Author's VERY IMPORTANT NOTE::::::::::::

So. My second fanfiction, sort of in the same style of my last though. PLEASE tell me if I have any facts wrong about France or if I misspelled something or my grammar is wrong or if my writing is just cruddy or something. I take Spanish, so I legit have no idea what the heck I'm talking about! Also, I have never been on a subway and/or metro before, so I didn't really know what to call each individual… car? I dunno. Anyway, just tell me :]

Ziva sighed. "This is not acceptable," she told the woman at the desk.

The woman bent her head to her computer, and then looked up with blank eyes. "We are completely full, and your reservation was for one room."

Ziva gripped the edge of the counter. "We need separate rooms. You must have something," glancing at Tony, who was combing his hair in the mirror, she added, "Anything."

The woman shook her head and passed a single key across the counter. "I'm sorry, Ma'am."

Grabbing her suitcase, Ziva called over her shoulder, "DiNozzo!" She almost laughed when he tripped over his luggage, but was too angry with NCIS to laugh. She made her way up the narrow staircase not looking behind her. She made it to the top long before Tony, who had over packed. Tony caught up with her at the room as she fumbled with the lock. It was old, just like the rest of the crumbling hotel NCIS had booked them in. Ziva shook her head as she examined the state of the halls. Wallpaper was peeling and chipping in some parts onto the floor, which was covered in a carpet spotted by mysterious yellow stains.

"Where's my key?" Tony was slightly breathless.

Finally the door unlocked, and Ziva walked in. Looking around the room she groaned and cursed in Hebrew. There was no couch, but a moldy looking armchair, a fold up table and a bed that looked like it was going to collapse at any minute.

Tony set his luggage down with a thump. "This looks more like a motel six then a Parisian hotel. My room better be –"

"This is your room," Ziva interrupted, setting her stuff near the bathroom door. She walked towards the windows and was surprised to see a balcony.

She could hear the frown in his voice when he said, "Well then why did you put your stuff in here, Zee-vah?"

There was no way to get onto the balcony, from what Ziva could tell. She forced a creaky window opened, and inhaled the fresh air as it flooded the musty room. She thought for a moment, and then swung her leg over the sill and climbed out onto the balcony.

"Ziva? Ziva!"

Ziva looked around. The view was nice, she could see the Eiffel tower, which she was sure would impress Tony. "What are you doing?" Tony poked his head out of the window.

Turning around, Ziva sighed and tried not to reveal any emotion as she told him, "We have to share a room."

"What?"

She turned back towards the scenery to the sound of Tony climbing out the window to join her. "NCIS made a mistake in reserving our rooms. We only have one now."

They were both silent.

"Shit."

--

They chose not to really think about the implications of this. It was clear in both of their minds what they were going to have to do. One of them would have to take the chair (unlikely) or both of them would have to share the bed.

Tony had wanted to go see the Eiffel tower, but Ziva convinced him to wait until night.

"But it will be cold!" complained Tony as he walked backwards for a moment, staring longingly at tower in the distance, "And windy! It will mess up my hair and-"

Ziva rolled her eyes and walked in front of him, forcing him to turn around as she did it. Only two hours in Paris, and she already felt like a babysitter. "Give me a crack. Anyway, you'll like it better at night. It sparkles."

"Give me a break. I don't think you want to go around asking for crack, Zee-vah. And sparkles?" Tony took a few brisk steps to catch up with her, nearly running into a few kids in a school group on his way. One of the girls stumbled backwards, and the teacher had a few harsh words, in French, for Tony. He frowned and tried to get across that he was sorry while Ziva laughed. Finally, the kids were ushered away, the woman glaring over her back at Tony every so often.

Ziva snorted and continued, "Yes, Tony, it sparkles. Lots of little lights go off all over the tower." She mimed with her hands. "It makes me cheesy."

"Queasy."

"Whatever."

They walked in silence for a few moments, till Ziva led them down a tunnel to the metro. "Where are we going, anyway?"

Ziva paid for a few tickets and then walked towards the turnstiles. "Le Louvre. It's my favorite place in France. You will like it."

