Summary: The nightly aftermath of a vague relationship.
Rating: FR13 (NFA) / K+ (FFdotNET)
Characters: McGee/Ziva
NFA Challenge: There's Something About McGiva
For Smackalicious. :)
Notes: I've found that one of the difficulties of McGiva is how to deal with the Tiva issue that has been jack-hammered into our brains courtesy of canon events. Well, I don't have an easy answer for this, but the problem is certainly addressed in this brief ficlet. Criticism welcome and encouraged! This is my first shot at McGiva.
HOW THINGS EVOLVE
"When are we going to tell Tony?" Tim asks as he watches her dress. He's lingering in bed, lying amongst the twisted sheets and lopsided pillows. He doesn't want her to leave, but it's a school night. They have to keep up appearances; all-night sex, sleepovers, lazy two-person showers, and single car commutes are not in the cards for them. Not yet. Maybe not ever, depending on how things evolve.
And it is evolving, this budding connection between Tim and Ziva. He's already analyzed it from every angle, gauged its potential success and its eventual failure. She tells him to relax; he can't relax, and quietly, he wishes she wouldn't ask him to. They're moving so quickly, charging down an unfamiliar road, stirring up a choking dust of long-dormant emotions.
They're barreling headlong toward a wall. Reality, Tim insists.
Ziva smirks as she pulls loose khakis over her hips. She then reaches for her bra. Plain beige, no frills, utilitarian. Tim has learned to hate this ritualistic covering up of smooth olive skin. He wants to touch her again, just one last time for tonight. Something for the hours they'll soon endure at work, for the hours they'll be sitting at their desks. So, so close, yet still so far away.
"Tony," Ziva mutters, vaguely annoyed, "Tony, Tony, Tony."
"Ziva-" Tim starts to say. A frown is tugging at his lips.
"Why are you asking me that again?" She clasps the bra as her brown eyes begin their search for her shirt. "Why must we tell him anything at all?"
He doesn't want to fight, not tonight, not anytime, but especially not right before she leaves for her own apartment and her own bed and her own doubts and her own-
"Tim." Ziva's voice is quiet. Shirt still nowhere to be found, she crawls onto the bed and leans over Tim, pushing his naked back into the pillow propped against the headboard. She kisses him, slow and languid, until his dick starts to react. Ziva smiles smugly and pulls away. "We do not have to tell Tony or anybody else about us. This is our personal time. Our private lives. However you want to say it." She pats him on the cheek and gives him a peck on his brow before sliding off the bed and resuming her search for the elusive shirt.
Shutting his eyes, Tim bumps his head a few times against the wooden headboard, as if trying to jar his brain from whatever gutter it had settled in. And to settle down his ever exuberant nether-bits. "I just don't want to keep secrets," he whispers, almost to himself.
Ziva straightens from where she'd been digging through the discarded comforter. She turns slowly and states, "Tony does not hesitate to keep secrets from you. Or from me. He is quite good at it, actually."
"He's my friend. He's your friend. He deserves to know what's going on," Tim argues. This is exactly what he does not want, yet for once he cannot keep his mouth shut and let it go. "C'mon, Ziva. You know how awkward it is watching him bat his eyelashes at you all day?"
"Tony-" Ziva kicks aside a stray loafer, "-would bat his eyelashes at a brick wall."
"The way he looks at you," Tim persists, "He's in love with you. Don't you see it?"
"Of course I do, but he will not stop. He is like a dog in heat. Best to let him hump your leg while you look the other way."
"He'd stop if we told him," Tim insists, "I know he would."
"He would not. Ah, there it is." Ziva slides on her shirt. She then bunches up her hair, wrapping it in a messy bun.
"He's going to figure it out eventually," he grumbles, pushing back the sheets and getting up to find his underwear. When Ziva leaves at night, Tim always sees her to the door. Or at least to the kitchen, where they sip hours old coffee before she heads out into the black chill.
"Then let him," Ziva snaps.
Tim grabs quickly for his boxers. He hates walking around naked; he feels exposed and self-conscious. "Let's at least be obvious about it around him then. No secrets."
"We should be obvious at the office?"
"No! That's not what I mean," Tim huffs out a sigh, "Look, forget about it. It's not that important."
"Good. I will." She heads for the kitchen. "It is late. I want to get some sleep tonight in my own bed."
Tim follows her like a shadow, bare feet padding softly on the hardwood. "You want some coffee for the ride home?" he asks.
Jethro raises his head from the oval-shaped pillow situated in the corner of the kitchen. He watches the two humans for a moment before getting up and stretching out his long German shepherd body. He sniffs Tim first and then Ziva before shaking out his fur and retreating to the living room to stretch out on the area rug.
"Jethro is getting old, Tim," Ziva comments.
"You gonna tell him that to his face?" Tim jokes as he nudges playfully at her arm, "So… coffee?"
"No." She's already shrugging into her jacket. "I need to get back. And you need to get to sleep."
"Look, Ziva. I'm sorry if-"
"Sh." She comes close and wraps her arms around his middle.
It feels strange to have her fully clothed body against his half naked one, but he'll take it. He kisses her as she rubs a hand against his side.
They part.
He says, "Okay."
She says, "See you at work."