Disclaimer: Kait and Aubrie do not own NCIS, its characters, or Ziva's ugly sweater, though we wish we had the sweater so we could burn the thing and rid the world of its earth-tone rainbow scariness.
xoxox
-The Authors
Please note: This is one of Kait and Aubrie's shipper stories. They all follow the same plot, are not well written, and are all just silliness which is not meant to be taken seriously. SERIOUSLY!
DIVA Vol. III: Ziva's Ugly Sweater
One fine day at NCIS Headquarters, Tony was just kickin' it in the squad-room, pretending like he was getting his work done, when Ziva walked in, looking flustered.
"You're late," Tony taunted, "and you're wearing THAT sweater." he added.
Ziva glanced down at the earth-tone rainbow sweater that she often wore, and that everyone seemed to despise. "Oh come on, it's not that bad." she muttered, throwing her backpack down behind her desk.
Tony awkwardly raised an eyebrow. "Ziva, that sweater needs to be burned or something, I'm telling you, take it off, RIGHT NOW."
Ziva watched him quizzically. "Right now?" she asked playfully.
Gibbs breezed through the bullpen at that inconvenient moment, and gave Tony his classic STARE. "You working, DiNozzo?" he asked dangerously.
"Yes boss!" Tony said quickly.
"Uh-huh." Gibbs gave a curt nod and went on his way.
When Tony looked back to Ziva to finish his thought, the sweater was nowhere in sight; Ziva sat casually at her desk, in naught but her skivvies, as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Are you shamelessly hinting that we should get it on here and now?" asked Tony in his most sexy seductive voice.
"No one else is around. Why not?"
Over at his desk, McGee blushed a deep scarlet, looking utterly terrified. "Hello? Guys, I am right here, and I'm asking you now, PLEASE do not get it on while I'm present." he sputtered awkwardly.
"Then I'm suggesting you skedoodle, Prrrobie." Tony said in an irritated manner, not casting a glance in the poor flabbergasted McGee's direction.
McGee dove under his desk to grab the cell phone he'd dropped in his rush, "Out of here in a–" he called, but was cut off by the sounds of a pre-getting it on make-out session.
So Tony and Ziva got it on. In the squad-room. On a desk.
Ziva's ugly sweater lay in the corner, forgotten and forlorn, and McGee cowered under his desk, traumatized by the getting it on above him.
THE END.