"Ziva? You like a dusty old museum? You think I would like a dusty old museum?" Tony chuckled and tugged on her scarf, which she ignored. It was a green one that Tony had once mistakenly complimented about a year previous. She hadn't worn it since, for some reason that she didn't really know. It just felt strange, like she was wearing it for him. She briefly wondered why she packed it, but dismissed the thought instantly, as it really was her warmest, wasn't it? "Seriously, Ziva, why don't we go find somewhere to get a few, um, photo ops…"

There was a sound at the end of the tunnel, and Ziva took a small step away from Tony as a car pulled up. The doors slid open and a rush of people fell out. Ziva slid past them easily, forcing Tony to take several long strides to catch up. There was no sitting room already, and as more and more people piled into the car, Ziva found herself against the back wall, Tony standing a few inches from her face. When the car started, he fell forward slightly and put a hand next to her head on the window, his face barely an inch from hers. Ziva glared at him. "Tony, you are hamburgering me."

"Sandwiching me," Tony corrected automatically.

Ziva shook her head, "No, they eat baguettes here." He was so stupid. She knew he had to have seen many movies, why was he acting so ignorant of French culture? The strangest part of it all was his not wanting to see the Louvre. How many movies was the Mona Lisa in? How big of a tourist attraction was the museum? It had Tony written all over it. Tons of pictures of naked women he could get pictures with. Many Facebook opertunities.

The rest of the ride was relatively silent between the two of them, besides Ziva directing Tony where to go, and Tony alternating between complaining about a museum and making film references in French.

"Pourquoi la porte est fermée? Pourquoi la porte est fermée?" He shouted as they barely missed the metro they were transferring onto.

People turned to stare, and Ziva grabbed Tony by the wrist, twisting slightly. "Stop with The Breakfast Club references," she commanded sternly in a low voice. She tugged him closer, and Tony whimpered in pain. "Kapeesh?"

"Kapash!" he squeaked with an exaggerated sigh as she released him with a slight shove. He rubbed his wrist dejectedly and sulked away from him. Ziva sighed and folded her arms, it wouldn't be long… any second now…

"Wait, how did you know that was from The Breakfast Club?" Tony was back, and now watching her suspiciously. Stopping short a few feet away from her, he held his hands in the air. "I know, I know, you've seen movies too, Miss America, but that quote's not even well known."

"'Demented and sad, but social' to the hobo 'I did not dump my purse out and invite everyone into my problems' to the woman with the child," she began, ticking each one off on her fingers, "'I am thinking of trying out for a scholarship' to the – "

Tony stepped forward and put a finger on her lips. "Okay, okay, I get it. You know your John Hughes quotes?"

Ziva bit the end of his finger gently, and then said, "The big question is, when did you learn to speak them in French?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Wanted to learn French for the ladies when I was in college. You know, chicks find it hott when a man can speak the language of love."

The car pulled up. This one was less full, but they stood anyway. Ziva chuckled, "So you watched movies in French?"

"Movie. Singular. The Breakfast Club was all I could find." He grimaced. "Girls don't find 'When you grow up, your heart dies' very romantic."

They finally arrived at their stop, and Ziva tugged Tony out of the metro. "I promise you will like this."

They winded their way down a few streets, Tony stopping periodically to take a picture. Finally, Ziva got impatient and flat out dragged him. They went through some sort of arch, and then –

"Woah."

Tony stared at the courtyard. It was divided into four large squares by colored brick, and in the center there was some sort of pool. Surprisingly, almost no one was there, except for a few women taking pictures of each other.

"Woah." Tony repeated, spreading his arms out and walking forward.

Ziva laughed. "There is very little woah about this Tony; its empty."

Looking upwards, Tony turned in a slow circle. "Ah, my little ninja probette. You're lack of imagination never ceases to amaze me."

This got a pert snort. "No imagination?" she said, a grin evident in her voice. "Ah, but I have plenty of imagination. In fact, I can think of fifty different ways I could kill someone with just what is in this courtyard." She took several steps forward silently, and then breathed into his ear, "But that's just imagination, yes?"

Tony jumped a little. "In America – " he began, a little loudly to cover up the goosebumps running down his neck, Ziva noticed with a satisfied smile.

"But we are not in America, Tony," Ziva's smile turned dangerous, as she put her hand on Tony's shoulder, trailed it lightly across his back to the opposite one, and then traced her finger tips down his sleeve till she found his hand. Content with the slight shiver she felt him give, she nimbly entwined their fingers, and then pulled him gently towards another archway, where Tony supposed the entrance to the Louvre was.

I plan to have about two or three more chapters, but it really depends. I tend to get bored quickly, but I definitely will finish this, but if inspiration strikes for another story, it might be a cruddy/quick ending for this.

Reviews make my day. *.HINT* …Ima leave now.