Disclaimer: I still don't own NCIS because Santa is a jerk.
Spoilers: Vaguely up through season six.
Summary: Tony needs to find someone to celebrate with on New Year's Eve. I wonder who he finds…
Eleven was too late to go out on New Year's Eve if you didn't already have a date. Tony had known this before he'd gotten dressed and dragged himself to the bar, but he'd been hoping for a small bit of luck. Last year had been the first New Year's Eve he'd spent alone in over twenty years; he was willing to chalk that one up to recovery from relationship-induced trauma. Alone had been fine. This year he didn't have a convincing excuse, yet here he was, sitting in a random bar with a vodka martini, alone at 11:15. Every attractive woman was already with a guy and the rest were periodically eyeing him from small packs assembled at various tables. He felt like a limping wildebeest.
Glancing around warily, he came to the conclusion that there was only one solution. He took a deep breath, swallowed the rest of his drink and pulled out his phone. His call connected on the third ring. "Hey."
Ziva replied somewhat tersely, "Hello."
"You, uh, you home?"
"Yes."
"Do you feel like coming…?" He took another look around the bar and changed his mind, asking instead, "Mind if I stop by?"
"When?"
"I dunno. Ten minutes?"
He wondered if he'd made a mistake in the pause that followed, but finally got his answer, "I will see you when you get here." She hung up before he could express his satisfaction.
He turned to the bartender as he tucked his phone into his pocket. "Guess I didn't need to start a tab after all."
"Find a lonely ex whose number you never wiped from your speed dial?"
Tony allowed a few of the singles in his wallet escape from the big New Year's tip he had been planning on leaving. "No. Just a good friend of mine."
"What, she too good for this place?"
Not wanting to get into an argument about why this was not the kind of bar to be proud of, Tony went with a sudden inspiration, "Hey, can I buy a bottle of champagne from you?"
"Sure. Dom Perignon, two hundred fifty bucks."
"What?" This bartender's tip was quickly turning into pennies and pocket lint. "Don't you have anything…a little less expensive?"
"I did, but they're all reserved for midnight. This is the biggest champagne night of the year. You gotta plan ahead, sport."
Tony grudgingly handed his credit card across the bar in exchange for the bottle. There was no real need for him to bring champagne – he was just heading over to Ziva's place to hang out. Nothing wrong with wanting a little company to ring in the New Year. And the champagne was just a friendly gesture. A really friendly gesture, he acknowledged to himself as he signed the receipt and toted the bottle to his car. It didn't come with any unspoken expectations, he would be sure to make clear, even if he was going to be arriving at her place at twenty minutes to midnight or so. And even then, a little peck at midnight was nothing to…
"Oh, shit."
Ziva was going to kick his ass when she found out he was there because he needed someone to kiss at midnight. What kind of stupid tradition was that, anyway? He didn't need… He considered calling her back and cancelling the whole thing, but he couldn't drink two hundred fifty dollars worth of champagne on his own if he wanted to maintain his self-respect. And one little kiss – she couldn't object too strenuously to that. It was just a kiss, after all.
He took more time than necessary as he carefully parallel-parked a few minutes later. The bottle was cold against his palm as he carried it toward the front door of her building. This was going to be fine. They'd have a couple glasses of champagne, watch the ball drop, kiss and…what? Damn it, when had a 'then what' come into the picture? An overly made-up woman and her under-dressed husband wobbled out down the steps, wishing him a happy New Year as he rushed to catch the door. Since he didn't have to buzz himself in, he had a few extra minutes to consider the possibilities.
As he jogged up the stairs, he wondered what would happen if the kiss went further. He'd been in something of a dry spell lately and…no. Kiss at midnight and that was it. If Ziva wanted more, she could initiate it. He could plant a helpful suggestion in her mind by putting his hand in the right spot and maybe keeping …when had he morphed back into a nervous fourteen-year-old virgin? Probably when he realized the woman he was now considering trying to sleep with would possibly rip out his pancreas for even suggesting it. Could you live without a pancreas? What did it even do? Maybe life without a pancreas wouldn't be so bad. He tucked the bottle behind his back and raised his hand to knock on her door, pushing all thoughts of sex into the furthest corner of his mind he could manage, which wasn't actually that far.
