A/N: Written for the Fluff Challenge on NFA, and challenge winner. My first McGiva. Please review.
Ziva threw her head back against the headrest of the armchair at the sound of the door bell ringing. What part of "I am fine" didn't people understand? Sure, it had been a tough day, the case having resulted in a showdown that almost got her shot. A shout from McGee and her own quick reflexes had been the reasons she was alive. The incident had shaken her up a bit, but she'd stubbornly denied it all day, stubbornly claimed she was fine, even defied the direct order from Director Shepard that she take the day off and go home and rest. Ziva dealt with this her own way. She could not – and would not – admit weakness.
The phone calls she had been able to handle – first Jen, then Abby, Ducky and finally Jimmy – all asking how she was doing. Though she had assured them several times she was ok, and was getting tired of people not believing her, it warmed her heart to know that she had people who were genuinely concerned about her. But she drew the line at showing up at her house, intending on cheering her up. Because she had no doubt it was Tony who was standing out on her door step right this moment, with every intention of taking her out for drinks, his way of trying to cheer her up.
But Ziva really just wanted to be alone, sit here in her worn leather armchair, curled up with a good book and a bottle of wine standing on the table, a fire burning calmly in the corner of the room.
Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.
The doorbell rang again. And again.
When it rang for the fourth time she realized tonight was not her lucky night. She sighed and got up, folding the corner of her book neatly before placing it on the seating area of the armchair.
Two things she was sure of – no one was getting into this house, and she was not leaving it.
She flicked on the light in the hallway, a snappy reply lying ready on the tip of her tongue. Then she opened the door, and all words were blown from her mind.
On her doorstep in the whirling snowstorm stood Timothy McGee.
Ziva's mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came over her lips. She tangled her fingers through her hair, feeling very awkward in her sudden speechlessness.
"Evening Ziva." McGee greeted her with a small smile. She opened the door a little wider, keeping one hand on the door and the other clutching the doorframe, trying to signal that she didn't want – didn't need – company tonight.
"If you came here to ask me how I'm doing, you could have saved your gas money and called instead." She said rather coolly, but couldn't help but to wince internally when McGee's smile faltered.
"I know." He said quietly. "I didn't come to ask how you're doing; I came to cheer you up a bit." He looked at her. "Or at least try."
Ziva felt herself go weak in the knees at the sincerity in his tone and in the obvious concern in his kind eyes. She wanted to let him in, but she was still denying that she wasn't fine, and accepting his offer to cheer her up would be to admit that she wasn't fine, and she couldn't do that. She was fine.
"It's very sweet of you, McGee, but I don't need cheering up. Honestly." She said and attempted a smile that felt terribly forced and stiff. She could easily tell from the look on McGee's face he wasn't buying it.
"You've had a challenging day, Ziva." He pointed out. Like she really needed to be reminded of just how challenging it had been. His voice shook slightly as he continued. "I can't think of anyone who wouldn't feel shaken up after being so close to being shot as you were today. I think even Gibbs would." He looked at her pleadingly, as though almost begging her to let him in, let him cheer her up.
She felt her walls slowly crumble under his gaze, the almost childish need to hug someone was overwhelming, and he looked so inviting, just standing there with that determined look on his face she saw occasionally, the one that meant he wasn't going to let anything or anybody stop him from doing what he knew was right.
She suddenly became aware that the snowfall had increased, a strong wind whirling it around through the air, and even though McGee was wearing a thick coat, he looked cold. She could feel the cold seeping in through the sweat pants and sweat shirt she was wearing.
Then her eyes caught something, half-hidden behind his back.
"What's that?" She asked, frowning. A slightly blush crept up on McGee's cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, she strongly suspected.
"This? Ehum…" He said, blushing even more furiously now, much to Ziva's amusement. She leaned forward, closing her hand over the folded top of the brown paper bag, her warm fingers accidentally brushing his hand. She felt a shiver up her spine and it probably had nothing to do with the fact that his hand was ice cold.
"It's…eh…just a little something; I thought it would cheer you up…" Ziva almost laughed at him, he looked so sweet standing there, and almost a bit embarrassed. While still smiling, she opened the bag. Then she looked up at him, eyebrow raised.
"Milk and cookies?" She said incredulously and the color of McGee's face was almost a perfect match to the color of a Santa's hat. She giggled, and McGee looked up from his shoes.
"When I was a kid, our Mom always brought me and Sarah milk and cookies when we were sad." McGee began. "Now always when I've been working a tough case, Sarah comes by my place, bringing me milk and cookies to cheer me up." He paused and turned his attention back on his shoes. "It's silly, really." He mumbled.
"It's not silly, Tim." Ziva's voice made him look up. She reached out and patted his cheek. "It's sweet." He blushed at her words. "Do you want to come in?" She asked, very aware that she'd promised herself no one was getting into this house tonight. But the sight of McGee on her doorstep, bringing her milk and cookies and that furious blush on his face…made it hard for her to keep that promise.
