A/N: Note- I do not owe NCIS. If I did then I believe Michael Weatherly would be mine and I wouldn't have time to write! lol Enjoy!

Things never really were what they seemed. Take my team for instances. Timothy McGee appeared quite confident when he was arguing some intelligent mumbo but I knew he was just a kid scared of messing up, in need of guidance and validation that he was right and people liked him.

My other partner, Ziva David, was currently glaring at her computer, a crease appearing when she squeezed her eyebrows together. She insinuated that she was ready to kick anyone's ass who crossed her. In truth she was no longer so willing to be a killing machine and was less likely to maim you as she was to cut you with words.

Me, I was no different. The DiNozzo men were never short women. I liked them and they liked me. It seemed that I was a womanizer "love them/leave them" type whose respect for women ran as deep as my ego. I rubbed my eyes as the truth of the matter jumped center stage.

I hadn't been on a single date in weeks. Months, really. Not because I had no prospect. I had plenty of opportunities I just suddenly had no desire.

"What?"

The sudden voice bitch-slapped me out of my thinking and made me jump in my desk chair. My eyes focused on Ziva's, who was glaring at me intently. "What?" I repeated dumbly.

"You are staring at me," she told me. "What seems to be your issue malfunction?"

I let that one go as I leaned back in my chair and gave her an easy smile. "I guess I just dazed out for a minute. Need help with something over there?"

She frowned as if she knew I was changing the subject on purpose but she gestured angrily to her computer. "This...THING is giving me pits."

"Fits," I corrected as I rose and walked the short distance to look at Ziva's screen. "The computer is giving you fits."

She nodded as she turned her head to look up at me as I came to sstand by her chair. "It has suddenly decided I can't spell and keeps replacing the word I want." She poked her pointer finger into the screen to make her point. "I know what I am spelling, Tony."

I glanced at the screen and I didn't even know what she was spelling but I didn't argue. Instead I leaned over her, arms around each side, as we do- our own personal game of who can make the other more uncomfortable. For added measure I placed my face level with hers and began to manipulate the mouse.

Ziva, in return, shifted closer to my chest and put her cheek next to mine.

Great. I was losing my own game. I gritted my teeth and scrolled through the menus until I came across the one labeled "Auto Complete". Grinning stupidly I unchecked the correct box. "Ah-ha!"

She typed her word but this time it just underlined the offensive thing instead of changing it. "You did it," she said, sounding surprised.

I turned my head in as she looked at me. I gave her a smirk. "I am good for some things, you know."

Our faces were close but I could see her smirk in return.

"What are you two doing?" McGee's voice broke through our concentration.

I turned my head towards him. "Ziva was just about to congratulate me on fixing her computer."

McGee's baby face showed an expression of horror. "You fixed a computer?"

"It's true," Ziva backed me up. "The corrections were really getting up my crawfish."

I snorted. "It's just 'craw'. The Auto Complete was getting up her craw."

She shifted her seat so I stood and casually leaned against her desk. "That makes no sense," she complained.

"Neither does 'crawfish'," I stupidly argued with the Mossad.

"At least a crawfish is an actual thing," commented the irritated officer.

McGee jumped in. "Actually, Ziva, the word 'craw' goes back to the 14th century--"

"Shut up, McGee," we said together.

He was immediately quiet, the next second I found out why. A slap hit the back of my head signifying the arrival of out boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who had either the unfortunate luck of having that name as was extremely lucky to have a name no one else had guaranteed.

"Well, what are you three doing just sitting there?" he asked, gruffly. "We've got a dead Marine. Gear up."

Ziva gave me another smirk as I scooted across the pen to grab my gear. As I followed the team to the elevator the truth that I had discovered several weeks ago hit my gut again, as it did every time she smiled/smirked/glared/looked at me.

I was in love with my partner.