AN: Set after all the new Season 7 episodes. Possible Spoilers, I'm not quite sure how much but some. Longer than most, but it was something I thought had to be addressed. Enjoy!

Summary: A late night at the office leads McGee to finally ask Ziva want has been on his mind - Why doesn't she look at Tony the way she used to anymore? Will McGee live long enough to be a matchmaker with a paperclip and a deadly snowball within reach of the Ex-Mossad Assassin's hand? It's just another day in the office.

The night was cold with frosty flakes hanging in the air, glistening in the harsh neon streetlights. Ziva sighed distantly as she watched, transfixed for a moment from her desk chair. Her eyes tracked a single flake, watching as it floated silently to the ground, serene and calm, not worried about the fall. Once it was out of eyesight, she would pick another and enjoy the lighthearted and childlike wonder as she watched it fall again.

It didn't take much to make Ziva lose her concentration over her paperwork. It had been a slow moving week, the cold outside making everyone bulking in sweaters and thicker dress shirts with slightly colder attitudes. She was positive she had never seen McGee in a sweater vest before, but the track tape had been broken that morning. Record? He had defended himself to Tony implying the cold was the reason for dress – Tony had merely said McGee liked sweater vests.

She glanced across the office, looking over at her empty partner's chair. The lone light on his desk was dim, and the television behind him blank. He had long retreated before the snow storm to his warm apartment. Abby had driven with him, too afraid of the roads without her snow tires. She said she hadn't had a chance to attach them yet. Ziva shook her head. It would be just like Abby to work on her own car, with high black pigtails and a studded collar in the garage.

Another sigh caught her ear as she looked over at McGee. The agent was hunched over his desk, one hand scribbling away on his forms, while the other one curled under his head as a makeshift pillow. His jacket and bag were thrown over the back of his chair and his sweater vest was still on; dark evergreen with gold thread weaved into it. It was not something she would deem attractive, but on McGee, it fit.

"Are you finished yet, McGee?" She asked, louder than she had originally wanted to. The eerie calm of the late office hours were something she thrilled in. It was a comfortable silence that made her relax – not the loud silence of the empty apartment still sparingly furnished. Her apartment did not have the same quality of the Navy Yard.

He grunted to himself before shaking his head at Ziva, rustling his papers under the forearm. "Nowhere near it. How about you?" she watched as his hazel eyes opened in anticipation. He was hoping she wasn't done either; so he'd have a work buddy for a few hours longer.

She looked down, the pen raised in her palm. He was hoping right, and she wasn't anywhere closer to finishing her reports. Looking at the clock, she groaned lightly in her throat. It was nearing midnight.

"I am not finished either." She sounded as dejected as he did. He nodded once, akin to understanding in his face as he began to write further on to the paper. She tapped the pen, and immediately stopped. Now she was beginning to act like Tony.

Abruptly she stood. It was so quick she knocked her chair into the cubicle wall behind her, slapped her knee on the metal of the desk and scared McGee into an upright position. "I could use a cup of tea." McGee nodded, unsure of where she was going with her train of thought. She was already putting things on as she waved Tim to her with one finger. "We need a distraction. I will buy you a coffee."

McGee swallowed and slowly stood, grabbing the thick brown coat off the chair. "And if Gibbs sees we're leaving for a break?"

Ziva shrugged, her eyes huge with excitement at a few moments away from work, but still not alone. "Then we will tell him we are on break McGee!" She adjusted the bag over her shoulder, and then thinking better of it decided against carrying the heavy load. "Gibbs has taken coffee breaks, we surely can."

McGee nodded, unsure if her reasoning was totally right, but followed nonetheless. He needed a distraction and if Ziva was taking initiative to do something, then who was he to stop her?

They walked in comfortable silence to the coffee shop; a place their team knew intimately well. The snow was coming down heavier, the thick flakes catching in Ziva's long mane of dark curls and in McGee's short swept to the side do. Ziva was looking around her in wonder – snow was not something all too common in Israeli. She could feel the dull cold at her cheeks, the flakes tugging on to her strands and the white spots catching on her eyelashes. It was a welcomed change from the summer months of dryness and damp ships, and dark cells.

