He ducks into the closet first; she, hot on his heels, closes the door behind them. The only sound in the cramped space is that of shuffling feet. His arm finds its way around her waist and she presses up against him, her every curve fitting right into his body. It is this, not the fear of being caught, that causes his lungs to start working a little bit harder.
"Stop breathing," she hisses.
He exhales and glances down. In the light filtering through the closet's window pane, he can see her eyes, smoldering as they stare at his mouth. Her chest heaves. He settles his free hand on her right side.
"You are clear," comes the voice in their earwigs, and she immediately tears out of his arms. He stumbles forward. Blinks dazedly.
The moment is gone.
0000000000
"Tony, what are you doing?"
He moves aside a moldy-looking casserole and, as if the universe has heard his internal cry for caffeine, a can of Coke appears. "Look at that," he singsongs. He takes it out of the fridge, opens it, and takes a big gulp. "That's good."
Ziva puts her gloved hands on her hips and glares at him. "Are you planning to help me anytime soon?"
"Maybe." When she takes a menacing step forward, he quickly opens the nearest cabinet. "This one's empty. What does Gibbs think we're gonna find here, anyway? If I were a murderer, nobody would be finding my fingerprints in the NCIS break room."
"Actually," she says, "they would. All over the vending machine."
Now it's his turn to glare. "You know what I mean."
A loud clap of thunder startles him. When they arrived here, the high school where their prime suspect works, it was merely cloudy. Now the lone window in the teacher's lounge shows them nothing but fat raindrops and a black sky. Ziva bites her lip. "Hopefully, this will pass soon."
Tony shuffles through the brightly colored leaflets and flyers pinned to a bulletin board while Ziva checks out the mail cubbies. Every paper they find has information about meetings or ping-pong clubs or other things that have nothing to do with their dead petty officer.
Ziva is the first to declare, "This is pointless."
"Agreed." He accidentally pricks himself in the finger with a thumbtack. "Ouch. Damn it. Let's go look in her classroom."
With a nod, Ziva heads for the door. He follows her and stands there as she goes to open it. The knob doesn't turn. "What…" She pulls, then pushes. "Did you lock it?"
"What? How would I have locked it?"
"I told you something was wrong with the hardware and to make sure the knob was twisted all the way to the right before you shut the door." Ziva looks over her shoulder at him. "Did you do that?"
Too late, Tony recalls these instructions. "Um. No."
She groans, throwing her head back, and slaps the wall in frustration.
"Can't you pick it?" he asks.
"No. The lock is jammed; it has to be done from the outside."
Surrendering to her superior knowledge of all things breaking and entering, he pulls out his phone. "Gibbs?"
Ziva waves her hand wearily and goes to sit on the floor beneath the window.
After he is done being berated ("Yes, Boss… headslapping myself now, Boss"), Tony joins her, grunting as his knee pops. He leans back against the wall. "It's gonna be a couple hours. With the storm and all."
"Sounds fun." Her tone is not hateful or overly sarcastic; really, she just sounds defeated.
He playfully tussles her hair as thunder rumbles once more. Beneath him, the floor vibrates. "Hey. It's never a dull time with yours truly."
Ziva smirks. "No, it certainly is not."
The room shakes and the florescent lights go out, leaving them in almost total darkness. Ziva's muscles tense. He leans toward her. "You okay?"
"Fine." But she shifts a little closer to him, not stopping until they are shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. Heat flushes his face. He remembers, suddenly, the time they were hiding together during the Domino debacle. He remembers her breath on his neck and the fullness of her lips and how, even in the middle of a mission, his only desire had been for her.
"Tony?"
Forcing himself back to the present, he clears his throat. "Yeah."
"Can I play Fruit Ninja?"
He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone. She takes it eagerly. "I don't understand why you don't just get the app."
"Why bother when I can play yours?"
"Don't run the battery down," Tony tells her.
0000000000
Half an hour later, Ziva is still slicing pixilated fruit and he is watching the screen in fascination. Her fingers fly at a speed he didn't know was possible- but, clearly, it is.
Only his partner.
"Ha!" she cries triumphantly. "New high score. Again."
A notification pops up to inform them that only twenty percent of the battery remains. "Okay," Tony says, "you're done. Hand it over."
