Ziva

I sat at my desk late one evening, finishing a report on a recent case. An open-and-shut case, jealous girlfriend stabbed her two-timing Marine boyfriend, nothing fatal. Not very interesting, but it meant a lot of paperwork to be completed.

Sighing, I looked up from my computer. Tony was the only other team member here; unusual as it was a Friday. As I watched, he tugged on his lip, deep in thought, before typing a few more words. An endearing habit, one I'd noticed before.

Much to I dismay, I found myself watching him often. Tony had dozens of habits, unconscious actions, all of which I'd memorized a thousand times over the years. How he fluffed his hair before going in to interrogation, the expression on his face whenever he found something the rest of us had missed, even how he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while stuck in traffic.

It was like there was a connection between us, strengthened with each new quirk of his I discovered. With every action that I had taken the time to notice, I felt one more invisible thread tying us together.

The bond was one-sided, I was sure. I would have felt it if he watched me as closely as I observed him; there was no indication that he regarded me as anything more than a friend. And since I'd been careful not to let him catch me staring, there was no reason for him to suspect I felt any differently about him.

Still, though, I couldn't help myself. Knowing so much about him made it easier to imagine he felt the same about me, something I'd been doing far to often since his daring rescue in Somalia…

XXX

Tony

I was insane. That was the only explanation for why I sat here at my desk at 0930 on a Friday night, especially since I had a date waiting for me. I was still at work, finishing up a report that could have been put off for another week, at least. Insanity was clearly at work here. I shook my head, stretched my fingers for a moment, and went back to typing.

Just then, I felt a change in the atmosphere. My skin prickled with awareness. Ziva was looking at me, again.

Her scrutiny brought with it sudden clarity, and I remembered. This is why I was here.

I'd felt Ziva's gaze often, but more frequently than ever in the months since our little sojourn in the deserts of Africa. I'd never given her any indication that I noticed, but sometimes I wondered if she felt the same connection between us as I did. I had my suspicions, but I couldn't confirm anything.

That was the motive behind this night's industrious work. I was giving her ample opportunity to say something to me, to have our first meaningful, uninterrupted conversation since Somalia. So much had gone wrong between us last spring and summer, and I wasn't sure if it could ever be fixed. My feelings hadn't changed, but, of course, it wasn't my boyfriend who was killed.

Over the past months, I'd noticed several times when we were alone and she'd been on the verge of saying something, but each time she would just close her mouth and keep silent. I kept maneuvering us into situations in which we'd be alone, hoping that she'd work up the courage to say what ever was bothering her, but no matter how many times we were alone, she never said anything of weight.

The thought occurred to me that she was waiting for me to make the first move, which was ridiculous of course. Had I not practically told her how much she meant to me back when Salim had me on a truth serum? She couldn't really be afraid of rejection. But, like many inspirations, that idea was like a parasite, consuming my thoughts until finally I decided to do something about it. Taking a breath, I looked up and met her deep brown eyes.

XXX

Ziva

I didn't notice for a moment that I was suddenly staring into hazel eyes. No, that's not true. I noticed, because the color of Tony's eyes has always fascinated me. Sometimes deep, forest green, sometimes bright sky blue, his eye color almost seemed to change with his moods. No, what I didn't realize was what it meant, that I was suddenly gazing into his eyes.

When the full implications of this hit me, I immediately dropped my gaze to the keyboard in front of me and resumed my typing, hoping he wouldn't see the blush creeping up my face. My best bet was to pretend nothing had happened, and hope that he would do the same.

Now my mind was working a kilometer a minute, as the saying goes, trying to figure out what Tony's look meant. It was the girl in me, over-analyzing everything, looking for hidden meanings. Was it a fluke that he looked up just then? Had he been looking up every few minutes and I just hadn't noticed? Did he notice me staring? Has he seen me watching him before? My mind entered a state of panic and chaos for a few seconds before I regained control of myself.

No, I told myself firmly. Tony just noticed I stopped typing and was wondering what I was doing. That's all; there is no hidden meaning. That moment when we were staring into each other's eyes meant nothing to him, and it should mean nothing to me either.

It did, though. A small bubble of hope had grown in my heart, only to disappear moments later with a surprisingly painful pop.

I kept my face calm and controlled as I tried to focus on the report, but my concentration was shot. No more work would be accomplished tonight. The only thing I could think of now was the comfort of my home, safe from Tony's unpredictable actions.

I stood and stretched, then gathered up my bag. I made it all the way out of the squad room, and I was about to enter the elevator when Tony called after me.

"Ziva…"

I ignored him and rushed into the elevator as soon as the doors opened, punching the parking level button so the doors would close hopefully before he got here, assuming he came after me. I really did not want to think of a rational explanation for my earlier mistake, so as I heard footsteps coming toward the elevator, I took out my anxiety on the 'close door' button. The last thing I saw before the doors shut was the image of Tony's face, filled with urgency and something I could not name.

XXX

Tony

There I was, standing like a dork in front of the closed doors of the elevator, unable to move. I was still processing what had just happened.

Not only had Ziva reacted differently than I had expected, she also reacted more strongly than I would have predicted. I had been hoping she would offer an explanation for her actions, and we could go from there, but the opposite happened. She had ducked her head just a moment after I looked up, and though I saw her cheeks flush, she gave no other sign of anything amiss. She was trying to pretend nothing had happened, but I kept waiting for her to say something. Even as she left the squad room, she didn't say a word to me. It finally dawned on me, as she was waiting for the elevator, that I was just letting her run away from what could have been the catalyst of our eventual confrontation. So I called after her, but she ignored me and dashed into the elevator. I raced after her, but succeeded only in watching her tense face as she was finally able to escape me.

Did she really find a meaningful conversation with me so offensive?