"If you want me to." He responded. She giggled again, and after the day she'd had she hadn't even imagined she'd be giggling tonight. But she was, and all thanks to the man before her.
"Would I have asked otherwise?" She said, stepping aside to let him enter. He stepped into the familiar hallway – he'd been at Ziva's house before, for a few dinner parties she'd thrown, but there had always been others there too. Now he was alone. With Ziva. In her house. The thought scared him somewhat, but also filled him with a sense of joy he couldn't quite explain.
He hung up his coat and then found her waiting for him in the doorway to her living room. She was smiling, but something flicked across her eyes, so fast and so briefly he wasn't sure what it was. He wondered what the chances were it had been a flicker of vulnerability. He had never seen Ziva look vulnerable before. Maybe that was why the emotion seemed so foreign in her eyes.
He fought the surprisingly strong urge to reach out and cover her hand with his, to run his fingertip in circles over her wrist, feeling the steady beat of her pulse, to just take her hand in his, squeeze it, and assure her everything was ok.
He walked closer to her, and she didn't move away, which he took as a good sign. On the verge of lifting his hand to gently touch her arm, she suddenly turned, walked back into the living room and leaving him with his breath frozen in his throat, his hand twitching the slightest. He watched her place the bag on the coffee table, then craning her head around to look at him.
"Can you get us some glasses?" She asked and he nodded silently before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.
Ziva sank down onto the couch, rolling her neck, hearing it crack softly and suddenly wishing to feel McGee's hands there, gently rubbing her neck. The very thought was soothing. Just the thought that he'd gone out in this terrible snowstorm just to try and cheer her up caused warmth to rise within her and her heart to flutter in her chest – stirred feelings she wasn't used to feeling.
The soft sound of footsteps on carpet made her look up as McGee circled the coffee table, carrying two glasses and a plate. She watched him closely as he sat down at a hesitant distance from her and she couldn't help but to feel slightly disappointed. He didn't look at her as he started to put up the cookies on the plate. But she noticed the way his hands trembled slightly.
Before she was even aware she had moved, her hand was covering his, stilling his movements. She saw his chest rise and fall heavily as he drew deep breaths. Maybe trying to calm himself? But why, she wondered. Why would he be upset in the first place? Because of what happened today? She should be the one who was shaken up – and she was, even though she would never admit that out loud – not him.
"Tim," she whispered his name in a manner that made him look up at her. He remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "Thank you," she said in the same hushed tone and lowered her gaze to their now intertwined hands. "For saving my life."
Her eyelids wanted to flutter closed when his hand moved to under her chin, gently tilting her head up, but she fought the impulse. She looked up into his face and found him smiling.
"Anytime, Ziva." He replied and to her great disappointment pulled his hand from her face and reached for the cookie plate.
Ziva leaned against the doorpost and watched McGee slip on his coat and button it tightly. Secretly she was sad to watch him leave; they had had such a nice evening together. McGee had told her some very interesting stories about Tony, like when he kisses a transsexual once during a case – as well as other stuff she strongly suspected Tony didn't want her to know. The cookies he'd brought were her favorites and there was something childishly soothing about cookies and milk. But neither of that was the main reason for this having been a good evening. It was all about the company. He'd defied the weather just to come cheer her up. He'd been considerate enough to bring her milk and cookies. He hadn't talked about the incident, but instead tried to take her mind away from it, and he had succeeded.
But now she was watching him leaving and the memories of the day were slowly creeping back into her mind. She couldn't watch him leave, but she didn't want to ask him to stay.
"Ziva?" His voice saying her name brought her back to reality and she lifted her gaze to find him standing with his hand on the door handle.
Without saying a word she walked closer, her arms crossed over her chest, she leaned against the wall. Watching him closely.
"Thank you, Tim. For coming." She said and to her annoyance her voice was quivering slightly.
"That's what friends are for." He replied and she averted her gaze at his words. Friends. Sure they may be friends, but she'd often wished they could be more than that. But friends they were and if that was how he wanted to have it, they'd continue to be just friends.
She looked sad and he wasn't sure what do to. A couple of minutes ago she'd been laughing and her face had glowed. He wondered what the chances were she wished him to stay. And he did want to stay, but he'd never ask if she wanted him to stay.
He knew he should be going and leaned in to leave a quick kiss on her cheek.
Ziva, unaware of his intention, turned her head and suddenly felt McGee's lips gently pressing down on hers. Before she could register what was happening he'd pulled away.
A furious blush spread over his cheeks.
Ziva smiled and reached for his hand.
"You can stay if you want."
He looked at her with a mix of surprise and happiness. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. He would stay forever if that was what she wanted.
The End