She doesn't object. As he puts the phone away, she tugs her jacket off and tosses it aside. He takes in her bare biceps, the plunging neckline of her tank top. Suddenly, he, too, is very aware of the room's humidity. Trying to be discreet, he undoes the top two buttons on his shirt.
Ziva sighs and swipes at her sweaty forehead. "I am bored."
"Join the club." He glances around, though he can't see much. "Haven't been in a teacher's lounge since college. Marie Harland dragged me in there, tried-"
"I do not want to hear about your rendezvous!"
"She tried to kiss me," Tony continues. "But I knew she had a boyfriend, so I wouldn't let her."
Ziva tilts her head and squints. "That was awfully gentlemanly of you."
He shrugs as if it's no big deal, but it really kind of is. For Ziva, whose opinion he values more than anybody else's, to compliment him for what he did… that is the ultimate reward.
"I mean it, Tony. You are a good person."
"Yeah, well," he says with a teasing grin, "don't expect me to be so stand-up all the time. You're single; I would have no problem kissing you in the teacher's lounge."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Really."
"Um. I was, you know, making a point…"
"So you would not kiss me?"
Tony allows his eyes to wander up and down her body. "I definitely did not say that."
She turns toward him, feet tucked beneath her. Short, wispy pieces of hair have fallen out of her ponytail and come to frame her face. "You are confusing," she says, sounding mildly agitated. "You flirt with me and make loaded comments and say and do things that are so sweet, but Tony, you never… I am never sure how you feel about me."
And that's it.
Because there is a trace of hurt in her expression, and he cannot, cannot, let her go on believing that she is less than his everything.
He cups her cheeks in his hands. Even though her eyebrows shoot up, he doesn't pull back. I love you would be the truth, but he shouldn't spring that on her so abruptly. What, in this situation, concerning this complicated thing between them, can he say that won't make him sound like an asshole? What is right?
He finally settles for, "I feel like I want to be with you."
Ziva reaches up to grip his collar. Her eyelashes flutter, and then she closes the distance between them. He inhales sharply, taken aback; she continues to kiss him unapologetically. Thunder sounds once again- or, maybe, it is just his heart.
She coaxes his lips apart while winding her arms completely around his neck, pressing closer to him. Her breasts brush his chest; barely containing a moan, he runs his hand over the back of her neck and tangles his fingers in her hair, strokes her jaw, tilts his head. The goal, of course, is to devour her. To make the most of this miracle that has occurred, the miracle in which she wants him the way he wants her.
Actually, he decides, he already knew this was the case.
He just wouldn't let himself believe it.
0000000000
It is Ziva who continues to propel them forward. Before long, she is straddling his lap. Her palms skate across his waist almost seductively. The storm outside rages on, and he is thankful for it.
At some point- maybe she has accidentally pushed him or maybe he is just clumsy- Tony loses his balance. He falls back on the linoleum floor, Ziva on top of him, and their mouths finally separate. Something in his back cracks; he yelps.
"Are you okay?" she asks. Her face is in his neck; each syllable, spoken against his skin, makes his stomach flutter.
"Yeah." The room is momentarily bathed in a quick flash of lightning. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Ziva lifts her head and smiles. Her curls are messy and her cheeks are flushed and she is nothing if not radiant. "Perhaps we should sit here and wait for Gibbs and not make out," she says teasingly. "I think that is what the NCIS handbook would recommend."
"That thing hasn't been updated since dinosaurs roamed the Earth," Tony replies, caressing her hip. This position is not the most comfortable for him; even so, he's in no hurry to get out of it. "Maybe we should present Vance with a revised version."
She laughs and, much to his chagrin, climbs off of him. But then she helps him up, entwining their fingers as she does, and once they are standing, she rises onto her toes and kisses him again. Tony watches her closely when she pulls back. The playfulness in her eyes fades as her pupils darken, and then she is in his arms, hugging him tightly.
They sway together for no reason at all other than they want to.
And, with the publication of this very fluffy, very pointless oneshot, I announce my hiatus from fan fiction writing. I honestly have no idea how long this will last; I might be back in a month or I might be back in six. But in any case, enjoy the season-ending arc! I know I will : )