Title : Love is on Fire
Pairing : Ziva David x Anthony DiNozzo
Author Note : I can't seem to get away from songfics lately, for whatever reason. As long as it keeps me writing, I don't entirely mind though, and I hope you don't either. In any case, just a little one-shot Tiva as usual. Little snips and bits of interactions that don't follow any set timeline or setting. Oh, the song is "Love is on Fire" by the Italobrothers. Please read and review, constructive critisicm is always appreciated.
- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -
"I can see us in your eyes"
He was leaned over her desk, palms resting on her long forgotten paperwork, knees brushing against office bulletins and notes magnetized to the side. Shoulder's raised and head lowered, to anyone passing by the room it would appear for all intents and purposes, that he was angry beyond belief. But there was nobody to saunter through, or raise questions, or confront the situation at hand. Instead there was only silence and darkness, the occasional flicker of light passing through the windows as cars drove past outside. If he wasn't so completely focused, he might question how it had gotten past midnight already, but it remains unasked.
She's smirking up at him, eyes mischeviously sparkling as a low chuckle escapes her lips. Her chair is leaned back as far as it can go, relaxing in every possible way. One leg folded politely over the other, chin tilted up at him as if mocking him despite her cheery exterior. Most would refer to her as a temptress the way she moved and talked, but this was far from sexual or even flirtacious. This was what they did, how they communicated, where they understood one another.
He tilts his head and she raises an eyebrow.
She shifts her shoulders while his feet come a little closer together.
They worked in unison, able to predict the other's movements without question and act accordingly. It was true when questioning a suspect and coercing out information. It was true while they were researching pasts and going through information, covering every possible option of motive or past. It even held true as they took down perps and waited for their respected orders. Why would their personal relationship work any differently?
She gets out of her chair, watching as his shoulders drop in a relaxed manner. Gathering her things she piles them into her bag, shutting down her computer with great satisfaction, finally turning to face him again. "Go home, DiNozzo. Surely there is a woman that requires your company, no?"
And just like that they're back to square one, neither willing to phrase their appropriate concerns. So he lets her pass with little resistance, adjusting his tie as she steps into the elevator. They both wave as the doors close shut, and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Plenty, but none of them are the woman I want." He whispers to an empty room.
- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -
"No need to think it twice"
He shows up at her apartment with a pack of beer and a collection of his favorite action movies. He learned early on that her tastes are diverse and open to numerous things, so he isn't afraid to try something new. Tonight he's decided on Bond-centric tales, some new and some old, all of them worthy of the title 007. His personal favorite was Sean Connery, but he'd let her come to her own conclussion just like always. He knows that she'll like them, it has all the elements that interest her. Love, defeat, action, and secrecy.
It isn't the movies or the beer that are making him nervous, but the act of actually being in front of her door with little reason to be. He hasn't called ahead, and he hasn't made his motives known quite yet. Instead he's acted on a whim and his own self doubt is catching up with him. Their set nights are on Friday, but he can't wait that long this week, and he doesn't know why.
Knocking on the door, he waits patiently, itching the back of his ankle with his other foot, wondering why she hasn't given him a key yet. She didn't need one for his apartment, choosing to just lock pick his door even when he was home just to prove a point. What's her's was her's, and what his was also her's. He didn't mind, as long as it meant they got to hang out on the off chance that they had down time.
"Tony?" She's standing in the doorway, eyes still fogged over from recent sleep, hair frizzled and unmanaged. It was...cute. A quieter side to the Israeli that he wasn't often allowed to see. Holding up the beer he gives her a trademark grin.
"Thought you'd might enjoy a surprise movie night? After all, they call me Bond. James Bond." His voice lowers with the last part, his best impression at the secret agent, a decent job really.
She stares at him, cocking her head to the side, mouth opening slightly. Complete and utter confusion. Finally she shakes her head, throwing open her door as acceptance. "Your name is Tony DiNozzo. Are we perhaps playing cherrades tonight, as well?"
He sighs, brushing past her as he goes about setting up their normal arrangments. Popcorn, cold beer, and a single couch with a single throw blanket. "Nevermind, Zee-Vah. You'll understand it once you watch the movie." Pausing before going in the kitchen, he glances back at her, eyebrows knitting together. He can't shake that feeling. "Say...you don't mind me showing up like this, right? Unannounced?"
She laughs outright at him, and it's both comforting and enthralling. She shuts the door and grabs something off the table next to it, walking up to him. "Close your eyes." She instructs, pressing the object in his palm, hand lingering longer then neccesary. When he's finally allowed to look, he spots a small simple key, freshly cut. "That answers your question, yes?"
- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -
"Like it was always meant to be"
"Who is she, Tony?" She's circling around him like an animal ready to make the kill, waiting for the slightest hint of weakness or insecurity. Her steps are careful and calculated, reading his face the entire time, his posture stiff and unresponsive. He's caught in a trap that he can't get out of, and seeing his mind desperately try to work around it is...amusing. She plays it off a game, he takes it as a challenge, and they're both left wondering what the end results would be.
He coughs a bit, shaking his shoulders loose, trying to get the blood flowing again. It's as if he's frozen to the spot and he hates the feeling. They're just outside of Abby's lab, the blaring music just a muffled thudding from where they stood, mimicking his racing heart beat. How had she found out in the first place? He hadn't mentioned it to anyone and he wasn't about to, either. It was just a fling. Apparently Ziva had other thoughts about the mattes. "She is a pretty general term, Zee-Vah. Just who are we talking about?" He brushes his hair back, a smooth save if he says so himself. At least enough time to pull a decent excuse from thin air.
She laughs outright at him, pressing against his chest, leg brushing against his as her finger runs along his jawline. He thought about an earlier class they all had to take, and this was definetly a red-light situation. Not that he entirely minded, but as his hands finde her shoulders they both take pause. She can't help but notice he's using a different aftershave. He can't help but notice she's changed shampoo. Her lips are nearly touching his ear as she whispers. "Who is she?" Each word is bit out but never breaks a whisper.
He looks down at her, unable to tell exactly what it was she wanted. She was on him, near him, but everything she did was still so guarded. Any wrong move and she could flip him, cripple him, and leave him for dead. Even when they were close they were a million miles apart. "Rebecca." He finally utters out, sheepish smile and all. "Blonde. Reminds me of the Bond girls."
She finally backs off, cold air enveloping both of them instantly. He wants to grab her close again, if just for another second or two, but he knows better. He won't be that weak, not in front of Ziva. Never that desperate. She wasn't into desperate and neither was he. "She is no Bond girl." Her comment is out of the blue and he can't help but stare at her, wondering what exactly she means. Her eyes have that mischevious sparkle again, the kind he can't get enough of. "She is not dangerous enough to be a Bond girl." And just like that she's gone.
- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -
"You and me"
He's in the restroom, washing his hands when he hears the door and the unfamiliar clicking of the lock right after. He wasn't even aware public bathrooms had locks. He glances at the mirror and catches brown curls and it makes sense, as much as it shouldn't. Instead of reaching for his weapon, he pours the appropriate amount of soap into his hands, lathering them up just as excpected of him. Good impressions, after all. "You do know this is the men's room, right?" It's a rhettorical question, they both know this.
She doesn't say anything at all, leaning against the counter next to him, a considerable amount of space between them. They'd both been quiet lately, lost in their own thoughts, somehow in a comfortable manner. She's fidgeting and it's something he hasn't seen before. She's nervous. He's seen her throw men twice her size, kill multiple targets, disarm a live bomb with seconds left to detonate. She hadn't been nervous. Standing in a restroom, alone with him, and it looked like she was ready to bolt. "I am sorry."
Rule number six, never apologize. It shows a sign of weakness. They both know it on instinct, but somehow they both know it's bigger then that. There was always rule six, but there was the attachment that went along with it. Apologies were okay between friends, and they were well past that point. The only real question was, why now? After everything that's happened between them, what changed? Had it started when she killed her own brother? When he had killed her lover in her very own apartment? Or was it the little things adding up? Stolen glances, jokes with underlying meaning, movie nights? He turns the water off and the silence is nearly defeaning. So he breaks it. "For what?" He shatters it.
She lowers her head, biting the edge of her lip, a habit that was always there under the surface. When she was doing paperwork, lost in thought, second guessing a witness' testimony. Without warning she leans up, hands grasping at the chest of his suit, lips brushing against his. It's brief but it's the most passionate kiss he's ever recieved in his life. And she stays like that, inches away from his face, leaning into him, eyes searching him desperately for any sign of rejection. She finds none.
He leans down and returns the sentiment, only a few moments longer, letting out a satisfied sigh as he breaks away. They've worked together for years, teasing and prompting, guarding and prodding, back and forth in an endless cycle. Sometimes he wondered if he was reading her wrong. Sometimes she wondered if there was any chance at all. "Never apologize for that." And they kiss again, lost in the moment, uncaring about their next move or words. For now, they were together, and that's what mattered.
They'd worry about the rest later.