The prompt that Elisa told me to do was "rip." I don't own NCIS.
She let a string of Arabic rip from her mouth.
"What's wrong, Ziva?"
She looked at him and stopped the foreign language. "What do you mean, what is wrong? Nothing is wrong, Tony."
"Now, I'm no expert on Arabic, but they way you were saying whatever you were saying made it sound like you were swearing."
"Why do you care?" she asked, looking over at him from her computer.
"Because, your swearing might have something to do with the case."
"What do you mean?"
"My best guess is that you are angry because you have not found any information on the victim which is why you are cussing in Arabic."
"That is not true. I have found some information on-"
"What d'you got, David?" Gibbs said, walking into the bullpen, coffee in hand.
"The victim was at the bar the night that he was murdered, talking to one of the girls…you know, those girls that dance on the poles…zippers?" Ziva said.
"He was talking to one of the strippers?" Tony said, looking up at her, holding back a laugh.
"Yes! He was talking to one of the strippers!" she exclaimed, pointing at Tony.
"Why are you still here then? Go interview the girl," Gibbs commanded, looking at her, dumbfounded.
"Yes, yes. I will go," she said, getting up and grabbing her stuff.
"DiNozzo, go with her."
"On it, Boss."
Ziva ripped through the D.C. streets, her foot heavy on the gas. She weaved in and out of traffic, making Tony green with car sickness.
"So, Ziva," Tony said, pulling his head back inside of the car. Rubbing his face, the senior field agent looked over at her.
"What, Tony?" she asked, glancing over at him.
"Why were you cursing in Arabic earlier?"
She shook her head. "It was nothing, Tony. Do not worry about it," she replied automatically.
DiNozzo watched her, nor believing her. It was rare that she cursed in Hebrew during work; it was rare that she cursed period. "Did Daddy email you?" he asked slowly, his face scrunching up in concern.
Ziva slammed on the brakes and looked over at him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Yes, my father emailed me. We are in an argument right now and it is very complicated to explain," she snapped.
"Complicated, complicated, complicated. We Americans use that word to describe situations that we do not want to discuss. We used the word complicated because we know that the other person will oppose what we are doing, and we do not want to be scolded. You are learning well, grasshopper," Tony replied, teasing her and mirroring what she had told him the day that he opened up about Jeanne.
"Do not tell me my own words, Tony. I know what complicated means. It really is a complicated situation that you would not understand."
"Explain it to me and then I might be able to understand it."
They were driving again now. Ziva looked over at him and sighed. "My father wishes that I come home as soon as possible," she started.
"But?"
"I do not want to go back."
"So you two are in an argument because of that."
"Yes, Tony. We are. Now, why the sudden interest in my personal life?"
DiNozzo remained silent and watched her cautiously. They soon pulled into the bar's parking lot and Ziva parked the car.
Her hand was resting on the armrest and Tony reached down and took her hand in his. Ziva looked over at Tony curiously and then DiNozzo said, "I'm here whenever you want to talk."
She smiled graciously at him and then replied, "Thank you," before getting out of the car. She loved Tony for always letting her know that he was there.
