"Hello?" From inside the bar, Tony DiNozzo's cell reception was less that good, but he could just make out the sound of Ziva's voice through the crackling. "Ziva?-" He held the phone out away from his ear as the static momentarily upped it's volume; the connection then died altogether, and the phone call ended itself.
Knocking back the last of his drink, Tony signaled the bartender, Greg, for another, and made his way out to the parking lot.
In his speed dial, the infamous Mossad ninja was number six. "Ziva?" There was a muffled breath on the other line.
"Tony? Hi." ZIva sounded relieved.
Tony cut to the chase, eyeing the drink waiting for him on the hardtop counter. "What do you need?"
There was another breath. "Can I stay at your place tonight? They're…airing out our building today, and I've got no place else to go."
Hesitantly, Tony looked again to the drink that would put him over the edge, that would erase the pains of the day. "Um, yeah," he mentally kicked himself. The words must have slipped out of guilt. "Yeah, where are you? I'll come pick you up." The one drink he had had surely wouldn't put him at risk of bad driving, would it? He didn't feel buzzed…
"I'm still at the office."
"Perfect." And then, very Gibbs-like, Tony flipped his phone shut, abruptly ending the conversation.
Walking back into the bar, Tony slapped a twenty on the counter, and made his way back out to his car. SInce his precious Mustang blew to pieces, he was driving a Toyota rental; not nearly as nice, but cheap. Keys in the ignition, he pulled out, letting his mind wander as he pulled onto the main road, awaiting the fifty to sixty minute drive back to the yard.
Maybe this would strengthen their relationship? This would be ZIva's first trip to his house (or lack there of). Maybe she would see the relatively neat and organized rooms, and change her mind. Gone might be the childish frat boy, in just a matter of minutes.
Maybe then, they could be friends.
Or more.
Much more.