days, he'd noticed, she was wearing it straight. He liked it. Somehow it softened the already pretty features of her face.

Straight or curly, it didn't matter. It was still all too tempting to touch. She was all too tempting to touch.

"What's wrong?" he asked, obviously not too worried given he was donning the trademark DiNozzo smirk.

"Umm, no. Nothing is wrong, Tony. Just a coincidence, I suppose."

"Huh?"

She turned to face him, cheeks flushed. Had she been running? No; in her hands she held two to-go cups, one of coffee, the other tea. "This one was supposed to be for you," she said feigning a hurt expression as she lifted the cup in her right hand. "But I see you have already had your morning coffee, yes?" she asked referring to the near empty cup on the corner of his desk.

"That's why you were late?" he beamed.

"I was not late," she defended. She placed the cup of tea on his desk, still holding his coffee hostage, and grabbed his left wrist with her free hand. "See," she said, "it is only ten of seven. I'm still early."

"Okay, fine. You win," he offered. He made no sudden movements, afraid she might pull away. She was crooked over his desk, absentmindedly giving him a free peak down the front of her shirt. Tony didn't even notice. His eyes were glued to her face, her eyes, willing her to look back at him. When she finally met his gaze, he couldn't hide his smile. "Can I have my coffee now?"

To his dismay, she broke their touch to pick up his cup from earlier. She shook it, "But you still have some here." Tony pouted dramatically, jutting out his bottom lip. "I am sure McGee could use a cup too," she teased.

"I'd rather see you throw it away." He took the near empty cup from her hand, allowing his fingers to brush hers momentarily, and tossed it in the trash. "Now I'm coffee-less," he stated proudly. He held out his hands. "Come on!"

Ziva rolled her eyes; how could she say no to him? Instead of handing it to him directly, she merely placed it on the desk in front of him, slightly bent over again. "Thank you for thinking of me, Tony." Her voice was low and sultry. It was just what Tony needed to hear to rationalize he'd been worried for nothing.

"No problem. And, hey! Right back at ya." He winked at her once she'd retreated back to her desk, now in full flirtation mode.

"What is that?" she asked, referring to the box in front of McGee's desk.

He shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough, Zee-vah." Her eyes quickly darted back to Tony, narrowing. She'd never tell him, but she liked it when he dragged out the syllables of her name; he'd never let her know, but he knew.

She was still glaring at Tony when her backpack fell from where she'd placed it at the edge of her desk, spilling its contents to the floor. Her attempt to catch it was futile. She looked back up at Tony, who threw his hands in the air, "Hey, I did the guy thing already today, and you had to go and show me up. This one's on you."

She quickly scooped up her belongings and was haphazardly throwing them back in her bag when she felt his presence behind her. "Tony, I have already picked everything up. What help are you going to be to me now?" she laughed. There was no doubt in her mind he had refused to help her just so he could watch her as she bent over to retrieve her things. And she had let him.

"Good Morning, gorgeous." She froze. That was not Tony. The accent, she knew it. His smell, it was more than familiar. She turned slowly leaving her hair brush and a few granola bars left strewn across her desk.

"Simon?" She was cornered. Her backside was pressed up against her desk and he was standing within arms width. She could see Tony watching them out of her periphery, mouth slightly open, confused. Ziva could hear her own heart beating in her chest. She was not easily unnerved, but the last time she had been this on edge, with the exception of her time spent in Somalia, had been long ago.

"I think you dropped this, Love." Simon handed her the bottle of water that had rolled out of her line of vision. "That's it?" he asked after a few moments of awkward silence. "No 'how've you been'? How about 'I missed you Simon'?"

All Ziva could do was stand there, chewing her lip, frozen.

Damn, Tony thought. I really liked him.