Tony was sitting on his couch, perfectly content to stare at the ten o'clock news while stuffing his face with heated-up pasta, when his cell rang. As soon as he saw Ziva on the caller ID he groaned; she probably wanted him to come back to the office to sign something because it just couldn't wait until Monday.

Partners didn't screen each other's calls, though, and so he did answer. "DiNozzo."

A high pitched giggle found its way into his ear along with plenty of background noise; Tony furrowed her brow and pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Ziva?"

"Hi, Tony," she said, sounding relatively normal until she dissolved into laughter before she could finish the last syllable of his name. "You're watching a movie, aren't you? But you are probably not watching Pirates of the Caribbean, which you should, because Johnny Depp is very nice to look at…"

Her voice faded, and for one split second he wondered, Is she being held hostage? But then somebody else came on the line and bluntly cleared everything up. "Matt from Justin's Café. Your girlfriend's hammered."

He didn't bother telling the man that he and Ziva were not dating; he was too busy trying to figure out why, exactly, she had gone out and gotten drunk, as it had never been in her nature to get more than a little tipsy. "Is she alone?"

"Some weird chick wearing a dog collar caught a cab home a while ago. Tried to take your girl with her, but she wanted to stay. But, man, you really need to come get her; she's loitering at my bar and I'm about to have a rush here, 'cause the Nationals game just ended."

"Dude, you gonna be okay? Maybe you need a drink," Tony quipped as he rose from the couch to search for his shoes. "Why don't you sit down with her and knock back a few?"

The bartender didn't seem to appreciate his sarcasm. "Are you coming?"

"Yes, I'm coming." Kicking aside a pillow on the floor, he discovered one shoe and shoved his foot into it. "Calm yourself. And listen, don't kick her out on the street, okay?"

"I won't," he said, but his tone of voice did not completely reassure Tony. They hung up, and he began to look for his other shoe more urgently; he eventually produced it from under the armchair, slipped it on, and grabbed his keys. As he left the apartment, he decided that in the future, he was accompanying Abby and Ziva on any and all girls' nights, since they obviously couldn't be trusted to be on their own.

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When he arrived at the restaurant, it was much less crowded than the bartender had wanted him to believe it would be. In fact, the only people sitting at his beloved bar counter besides Ziva were two guys in their mid-twenties, both of whom where leering at her. She was too out of it to notice, but Tony didn't want them to get any ideas. He shot them a look and slipped an arm around her shoulders as he walked up beside her. "Hey, Ziva."

"Tony, I feel strange," she drawled, giving no indication that she was surprised to see him. She leaned forward and planted her head in his stomach.

"I'm gonna take you home," he said, stroking her hair- hesitantly at first, and then more surely when he realized that in the morning, she wouldn't be able to remember the events of tonight. "We'll get you taken care of. Come on."

She slowly lifted her head, then hoisted herself off the barstool. Tony grasped her elbow to steady her as she stumbled. "Harah," she cursed in Hebrew, and clutched him around the waist with one arm.

"There you go." He pulled out his wallet and tossed forty dollars on the counter to cover her tab. Hopefully the jackass bartender didn't get to keep too much of that money. "Alright, let's hit it."

They left the bar and started across the restaurant at Ziva's pace, which was extremely slow. Despite the fact that he had been dragged off his couch at ten p.m. and he should have been watching a James Bond movie at that movie, he found her sudden helplessness kind of endearing.

And funny.

She would never hear the end of this one.

By the time they got outside and down the sidewalk to his car, she had started chattering again. "I had fun with Abby," she slurred. "But she had to go home early because she has to bowl with the nuns in the morning."

"Why didn't you go home?" he asked, genuinely curious but unsure whether or not he would get a real answer. He unlocked the car and opened the passenger door, then stood aside and motioned for her to get in.

"I wanted to finish my drink." She followed his directions and fumbled with the seat belt for a moment before Tony took pity on her and leaned across her lap to buckle it himself. "And Abby said you would come get me."

The buckle clicked into place as if punctuating her statement, and he looked up at her. Ziva had closed her eyes and allowed her head to loll to one side, apparently deciding that she'd had enough for one night. Tony smiled as he shut the door and got in his side. He started the car and pulled out onto the street, heading in the direction of her apartment.

Beside him, her breathing evened out, and she slept while they drove.

Honestly, he didn't mind being there at all. Not even when the snoring started.

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Outside her apartment, he faced a conundrum.

She was sleeping peacefully in his seat, and he didn't want to wake her, because she was already looking less peaked than she had at the bar. Plus, he thought there was a high likelihood she would puke on his shoes.

But she couldn't stay there all night. One way or another, she'd have to relocate.

Tony stood inside the open passenger door and poked her lightly with one finger. "Ziva?"

She didn't budge.

Now he lay the back of his hand against her warm cheek, and she leaned into it, but that was the only move she made.

"Alright," Tony muttered, stretching his arms above his head in preparation for what he was about to do. "Here we go." He bent over to unbuckle her, then slipped one arm behind her neck and one under her knees as he told her, "You're so doing my paperwork for the next year."

Ziva snored in response.

He hoisted her out of the car and almost staggered under her weight. "You are a lot heavier than you look," he said, shutting the door with his foot, "and I'm very glad you weren't awake to hear me say that, or I'd be dead by now."