Once they reached their destination, McGee opened the door for Ziva, letting himself take a small pleasure in the snow storm. He was too familiar with the sight and cold – and absolutely dreaded digging his car out in the morning before work. But he saw the way Ziva let herself enjoy the small wonder and felt he should do the same. It was not often he saw his friend and partner let herself be open to something as small and uneventful as a snow storm.

Inside, the coffee shop was richly warm with heavenly scents of mocha lattes, chai spice teas and a lingering scent of gingerbread and nutmeg. Ziva glanced up to the menu, seeing a new special for the winter season and lightly smiled despite herself. The winter was a change, a new year was coming, and she was an agent and soon an American Citizen. Winter was beginning to be her new favorite season. There were no bad memories of winter.

McGee ordered for both of them as Ziva was still too lost in thought on the beauty of the white in the bare trees upon the windows of the café. He knew exactly how she liked her tea – he'd seen Tony make it enough over the past few weeks to take notice – and set it in front of her as she stood transfixed. He sipped slowly at his stemming cup of Cinnamon Cider Coffee Surprise, watching with her.

"There isn't snow back home is there?"

Ziva's voice was so small McGee had to strain to listen. "No. We do not have the climate for it. But I have been to Russia before. The snow storms there are much greater than the ones here."

"True." He agreed. He took another sip, followed by Ziva. The content look on her face made Tim stand a bit straighter knowing the combination of honey and lemon was just right. Thinking on the tea and who usually made it, he looked down into his own cup, swirling the contents soundly.

"So we haven't talked lately," he began, sipping his coffee. "Good coffee." He muttered, trying to be nonchalant. Ziva quirked an eyebrow and smirked up at him. She saw right through his plan.

"No we have not," she agreed. "Last time we really spoke was a week after my rescue." The feeling that crept over her was not pleasant and she pushed it away. The white outside was too pure to be contaminated with the horrors of the summer.

"Right." Tim nodded again, watching the snow fall deftly. There was something that he had been wanting to ask her since Kai had made the attempt on the Director. "When did you start to think of Tony as a brother?"

She snorted, not lady-like the years of always being around men showing through her gesture. Tim had always admired that about his friend; she was never intimidated by another male or female presence, whether a high ranking one, or a person on the street. He, on the other hand, was always on uneasy footing around men who held more power than he. Or women; especially women. He shrugged to himself. It probably stemmed from the fact his father was in the Navy and demanded respect, Ducky would say. Or something like that.

"Who told you that McGee?" The hint of a smile was dangerous and motherly at the same time. He shook his head; Ziva had the most terrifying aura of any other woman he'd ever met – not including his sister when she was on a rampage. But she was also a very nurturing soul, whether she would ever admit it or not. She was the reason why he was getting better at his hand to hand combat skills.

"Tony." He shrugged a little moving to sit in the only table and chairs by the windows. He wouldn't throw his friend and somewhat mentor totally under the bus just yet; he wouldn't tell Ziva that Tony spent most of that night after leaving the office in the bar until the wee hours of the morning, complaining the whole time to the bartender that he was only a brother to his friend. Or that the bartender called McGee to pick Tony up and carry him into the apartment, the whole time slurring his story to McGee too.

No, McGee wouldn't throw him under the bus. Not yet.

"And why did Tony tell you this?"

"When did you think of him as a brother?"

"You are avoiding the question."

McGee glared playfully. If it wasn't playful he was afraid Ziva would take it as a threat and he'd seen what she could do with a paperclip. "Now who's avoiding the question?"

She pursued her small lips into a half smirk, half frown combination. She had to admit McGee was becoming a more confident man. "Tony has always been a brother to me." Ziva looked back out the window, a whimsical look on her face before continuing to Tim. "What else would he be, McGee?"

