Don't put your lips up to my mouth and tell me you can't stay
Don't slip your hand under my shirt and tell me it's okay
Don't say you love me 'cause you know you're gonna love me and leave
I can't be alone with you
Tony DiNozzo stood in his bedroom, panting and sweating slightly. On his bed was the open suitcase he had just finished angrily throwing clothes into. Who the hell did Vance think he was, waltzing into the director's chair and immediately splitting up their team?
He reached down and picked up a shoe from the floor, but instead of putting it in the suitcase, he reared back and chucked it against the wall. It bounced off it with a loud thud, leaving a dirty print on the beige paint. Exhaling hard through his nose, he left the room, using the adrenaline pumping through his blood to make long strides.
What was Gibbs doing right now? Was he arguing with Vance, as he'd been doing when Tony left NCIS hours ago, or had he given up and gone home to his boat and bourbon? There was no doubt that McGee was on the phone with Abby, speaking calmly as she stressed over her team being split up.
Tony allowed his mind to go to Ziva. Ziva, who hadn't said a word after learning she was returning to Israel. Who had kind of hurt him when she hugged Gibbs and McGee and then left Vance's office, completely ignoring him. By the time he and McGee went back down to the bullpen, leaving Gibbs to fight the orders by himself, she had gone home.
Maybe she had been right. The team was being split up; he and Ziva would probably never see each other again. Whatever feelings had been mounting between them were not going to be realized in time. In that moment, it seemed true that nothing was inevitable.
And now, it was over.
Over. Just like that.
The urge to throw something just about overpowered him again, but he was standing in the middle of his living room, and there wasn't much within reach. Growling under his breath, he threw himself on the couch and picked up the TV remote. He flipped through the channels mindlessly. The thought that he should do something kept popping into his head, but it led nowhere. There was nothing to do, and Tony DiNozzo was having a hard time accepting the feeling of helplessness that came with the realization of that fact.
The doorbell rang, and Tony glanced at the clock. It was ten; not that late, but not the time most people would deem appropriate for a visit. He rose from the couch and approached the door hesitantly, putting his eye to the peephole. When he saw who was on the other hide, his heart skipped a beat. Maybe two.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Ziva after opening the door, trying to mask the relief within him. She stepped inside and slipped off her shoes, then stood in the doorway and stared at him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair had been tousled by the warm May air. It was as if she had parked two blocks away, then run all the way to his apartment.
"Ziva?"
"I am going home, Tony," she said, taking a step closer to him and tilting her face up. He moved backward and ran into the open door, grunting when the doorknob hit him in the small of the back. He fumbled with it, keeping his head down until it was shut, locked, and bolted. Finally, when he was forced to look at her, he just nodded. What else could he say?
"To Israel," Ziva added, and Tony wanted to slap his hand over her mouth to keep her from repeating the painful details he already knew. "You leave tomorrow, yes?"
"Yeah," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. Just finished packing."
She stepped further into the apartment, looking around with a calculating eye. "I have not been here in quite a while." Her eyes landed on the couch. "You moved your furniture."
"Better view of the TV," he managed, watching her carefully. Her hair was down and still straight, as it had been earlier in the day, but it was beginning to regain a bit of its natural fizz. All her makeup had been washed off. She was Ziva, completely in her element.
Except that she was now slipping off her jacket and laying it on the arm of the couch as if she planned to stay awhile.
"Ziva, what are you doing here?" Tony asked again, eyes glued to her calm exterior. Her presence was unnerving him, but he tried to mirror her face with his own.
She replied with a question of her own. "Do you really think it was inevitable? What happened between Gibbs and Jenny?"
It caught him off guard; that wasn't what he had expected her to say. Not that he knew exactly what he was expecting. "Well, yeah," he answered, warily watching her as she walked toward him. "I mean, they only had each other. They didn't know anybody else over there. And they went through a lot together."
Ziva nodded while he was talking, and then said, "We may never see each other again." Confused by the abrupt change of subject, Tony just looked at her, feeling his eyebrows knit together- and his heart sink to his stomach at the reminder. She glanced to the side, opened her mouth, closed it, then held his gaze. "I still do not think it was inevitable, Tony. But we… you and me… we could make…this. Inevitable."
He was genuinely lost and had no idea what the heck she meant… until he felt the warm body flush against his, the fingers on the back of his neck, and most importantly, the soft mouth molding with his. It had been more than two years since he had last kissed her, but it felt like no time had elapsed at all. It felt natural, and right, and Tony hesitated only a split second before wrapping Ziva up in his arms and kissing her back. They made their way over to the couch, their lips working fervently against each other, and collapsed onto it. They pulled away momentarily, gasping for breath, and then Ziva threw one leg over Tony's lap and began peppering his mouth with kisses again. He clutched the back of her head with one hand and placed the other on her thigh, savoring all the touches. The longer they kissed, the more he felt himself drifting- away from reality, from Vance, from the agent afloat assignment.
And then, something cold pressed against the skin of his stomach and he was brought back to where he was: on his couch, making out with Ziva. Ziva.
She sat on his lap and was no longer kissing him; instead, she had her forehead against his shoulder and what was apparently the only cold part of her body, her hand, up his shirt. It stroked along his stomach, and Tony prayed that it wasn't possible for goose bumps to form on the torso. Judging from the small smirk that came over her face a moment later, he would bet that it was.
He put one hand gently against the back of her head and tilted it back up toward his, bringing their lips together again. This kiss was softer and not so frenzied, and as he regained some capability of conscious thought, it registered in his mind that they should not be doing this. Where would this leave their heads and hearts tomorrow, when they were both on different planes, going in completely different directions?
"Ziva," he murmured when they broke briefly for air, but she pulled him back in, and the kissing was back to fierce, and he forgot what he had meant to say. Of their own accord, Tony's hands rose to the top button of her blouse and undid it, and then the next one, and the next one. Her hands covered his, and it took him a second to realize that she wasn't stopping him- she was merely holding his hands, and he continued to undo her buttons until the blouse hung open.
"Tony."
They needed oxygen again, and Ziva was pressing her forehead against his as their chests rose and fell against each other. Her arms were flung around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at its nape. Tony found one of his hands on her face and the other running along her bare abdomen.
"It was inevitable," he nearly whispered, weaving his fingers in her hair. Ziva's warm breath fanned quicker across his face.
"Yes," she admitted. "It was."
Inspired by Alone With You by Jake Owen, which is a really good song. This is much more sexually charged than what I usually write. Unlikely? Yes. Out of character? Very. This was originally published a few weeks ago, but I was kind of unhappy with it and recently received the inspiration to revise it.
Review? Please.