I've been a Tiva shipper for a long time, but nothing motivated me quite as much as watching the end scene from this past week's episode. Ergo, my first fic, albeit a oneshot.

EDIT: This just became a "two-shot", one chapter with Tony's POV, and one chapter with Ziva's POV with extended couch scene. ;)

Summary: Tony sits at the bar, reflecting on the irony in his life.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to CBS, Paramount, and anyone who is not me. Heh.

Tony sat numbly at the bar, nursing the Scotch he had ordered half an hour ago. His mind was still reeling from the conversation with Ziva as he had sat on the edge of her desk, holding his aviators against his pursed lips, watching the look of amazement on her tan face as she read the caller ID on the phone that had ruined a very intense moment between them.

He hated that cell phone right now.

There was no reason for him to be mad at Ziva; after all, he was the one that told her that she should answer the phone call from CI-Ray. So he watched her tenderly, sadly, as she answered the call, holding up a halting finger to him when he began to walk towards the elevator.

She darted around the stairwell quickly. Tony walked to the elevator and pressed the button.

"Where's your partner?" the barkeeper asked from behind the bar, wiping a glass with a clean towel.

Tony smirked, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Not here," he answered quietly.

Even as he had walked over to Ziva's desk, all he could hear besides the blood rushing to his brain was the instinctive voice of Gibbs, the words "Rule number 12" repeating in his head. But he wasn't going to let this go anymore; they had danced around this issue for far too long. There had always been a sexual tension between them, from the second they met. And going undercover as hot and heavy married assassins probably hadn't helped.

Everything about their dysfunctional relationship was ironic. Even when Ziva pushed him to the ground and pointed a gun at his chest, he still loved her. Even when she was thought dead and everyone had given up, he risked his life to exact revenge for her.

And then they pulled the bag off her head. Again, ironic.

Something was always off for Tony. Ziva tried to open up, and he had to date Jeanne. He would open up, and Michael Rivkin appeared. For God's sake, he even interrupted her in the men's bathroom during what was probably the most exposed moment of her life, and ran out to solve the case. They shared a bed in Paris, the City of Love, and he didn't even try anything.

During this past year, it seemed they had both given up. Tony started sleeping with EJ. Ziva met Ray.

"I apologize. I did not think it would last that long," a soft accented voice next to him said.

Tony brought the glass to his lips but didn't drink. "How is Ray?" he asked softly.

"He is returning to DC next week," Ziva replied as she sat to his right.

Tony chuckled wryly, setting the glass down on the countertop. "Well, that was awfully chivalrous of him to let you know."

Ziva sighed. "Tony…"

"I know, I know."

He really didn't. He couldn't understand why everything in his life seemed to be one movie cliché after another.

Tonight was the icing on the cake. Anthony DiNozzo, Jr, had put his heart on his sleeve, and for what? The most badly timed phone call of all time.

He picked up his scotch and threw back the last sip. "Tell you the truth, Ziva, I'm not really sure what I should say right now."

It was her turn to chuckle. "Tony DiNozzo, at a loss for words? I am truly shocked. Knocked my shoes off."

"Socks," he automatically corrected her.

"Hmm?"

"Socks. 'Knocked my socks off'."

"Oh."

Tony didn't want to keep drinking, but he didn't want to leave either. He wanted to be with Ziva.

Problem was, judging from the faraway look in Ziva's eyes, he wasn't sure if she wanted to be with him.

"Maybe I should go," he offered, starting to leave cash in the bar in front of him.

Ziva's hand raced to his wrist. "No. Don't go."

Tony looked down at where her hand lay, radiating goosebumps up his arm. In a perfect world, they would look up at the same time, hazel and brown irises meeting, and time would only pass to everyone else.

That was when Tony decided he had watched too many romantic comedies.

He shrugged, mostly to himself. One more wouldn't hurt.

Unleashing his classic smile on her, he suggested, "I got an idea. You and me. Your place. Take out. And … Johnny Depp."

Ziva gaped at him. "Tony, you hate 'Pirates of the Caribbean'."

He exhaled through his teeth, whistling. "Hate is such a strong word. I just think you haven't been exposed to enough sophisticated movies to know the true meaning of a cinematic classic."

"And you're … offering to help me?" Ziva asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Something like that," Tony replied with his grin. Turning serious for a moment, he added, "That is, if you want to."

He was doing the chivalrous thing, giving her a way out. After all, she was seeing one Agent Ray Cruz. Well, maybe dating was the better term. Despite how he felt about her, he wasn't going to disrespect her by throwing her current circumstances out the window - no matter how much he wanted to.

He saw Ziva bite her lip in contemplation, and he began to feel guilty for putting her in this position. After a moment, however, she tilted her head.

"Yes. I want to. After all," she replied, smiling at him, "we dysfunctional romantics need to stick together."

Later that night, sitting next to Ziva as she curled into his side, Tony remarked silently that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

Fin.