He let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when Ziva opened the door in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. From her tone when he'd called her earlier, he'd had pajamas on his mind. Sexy pajamas. No! No sex! She calmly said, "Hey, Tony."
He immediately lost control of his verbal filter, saying, "So you didn't get a date tonight either?"
"I went out on New Year's Eve the first year I worked for NCIS." She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, preventing him from entering. "My date expected me to kiss him at midnight even though he had vomited at quarter of twelve. After that experience, I decided it might be best to stay in on a night that everyone seems to drink to excess."
"Oh. You don't want champagne, then?"
When he pulled the bottle from behind his back, her eyes got wide. "Wow." She took it from him and walked toward the kitchen.
He took it as an invitation to enter, shutting the door behind him. That would be good to remember for the future – any potentially disastrous faux pas could be repaired with expensive champagne. Was that really some secret he needed to discover? It didn't answer why Ziva was now climbing on her kitchen counter. "Uh, what are you…" He stepped forward when he saw her remove two delicate flutes from the highest cabinet. "I'll get those."
"Thanks." She made a graceful leap from the countertop as he set the glasses beside the bottle. "You did not have to bring anything."
"Hey, you let me stop by at…" He jumped when he glanced at the clock. "Three minutes to midnight! Pop the cork and turn on the TV!"
"What?"
"We're gonna miss it!"
"Miss what?"
He found the remote and turned the TV to a channel featuring shots of the crowd in Times Square. "There we go."
"We are going to watch a crowd of people standing outside in the cold? For how long?"
"Just until the ball drops." He jumped when she uncorked the champagne with a loud pop.
"I will never understand some of your customs."
He grinned. "You, uh, want it to be the authentic traditional New Year's Eve?"
"Why not?" she replied with a shrug, handing him a glass of champagne. "What are these traditions?"
"Well, we've got the champagne, and the official countdown, and that just leaves…" It was 11:59 and he was losing his nerve under her gaze. He scrambled for something to say and came up with, "Resolutions. You decide on something you want to change about your life and…you do it. Or you say you're gonna do it, at least."
To his surprise, she closed her eyes tight for a moment. "All right."
"All right what?"
"I have made my resolution."
"What is it?"
She gave him a scandalized look. "I cannot tell you."
"It's not like a birthday wish that won't come true if you say it out loud."
"That is just ridiculous." He was about to argue further when she called his attention to the television. "Are we required to count along with the freezing people on TV?"
"Yes. Then when we get to one, we say 'Happy New Year' and toast."
"That is all?"
"Well, there's also, uh…four…three…two…one…Happy…" He wasn't able to finish the sentiment as Ziva kissed him. He tipped out roughly forty-five dollars of champagne on the couch when he dropped his glass, but he didn't care. He was kissing Ziva and people were cheering for them and it was…over. As she pulled back he murmured, "Happy New Year. I spilled on your couch."
"Sorry. I thought the midnight kiss was tradition as well."
"It is."
"You did not mention it, so I thought…"
"I didn't think you would want to…"
She sipped her champagne and raised an eyebrow. "Tony, I invited you over."
Starting to feel like he may have been set up, he protested, "I thought I invited myself over."
"Meaning you planned this."
"Well, it was more improvised. And the spilling was an accident." He tried unsuccessfully to drink from his empty glass. "So what now?"
"Now you need to clean my couch before the stain sets."
"And then?"
She smiled brightly. "I don't think we should waste any more of the champagne…"
Tony kicked off his shoes after spraying some foamy stuff on the damp cushion where he'd spilled. Ziva sat beside him a few moments later, handing him a fresh glass of champagne and resting her head on his shoulder. He nuzzled her hair. "So, you never told me what your resolution was."
"I took care of it."
"When?"
He was careful not to spill any more champagne when she kissed him again.