Then We Danced

by BrOnZe-N-SilVeR

One-Shot! I was inspired by Brad Paisley's "We Danced", when it played over the radio this morning. Slight Tiva if you squint. Just friends if you tilt your head to the left. Take a look! I hope you love it; I hope it gives you that warm, loved feeling that it gives me. I always appreciate your reviews- in fact, they are often the highlight of my week. 3

The bullpen was nearly dark, nearly empty, and nearly silent; it was nearing midnight.

A dull orange glow cast shadows on the two remaining agents' pale, exhausted faces. To the right, the usually feisty-tempered Israeli sat with her back straight, as always, as she leaned over her desk to finish her report, but the faint lines of tension around her mouth and eyes betrayed her controlled façade.

Her fingers had stilled long ago, no longer dutifully typing, as her mind cruelly replayed the last few days. But then again, the cases involving children always were horrifying. Especially when the agents were simply too late to stop the damage. Ziva's eyes were open, staring into the darkness beyond the window, lost in the land of what-ifs and what could have been.

To the left, the Italian playboy watched his partner, his ninja. He, too, had stopped typing his report almost an hour before, and his shoulders were hunched defeatedly.

It was not your fault. His mind screamed at her. Unsurprisingly, the only response was the faithful hum of the computers. Tony sighed, his eyes never leaving his ailing partner as he stood, reaching across his desk and punching the "play" button on his stereo.

"Tony…" Ziva murmured, shaking her head slowly and lifting her weary face to gaze at the man who now stood in front of her.

"Ziva." Tony responded in a whisper, taking one of her pale hands in his own and leading her gently to the space between their desks, illuminated in the orange glow of the desk lamps. "Dance with me, Zi."

The old, country-western tune echoed softly across the bullpen.

And Tony and Ziva danced.

Slowly, silently, the pair rotated across the small space, transported, for a moment, from the horrors of the case, lost in the music. Tony held his partner close, feeling her relax as she dropped her head on his chest, feeling the guilt that lay heavily over her lift, if only for a moment.

And they danced.

In the dim orange glow of their desk lamps, at midnight, alone in the dark bullpen, they danced. They did not notice when the song ended and the radio ceased to play. They did not notice their silver-haired boss, standing motionless, draped in shadows as he watched them sway together. And they did not notice him walk noiselessly away, understanding in eyes.

They noticed nothing but each other.

Each other, and the brief reprieve from reality that the dance had gifted them.