He opened his mouth to say exactly what he was thinking – a friend, companion, coworker, partner, or lover – but stopped himself and snapped it shut. Ziva didn't look too open to what he really thought. If he was being honest with himself, she looked too fragile to be thinking. She had filled out more since she had returned but there was an invisible layer of fragility around her that made her seem to sink into herself.

She was stronger than him and Tony put together – and smarter. But she didn't look it as much anymore. He was afraid that she couldn't take anything else emotionally. But he shook his head – of course Ziva could. It was Ziva after all!

He smirked absentmindedly – Kate might have been his superhero but Ziva was the tragic hero. He had to write that down.

"Well you know you guys used to be close." She looked away from the window to stare at McGee. He shifted uncomfortably. Okay, so maybe she wasn't as fragile looking as he thought. Her stares could still make him quake. "And things happened between you – good and bad." He cleared his throat sipping at his coffee. "This is really good coffee," he said around a burnt tongue.

Ziva laughed loudly, enjoying the way he squirmed under her gaze. She loved to tease McGee this way. "You are horrible at changing the topic McGee," she chuckled again, the rich sultry noise comforting in the darkening coffee shop. It had to be past midnight now, and although the shop was open as late as it was, it had to eventually close. But they wouldn't kick out their biggest customers either.

"We should head back," McGee mumbled, spinning the coffee quietly.

Ziva nodded, agreeing as she gathered her cooling tea to herself. Together they exited the café, their steps soft on the powder on the sidewalk, and slowing with the heavier flakes. By the time they had reached the half way point, both had looked close enough to snowmen made by children.

Ziva could not contain the bubbling laughter inside of her chest – she began to heartedly laugh loud and clear at McGee as he tried in vain to shake the snow off his head and shoulders. When she laughed he looked up at her and let a small smile peel across his visage.

When she stopped for a second to breath McGee said, "I've never heard you laugh like that."

"Like what, McGee?"

"Like a kid." She smiled, the childhood she never experienced shining under the heavy amount of sadness and grief of her adult life. Snow had a strange affect on his long time friend.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He shrugged. He didn't really think anything of it; he was just glad to hear his friend laugh. The sound had long been missed. He had been praying for the past week that Tony would superglue him to the keyboard just for a giggle. Ziva turned away and began to run a hand through her hair, smiling as clumps of wet sludge came off into her palm. McGee sighed, some sort of frustration rubbing him the wrong way before calling out.

"Hey Ziva, wait,"

She turned around. Her eyes were sharp and judging by her shoulders he knew she heard the frustration in his voice.

"When did you lose your feelings for Tony?" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he almost kicked himself by the way her smiled died away. He was afraid he said something crossing over a line, but she hadn't attacked him yet with a deadly thrown snowball, so he thought he was alright. So far.

"What are you talking about McGee? I've had feelings for Tony – caring, helpful feelings. Nothing else." She pointed her finger sternly at McGee. "You are trying to make a new story for your books yes? You will stop that."

He rolled his eyes at her tone and walked up beside her, taking her small shoulders into his gloved hands. He felt the violent urge to shake her. "Stop pretending with me Ziva. I saw the way you used to look at him. There was something – something there. And now when you look at him, it isn't." he finished lamely. The rush of adrenaline was dying quickly. He couldn't say what he saw, but he had seen something in her eyes when she saw Tony. When she looked at him, it was there; a spark. It was something like what Tony looked like when he talked about Jeanne during his undercover mission, only… Ziva's look hurt to watch. It pained him to see it. It was often what he tried to write into his novels about their doppelgangers; but he could never get the words right.

The look was confusing, remorseful, longing, and unrequited. But something more.

"McGee, please stop." She said quietly. Her voice was strong but broken, her face emotionless but her eyes wouldn't stop talking. Tony had told him a long time ago he missed Ziva's eyes the most when they had thought her dead, during one of his drinking binges McGee had picked him up from. He had said her eyes were windows into her emotions, and whenever he saw them, he knew exactly how she felt. And he knew exactly what to say to either make her happy or pissed.

