Here Comes The Bride
"You're late!" was Ziva's greeting to DiNozzo as he rushed in to NCIS headquaters. It was 07:23.
"Where's Gibbs?" Tony glanced around nervously for the boss-man.
"MTAC, with the director. He left 10 minutes ago so he knows you're late anyway," Ziva smirked. She got up from the seat behind her desk and wandered over. "Ooh!" she squealed, catching sight of the bright red and black striped bag Tony had set down in front of him. It was the reason he was so late.
"Huh!" Ziva looked at the label on the side and read aloud. "'Sexy Shop of Stuff.'"
The next desk over was close enough for McGee's head to snap up in interest.
"What are you lookin' at, Probie!" Tony glared at him.
"Uhh, uhh, well actually, I think some-"
"Eyes on the paper, McGee!" Tony interrupted, and poor McGee's head went down again.
"Oh, Tony," Ziva laughed. She took out the items in the bag: A leather hand whip, and a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs. "So how old's this one?" She raised her eyebrows.
Tony snatched the bag and it's contents away, and shoved them in his desk draw. He could feel his cheeks burning. "It's...private!" he hissed.
But Ziva didn't move, just waited expectantly. It was Tony, surely he would cave in. "Ok, fine!" Tony had caved. He had a picture of her carved into his mind...brunette, curvy, early twenties. She was Italian, like him. They had met on Saturday at the beach and spent all day together...and all night...and all of Sunday.
"So, you only met two days ago, and you're all ready...you know?" Ziva's eyebrows had shot up again. Tony didn't answer. His attention had been drawn to someone at the entrance to their headquaters. It wasn't Gibbs, for once.
"Ziva..." Tony couldn't close his mouth.
"What?"
"Turn around."
Ziva turned, and gasped. "Mother!"