He wrapped his arms around her to reach the keyboard and began to type. She glanced up at the big screen and read aloud, "Who is… Darkman?" She turned around to face him, confused.
His expression faltered for only a millisecond; a nearly unnoticeable break in his jokester façade. He glanced down at her and realized how easy it would be for him to kiss her right now. How easy it would be… and how much he wanted to.
No. He would not want to kiss her. She was Ziva. She was the one he joked with, who he teased and played pranks on. She confused American idioms and fought with him to no end. She scared away men. She was a scary ninja assassin who could kill him 18 different ways with a paperclip—and she would never let him forget it.
And he was Tony. He was the jokester who ran from commitment. He dated a new girl every week, and besides, he was seeing someone. Jeanne. He loved Jeanne, didn't he? But deep down, he knew it would not last. Not with Jeanne. Not under the circumstances. Because some day, Jeanne would find out whom he really was.
And who did he have left then? He didn't want the answer to be Ziva. You could call them friends if you were generous. But he was Tony, and she was Ziva. They would not and could not ever be anything more than friends.
So why couldn't he get her out of his head?
Tony shook his head. Sure, he'd found Ziva attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that she was beautiful. But he was never supposed to consider anything more than their playful flirting. Pushing the thoughts out of his head, Tony continued. They had a killer to catch, and an odd one at that. Why unbury a body?
He successfully stayed focused on the case for the rest of the day. Well, for the most part. He couldn't help flirting just a little bit with Ziva. But he went home with his head no clearer than it had been earlier that morning. He had a lot to think about.
And nobody could help him.
He paced back and forth in his apartment until 0400 the next morning. He loved Jeanne, he did. But he knew how it would end with her—she would find out that he was Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and hate him forever. And while he never wanted that to happen, he accepted that it would and that wasn't his problem anymore. The problem was, why couldn't he stop thinking about Ziva? Stupid infatuation, Tony, he told himself, that's all. Just get over it. Get over her.
He repeated that to himself all night until he fell asleep.