Disclaimer: I'm really wishing I owned NCIS right now. But I don't.

Spoilers: None.

Dedication: For Court, Connie, Mikey, and whomever else needs it.

Notes: This is just a little piece I wrote in the face of ... sad news ... to cheer us all up. I'm not saying it'll make things better, but it's worth a shot, right? JSYK, I won't stop publishing stories, but it might take a while before I regain sufficient headspace to write long one-shots. In the meantime, if you've any prompt suggestions for drabbles, I'm open to them. I can't guarantee, because I feel kinda lost right now, that I'll be able to write them—but I can try if you want me to.

-Sophie x

Balloons

"No way. You can't be serious."

She gives his beaming face a stern look, lifting a finger up to warn him, "You are not to make fun of it."

"How could I not?" he asks incredulously. "Ziva David, badass ninja and agent extraordinaire, afraid of balloons?"

"I am not afraid of balloons! Just wary of them popping. And I am wary in situations where there might be guns being fired and hence—"

"Oh, you're just afraid of balloons," Tony informs her, and she scowls at his smartass attitude. (In hindsight, playing Truth or Dare really wasn't such a bright idea.)

"Do not say it like that," she starts.

"Well, think about it," he interrupts, "how many places with guns have balloons in them?"

She hesitates. "You'd never know…"

"Oh, do share," he says dryly. "I'm sure you have some Kidon-unit experience where you infiltrated a terrorist camp and … came across them having a party."

She huffs and crosses her arms, tucking her feet into herself. "Forget it. You are not taking this seriously."

Tony laughs, reaching across the couch to lay a hand on her forearm. "C'monnn," he answers with somewhat faux soothing, "You know I was only joking. Of course I'll take this seriously. I'll be sure to protect you from balloons from now on."

"I do not need—" Ziva begins indignantly before she realizes she's fallen for the tease. Punching a fist into the cushion of the couch, she growls. "Anthony D. DiNozzo!"

He grins brilliantly. "Yeah, that's my name. You forgot the 'Junior,' though."

"You will not remember that name or the 'Junior' behind it by the time I am done with you," she hisses, her teeth clenched.

"Nawww, Zi, I'm only your favourite Very Special Agent." Seemingly unafraid, he shifts forwards with an ingratiating smile and taps his index finger against her lips before leaning in as if to kiss her—but stopping an inch from and wiggling his eyebrows. "And you know it."

She bats his hand away disgruntledly. (The wiggly eyebrows always brought her that tiny bit closer to smiling, damnit.) "You are incorrigible. Hopeless. Impossible."

He steals a quick peck to her mouth. "Lovable."

She must, after all, have a mushy part deep inside her which is completely susceptible to his kisses, because that makes her soften. "I haven't decided yet," she tells him.

And she pretends not to hear him when he murmurs in reply, "Yes, you have."