Up the drive they went, and then up the stairs to her apartment on the second floor. Aside from a couple incidents in which her foot came in contact with the railing, causing some nearby cat to hiss loudly, they made it to the front door successfully. Tony managed to wrangle his keys from his pocket and open the door with Ziva still in his arms; once inside, he headed straight for her room and lay her gently on the bed.

"Wow," he gasped, leaning down to rest his hands on his knees. "That was some workout."

This remark was made to himself, so he was surprised when he heard his name- or some version of his name, the version without the 'n'- being called out groggily. He stood over Ziva and saw her blinking up at him, eyes clouded in the light of the lamp he'd turned on. "Hey."

"Hello." She grabbed his hand and clutched it in both of hers, then slowly began to rub her thumbs along the back of it.

Drunk Ziva made him very uncomfortable.

"How do you feel?" he asked, reluctantly removing his hand from her grasp. Her hands fell to the bedspread, empty. "You want some water? Are you nauseous?"

"Yes, yes." She wrinkled her nose. "Abby said you would come for me."

"Yeah, you told me."

"How did she know?" Ziva looked somewhat distressed, like she just couldn't figure it out. "She said you would come for me and you did."

"Don't worry about it," Tony said soothingly, smoothing the hair off her forehead. "I'll get you a glass of water and something to throw up into."

She grabbed his hand once again. "And then will you stay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just… be right back."

As he set about fetching the water and searching for a bucket, he mentally compiled his observations about his partner when she was heavily intoxicated. Ziva was talkative, clingy, physical, affectionate, and a little bit whiny. If she were to touch him this much on a regular, sober basis, he could definitely get used to it. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen; when he told her about tonight, she was going to be completely horrified at all that she had done.

There was a loud cough, and then a retching sound, and then a moan.

Shit, Tony thought, dashing down the hall and into her room, where he sighed in relief when he saw no vomit on the floor, realizing she had only been dry-heaving. But then Ziva clamped her hand over her mouth, gesturing wildly toward the bucket, and he barely had time to shove it under her nose before she did throw up.

While he turned his face way so he wouldn't have to see (though he could hear and smell it pretty well), he noticed that the hand she was using to hold back her hair was shaking. Up to then, he had been planning to go home after getting her settled and asleep, but that small, quivering hand made her look so helpless. Suddenly he didn't feel like he was dealing with an ex-assassin who'd had a little too much to drink but would soon be fine; he was dealing with Ziva the woman, and she was currently feeling sick and crappy and, really, what kind of partner would he be if he left her alone in this state?

Three times she vomited, and then there was a long silence in which she waited for a fourth round. "That is all," she said finally, and collapsed against the pillows behind her. Tony put the bucket aside, within an arm's reach of the bed in case she needed it again, and helped her sip some water. "How's that?"

"There is a disgusting taste in my mouth."

"I'll bet. Slow down, Ziva. Don't gulp it. There you go."

She drank about half the glass as he directed her to, then gently pushed his hand away and settled into the bed, on top of the covers. "Come here, Tony."

"Alright, alright." He kicked off his shoes and crawled in beside her, only then realizing that she was still in her regular clothes. For a moment he wondered about getting her some pajamas, but she seemed perfectly comfortable draping herself over his chest exactly as she was.

"You're warm." Her slurred voice was sleepy; the smell of alcohol radiated from her breath. Tony ran his fingers through her hair and watched her eyes drift shut. Their chests moved together, and he had just closed his eyes to enjoy that sensation- inhale, exhale; rise, fall- when she added, "I remember that from when we were undercover. How warm you are."

Eyebrows in his hairline, eyelids snapping open, he stared at the ceiling and waited for whatever else she was going to say about that assignment years ago, unsure whether he wanted to hear her uninhibited thoughts or not.

But when she spoke again, she had moved on. "And I remember thinking that your face was very warm, when I kissed it that time in the bathroom." Ziva looked up, resting her chin on his chest, and lifted one hand to touch his cheek. Tony felt his face flame and watched the corners of her mouth turn up. "Quite warm." With that impish grin still glued to her face, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. They were both motionless for one Mississippi, two Mississippi- that was the count in his head, though it felt like much longer than that- before she drew back and let loose another uncharacteristic giggle.

"Okay," he said, trying to push how much he had enjoyed that aside, because she was not in her right mind. That never would have happened if she'd been sober. "Ziva, it's time to go to sleep, okay? You're beat."

"I could kiss you again."

"Go to sleep," he said, rubbing the back of her neck, watching as her face relaxed and she lay her head back down. "There you go. Get some sleep now, 'cause in the morning you're gonna have one hell of a hangover."

"Will you be here in the morning?" Ziva's voice was groggy; she was fading fast.

It hit him then, why Abby was so sure that he would come for Ziva: it was for no reason other than it was true. And it also suddenly seemed really important that she knew that.

"Of course I will," Tony said, and she hummed in acknowledgement as she slipped into her slumber. She wasn't going to remember anything in the morning, including what he had just said, but he figured that when he teased her about her drunken endeavors, he could throw in a promise to be there next time she got hammered.

Or, well, anytime.

This is pointless, OOC (in that Ziva got drunk in the first place) Tiva fluff! Yay!

Hope you like.

Please review.

Mwah!