Now all McGee could see was pain and sadness. It cut him to the bone to see his friend look so lost and hurt.

"Ziva, talk to me. Friends talk." He pushed gently. He let his hands slip from her shoulders, urging her instead with his own hazel orbs to speak.

She swallowed dryly and couldn't look him in the eye. She instead turned them to the light pink orange sky that snow continued to fall from; she couldn't see the stars and she realized then that she had hoped to spot one to focus on. "It hurts to feel for him, Tim." She muttered, the voice not altogether sounding like Ziva. It wasn't proud and strong, though slightly accented and feminine just deeply broken.

He watched her and led her to a bench on the sidewalk, though neither of them took a seat on the snow dust stone seat. "What do you mean?"

He was prodding and Ziva knew this. Normally she would close up, shutting off emotion but McGee had always been a pseudo brother to her; he was the first one to be nice to her in the beginning when everyone else distrusted her. First impressions lasted lifetimes with Ziva. She owed him this much for at least gathering enough courage to ask her.

Feeling the ache in her heart she sighed. It had been a very long time since she had thought about Tony in that way; it was too painful, the rejection too clear, the repression too much. The betrayal at both their hands was fresh in her memory still; the betrayal of trust.

She bit her lip and looked at McGee. "It hurts because Tony does not feel for me in that way, McGee. Tony likes women. Not one woman. He sees me as a partner, and maybe he did miss me when I was in Africa but-"her voice dried up as she cleared it. A lump was forming in her throat. It hurt to even speak out loud. "But we have been through too much in too little of time. It has passed whatever might have been. I have forced myself to deal with this."

Her eyes were heavy with a deep sadness, but wiser than even Gibbs'. "And I have learned to live with it as well. Not everyone will feel for who feels for them back. It is the way life works sometimes."

McGee licked his lips, squaring his shoulders as he leaned forward toward Ziva. She looked sick with hurt but he had to keep pushing. "Ziva, Tony went to Somalia with every intention of killing anyone who got in his way to avenge you. He made the plan. He did the investigation work. He was the driving force behind it." He rubbed the back of his head in frustration. "He told you he couldn't live without you."

She shook her head sadly, a weight on her shoulders that McGee wasn't privy too. "No Tim. He could not lie, but he could indirectly. It was all in his words McGee." She slapped his cheek playfully. "Do not worry over all of this. What is done is done. I have forgiven it. You must learn to as well."

She walked away shuffling her lone hand into her pocket, the other limply holding her tea cup. He watched her go a few paces before jogging to catch her, spilling cold coffee on to his sweater vest. He heard a light chuckle from her but it wasn't the one he had heard earlier. He sighed disappointedly. He wanted Ziva to be happy; it was all he wanted of his friend, and he knew Tony wanted to be that spark in her life again. Tony deserved to be happy with her too.

But what if she was right? The small things that had clued him and Abby into his feelings for their ex-Mossad officer could very well be nothing more than a friend's love. Or his concern. But what about his jealousy?

"Then how do you explain Tony being jealous of any guy you're with?"

Ziva didn't miss a beat. "Tony likes attention. When he does not get it, he results to immature options. It is Tony, after all," her eyes were now slightly brighter in the dark night. He saw the snow begin to lighten around them as they made their way further across the Navy yard. They reached the door in silence before McGee pulled her aside. He couldn't see any trace of emotions from their conversation and it disappointed him some. He thought maybe he had made headway with her; maybe break down some of her walls and open her eyes to everything around her. He only wanted the best for them both.

"Look Ziva," he tried and failed with a pep talk. He never really did see much good in them, and he wasn't much of a peppy kind of guy. Ziva was normally the one who made everyone feel better about themselves – though she would normally point out flaws first. It was her own special brand of pep.

"McGee," she smiled confidentially. "This conversation did not happen. Ever."

