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Contagious
A Tony Ziva Fanfic
The continuous clack of keyboard keys in an otherwise quiet room… he could handle. Surviving on less that 4 hours of sleep… it was a challenge…but he could manage.
She was the problem. The brunette sitting at the desk across from him, absently twirling a pencil with the same level of dexterity as she would a sharpened knife, was making it less of a challenge and more of a trail by fire.
"Zeeeevahhh."
The Mossad officer looks up from her flickering computer screen. She casually rubs at her eyes before turning to meet his annoyed glare. "What Tony?"
"You have to stop doing that."
One of her brows lifts quizzically. "I'm sorry?"
"Stop doing that."
A moment of silence. She absently glances around, her forehead furrowing in thought.
Tony finds himself grinding his teeth.
Inhale. Exhale.
A sighing Ziva looks back at him after a few moments of fruitless observation. "I'm not sure what you are referring to Tony. Stop doing…" The question was left half-finished and Tony's felt his exasperation mounting. She was doing it again
"Ah ha!" He jumped from his chair and pointed wildly in her direction. Surprised, the hand that had gone to her lips fell back down mid-yawn. "That!"
She snorted. "Really Tony. Of all the things to get hinged up on."
"Hung Up Zeevah. The expression is hung up."
"Whatever." She continues to chuckle at his absurdity while opening another case file. "You know I have no control over it."
"By the way," she stops reading for a millisecond, "I'm curious. Why does it bother you so much?"
Running a weary hand down the length of his face, "Because."
The frown she throws at him means she obviously requires more. "Because everytime you do that, I…" He trails off as his fist comes up to the same position as hers for the same reason.
"See," he demanded. "That was your fault."
She simply stares back at him as he shuffles to his chair, plopping himself down wearily.
"I would have thought a trained assassin such as yourself would be aware of the truth in that old wives tale."
Now her interest was piqued. "And what truth would that be Tony," she tilts her head in amusement.
He gave a small grunt. "That yawning is contagious David."
"That's absurd," she said around another one, "It's just a reflex."
"Oh, yeah?" he challenged. "Then why am I affected even when I'm not looking at you?" He continued in spite of the expected yawn. "Like now?"
She shrugged half-heartedly, a drowsy smirk on her face. "I heard that old wives tales are merely superstition …"
"I'm clinging to the accuracy in this situation. You believe what you want." He stares angrily as her lips parted again. "Don't you dare!"
Too late.
"Ziva! How am I supposed to get anything done!"
"Are you two still here?"
The sudden, gruff voice of their boss acts like an alarm clock. Their heads shoot up in surprise.
"No Boss," Tony flies up from his slouched position. He closes his eyes momentarily before stammering, "I mean yes Boss."
"Just finishing up our paperwork Gibbs," Ziva quips, earning herself another death glare from her partner for her articulateness.
"Well, head home," Gibbs replies. Ziva and Tony hold their breath as the ex-marine walks to his desk and grabs his coat. The quiet is tense with expectation at his next order.
"I'd hate to see what foolish myth you feel the need to discuss next," he retorts. Making his way past their desks, it doesn't escape his notice that the two of them are stifling yawns. Ziva at least has the smarts to angle her face away.
Satisfied that they will do as he asks, Gibbs brushes past their workspace and purposefully makes his way to the elevator. He can hear their strained whispers as they argue back and forth and as tempted as he is to rush back and heartily head slap them both, he bites back the urge. Instead he pushes the down button on the elevator.
It isn't until after the elevator doors slid shut that the Special Agent allows a yawn himself.