Tiny Dancer, Cameo Images
By Carrie

For Princess, because she is the shit, yo.

Blue Jean Baby

Sometimes, I feel like the man in our relationship. Granted, I rarely feel feminine and delicate because I, Ziva David, am most certainly not delicate. I am a Mossad Assassin, and being delicate in Mossad is a good way to die, yes? I am sitting here in Tony's bedroom, on his bed, watching him change his clothes. I think this is the fifth pair of pants he has put on himself. Usually, when a female is sitting on his bed she does not have to wait long before he gives her all his attention – though that would imply that he was something more to me than a partner, yes? And there is not, so no ideas there, young chap, as Ducky would say.

Right now, Tony is standing in front of the mirror admiring his ass, surrounded by pants. A lot of pants. I have no idea why he has tried on so many pants, nor do I care. This is so, so DiNozzo. Typical Tony to forget that Gibbs is waiting on us at a crime scene, because God forbid that crime waits so he can find the perfect pants to wear! I do not think I have met a single other man who has been so undecided on clothing. See what I mean about me feeling like the man?

"Do these look alright, Ziva?" He walks over to me and turns around slowly, allowing me to see the pants from all angles. I can feel my eyes linger on the ass he was checking out earlier, and, trying to fight the heat rising in my cheeks, I roll my eyes.

"Yes, Tony, they look fine." I am exasperated now, this is becoming ridiculous. I am not a babysitter. "So did the last twenty pairs you put on. Let us go before Gibbs decides to send us off on a wild duck hunt as punishment after this case is solved." I do not need to waste anymore time on something as simple as pants; how complicated is the process? You take them out of your closet, put them on, take them off at the end of the day and wash them if they are dirty. I have been doing this since I was four, how old is Tony again?

"Wild goose chase," He corrects me, not that I care at this point. I roll my eyes and wave my hands for him to hurry up so we can go. After a stretch of silence he nods, "You're right." In one quick movement, he grabs another pair and goes into the bathroom again, and I try not to cry in frustration. Men. "What about these?" Tony comes out of the bathroom dressed in black pants; hadn't I seen those before? I look over into the corner where I thought I had last seen the suspects, and yes, they are missing: should I even bother telling him? It would mean that I would have to wait yet again while he went to change his pants for the millionth time.

"They are amazing, Tony. The best you have put on yet." I try not to sigh again and look down at my nails, picking them softly with the index finger on my left hand. I am in desperate need of a manicure.

Tony is now standing right in front of me, and I look up into his earnest face. "Ziva, I'm going to ask you a very important question," The seriousness in his voice makes me straighten, bracing myself for an impact. "How does my butt look in this?"

I have no time to respond before he turns around and so nicely puts his ass in my face. Sighing, I know there is only one thing left for me to say: "Your butt is gorgeous, Tony," I rub the bridge of my nose tiredly, "Round, plump, juicy, squeezable; however you want to describe it, your butt is that."

"Really? It doesn't make it look big?" He attempts to check himself out again, and I can now see the signs that he might want to change those pants again.

Growling I stand up, turn him so he is facing me properly, and say, in what I can only hope is a dangerously low voice, "DiNozzo, if you do not pick out a pants to wear now, I am personally going to make sure that it is impossible for you to wear pants ever again. You will have nothing to fill them with. Changing pants is not a complicated process! Look at me! I am wearing pants and I did not change them once!" I gesture towards my classic, low cut, boot flare jeans. My favourite ones, and the oldest I own. Simple, easy, comfortable and efficient.

Tony flashes me his heart-stopping DiNozzo smile, "Aww, c'mon Zi, it's not that easy. I'm a Fashion Man; I'm required to look my best at all times. If it'll make you happy, then I'll wear these and make them look excellent!"

I nod briskly, "Good then let's go before Gibbs kills us, yes?" We finally leave and, as he is locking the door to his apartment, I ask, "Tony, if you are a 'Fashion Man', as you put it, then what am I?"

He gives me a slow, long, full-body stare before finally answering, a wicked grin alight on his face, "You're a blue jean baby, Ziva. Classically beautiful."

Firstly, do you know how hard it is to write in Ziva's point of view? I don't think I captured either of them right, but since this is my first NCIS fic, I'm hoping you guys will cut me some slack. Constructive criticism appreciated!

A slightly cheesey ending but whatever! This will be a series of NCIS vignettes based on Elton John's Tiny Dancer, definitely Tiva-centric with a possible dusting of McAbby. Want more pairings? Request them and I may put them in… but I may not. Still, it doesn't hurt to ask! Anyhoo, these vignettes do have a timeline and yes, they are meant to be short; they're just cameo images, brief snatches of moments, not all out ficlets. However, they will have a general Tiva plot for those interested -grins-

Review if you can, darlings! You all know I'm a Review Whore! xx