Looking like a puppy that had been kicked, Ziva smiled thinly. She could see the disappointment in McGee but she had said her piece. At one time she had felt for Tony, and at one point it might have been feasible that they would become something more than just partners. But after the summer, after Michael – she winced in memory – her emotions for Tony were too jumbled, too hard and too …complicated.

She had once complained to Tony that men used the word too often when they did not want to talk. She felt some truth in her statement now that she had used the word.

Both of them walked through security, their cold cups a distant reminder of the warm coffee shop as they rode the elevator in silence. They returned to their respective desks, both too much involved with their thoughts to even consider finishing paperwork.

McGee watched as in unison they both sat, coats hanging on the back of the computer chairs.

He just couldn't let it go. Not yet. "Have you ever thought about it? You and Tony?"

She sighed, her face crumbling as she laughed shortly to herself. "Often McGee. In Somalia I would often think of how my life would have been like, if I had been another person." She shrugged her shoulders. "C'est la vie oui?" She asked rhetorically. The phrase just fit as McGee nodded, kind understanding beaming over him.

They continued to work until late into the early morning hours, reports finishing in the gray hours. Ziva left a note for Gibbs explaining their next morning tardiness, and they left.

The next morning, Ziva and McGee walked into the bullpen together, meeting on their way through security. An easy friendship was once again settled around them as they sat at their desks, their cups still in the trash. Gibbs was nowhere in sight, nor their senior field agent whose desk was buzzing with activity; his phone was ringing, the television on, and both of his monitors a flurry of images.

It was a regular day at the office. They shared an inside smile, last night's conversation weighing on their minds but not unpleasantly.

Before Ziva could settle into her seat long, Tony walked over to her, a cup of black tea stemming in his hands. He placed it by her elbow, friendly grin lighting up his handsome face as he went to his own phone. He answered it as Ziva took a quick sip, enjoying the warmth of honey and lemon.

McGee watched it all from his desk. He watched as Ziva caught Tony's eye and nodded her head in thanks. He watched as Tony smiled and as Ziva looked back to her screen, continued to stare at her, his eyes softening a tad. No one walking by would have noticed it; except McGee who wrote about such things into his novels. He watched as Tony jerked himself out of it, and began to write a scribbled note, and watched as Ziva looked back up at him.

McGee peered closer to her, trying to seem involved with his computer work so that she wouldn't notice him. And then he saw it. He saw the look that had been missing from her face; the admiration, the hint of a small laugh on her lips and something else. There was still pain; pain that McGee knew Ziva had to work out for herself, but also a hint of what he couldn't place.

After last night's talk, and their conversation floating through his mind, McGee knew what the look was. She was afraid. Not of Tony – really who was ever afraid of Tony? – But of what he could do to her. Of what letting herself feel for him could do to Ziva in the end. McGee nodded to himself. It wasn't an unfounded fear. Her father and brother had ruined relationships for her for the next decade.

He relaxed a bit as she caught his eye. She nodded her head again to him in silent thanks and McGee smiled back at her. He knew of her fear, and she accepted this, but by seeing that look on her face again she was accepting her emotions. She was accepting the possibility that maybe, her and Tony had something. And she would work through her fear.

In that one look McGee could see that he had helped her last night. His confidence soared, and the need to run to Abby to tell her what happened too – but he settled for relaxing into his chair. Maybe even by doing this for Ziva he'd be able to convince her to talk to Tony.

Baby steps. She began typing, looking away from his piercing gaze as McGee snorted to himself. Ziva being open about emotions was as unlikely as Abby being emotionally distant. He looked over at Tony and sighed.

Now for Tony…

He groaned low in his throat. Tony was playing computer solitaire completely zoning out of their inter office unspoken conversation.

McGee shook his head. His work was never done.

AN: Anyone else feel like Ziva has been trying to just not feel for Tony anymore - almost like she's trying to make herself see him as only a friend? And now Tony has realized his feelings, has been giving her meaningful looks as of late; it's a total reversal. I think McGee, being an author who studies people, would notice this and by giving him a chance to corner who would ask. He's been getting ballsy in his old age.

Let me know what you think!

Peace