McGee was settling in for his night off before he had to go in for another incredibly stressful day at NCIS. He didn't really make any plans; he wanted to go with the flow, and the flow for nights like this usually involved him, his typewriter, and some ordered in Chinese food.
He went into the bedroom and changed out of his day clothes, opting for a comfy t-shirt and boxers. He made sure that his weapon was safely stored in the drawer next to his bed. 'Wouldn't want anything to happen to that,' he thought, recalling several occasions in which someone's weapon was lost or stolen and then turned up in connection to a crime. It was an unpleasant situation that McGee had no desire to experience.
The clock struck five o'clock; there was still time for him to get some writing done before he should order dinner. He sat down at his type writer and stretched out his fingers. He placed them on the keys, typing aimlessly to loosen himself up before he tried to write anything of substance.
McGee was jolted out of his writing stupor by a soft knock on the door, so soft that he couldn't be sure he had heard anything. He stumbled over to the door; he spent most of his time at work, trying to seem put together, so his clumsiness in his own apartment had increased.
Whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again, more assertively this time. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he grumbled.
He grasped the doorknob and pulled the door open. His jaw dropped; he would have expected it to be Abby or Tony, or even Gibbs before… "Ziva?"
She was standing rigidly in the middle of the hallway, holding back a giggle. "Hello McGee," she said.
"What… what are you doing here?" he sputtered.
Ziva's face fell. "I am sorry; I should have called first. I was a little bit lonely, and I thought maybe you would like some company for the evening," McGee was still stunned, "I brought food!" she held out a pizza box and smiled brightly, internally cursing herself for not thinking about what his reaction might be to her unexpected arrival.
McGee stood in the doorway; his body was frozen, but his mind was racing. Is this some kind of joke? Did Tony put her up to this? Why would Ziva be lonely? She could go anywhere and pick up any guy she wants, and she'd rather come spend the night with me.
Ziva shifted nervously. "I can go, if this is a bad time," she offered quietly.
"No!" he said quickly, "No, come in," he stepped back to allow her entrance to the apartment.
She sighed in relief and went in. She had been worried that he would turn her away, especially considering his… attire. It wasn't anything that she hadn't seen before, but it had been unexpected at best. She had never noticed before, but McGee had nice legs for a man. They were shapely, yet firm; it was obvious that he had been working out.
"Plates?" she asked.
"Oh, right here," he went into the kitchen and grabbed to paper plates from one of the cupboards, "Do you want anything to drink?" he offered, opening the refrigerator, "I have water, Diet Coke, lemonade, or…"
"Water is fine," Ziva interrupted.
McGee seemed different to her when it was just the two of them. At work, he kept his guard up to try to protect himself from Tony's verbal attacks, but at his home, he was a little bit more fluid in his motions, almost graceful. Ziva momentarily considered mentioning his lack of pants, but decided to say nothing; it was quite a nice view.
He handed her the plates and she served them each a slice of pizza as he got them both drinks. "So," she began, "Do you always spend your Sunday nights alone in your apartment?"
She wished she could take back the words as soon as they had passed her lips. The question had seemed like a better conversation starter when it was in her head, but out loud, it sounded much more mocking and rude than she had intended.
McGee was saddened. She must think I'm a loser. She's just taking pity on me for not having a good social life.
"Yeah, I guess. It's a good way to unwind after a long week at work," he said, trying to sound like he had not been affected by the question.
"I see. I usually spend my Sundays relaxing as well, usually with a good book," she hoped her soft words were making up for her lack of judgment with her previous question, "Sometimes it gets lonely though. Tonight I had the feeling of needing to be around someone else, in a non-work situation."
It was true, and it was an idea that Ziva had been toying with for weeks. She had been with the team for a long time, yet she still felt like an outsider sometimes. She had drinks with Tony on occasion, and Abby was always up for a girls' night out, but they were both very energetic. There were times when she just wanted to relax, but she didn't want to be alone, and she rarely spent time with Tim unless it was work-related.
They leaned on the counter and Ziva pushed a plate towards Tim. They ate in a slightly awkward silence, yet it seemed to fit perfectly. Any other conversation would have felt forced and strange.
"Um, may I please use your restroom?" Ziva asked politely, a little embarrassed to need to attend to her bodily functions when she was alone with McGee.
"Yeah, the bathroom's through the bedroom and on the right," he directed, a little embarrassed to send Ziva though his slightly messy room.
While she was gone, he tossed out their paper plates and wiped the crumbs off the counter. He refilled their glasses with water and set about washing the dirty dishes that were in the sink; he needed to do something to keep his hands busy while he waited for Ziva to come back.
Ziva spent as little time in the bathroom as possible, though she was amused by McGee's monkey patterned shower curtain; it reminded her of her own bathroom.
When she stepped back into Tim's bedroom, she tried to avert her eyes from the floor, where dirty clothes lay in a pile. She felt like she was intruding, even though he had told her to come through here.
She stopped in the doorway of his bedroom. In front of her was a gorgeous wooden desk, adorned with photos and notepads. In the middle of it was an antique typewriter with a sheet of paper sticking out of it. She glanced to her left. McGee was in the kitchen, standing over the sink. Surely he would not mind…
She went over to the typewriter, removed the paper and began to read to herself.
Agent McGregor was conflicted. Officer Lisa was unlike any woman that he had ever met before; she was strong, confident, skilled, and beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to tell her how he felt, but he was afraid that it wouldn't be good enough. Agent Tommy was always there, flirting shamelessly with her, and she seemed to enjoy it. Now that they were alone, he didn't know what to think. He wanted to hold her in his arms and never let go; he wanted her to be his. But he didn't think it was possible that she could return his affections, at least, not as long as Agent Tommy was around.
"Ah, Ziva, what are you doing?"
Ziva spun around, startled. Tim's eyes fell on the paper in her hands; his face reddened. "How much did you read?" he asked softly.
"Enough," she set the paper back on the desk.
She walked over to him looked into his beautiful green eyes. "Do you really feel that way?"
"The characters in my book are completely fictional. They have nothing to do with NCIS," he said quickly.
She gave him a small smile. "That is not what I asked, Tim."
Tim. She called me Tim. Not McGee, not Probie; Tim. "Yes," he mumbled, tearing his gaze from hers.
This was what Ziva had been hoping for. She and Tony had long since figured out that they were the characters in his book, and she had been deeply disturbed by the underlying implications about her relationship with Tony. It was purely platonic. In fact, Ziva had it on good authority that Tony was harboring a secret crush on a certain forensic scientist of the Goth persuasion. In her eyes, there was only one agent for whom she would be willing to break rule twelve.
"You could have said something sooner."
"No, I couldn't. You and Tony are so close, so alike, so… perfect for each other. It wouldn't be right for me to break up something like that," Tim explained, much more forcefully than he had intended.
Ziva took a deep breath. "Tim, Tony and I are just friends. We have always been just friends, and we will always be just friends. I am not interested in Tony," McGee's pain was clear, and it was strong; Ziva could feel it as though it was her own.
Tim took a step back. Ziva's truthfulness had caught him off guard.
Ziva was sick of waiting for him. She decided that if anything was going to happen, she would have to initiate it.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, closing the little space that had separated them, and kissed him with all of the emotion that she could muster. Every exchange they had had, every conversation, every moment, had been building up to this. They both felt the spark between them as their lips touched. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but they enjoyed it, and held onto it, trying to prolong its existence. Before McGee knew what was happening, he was kissing her back with more passion than he had ever thought possible.
It was finally happening. The kiss that he had dreamed about since he first met Ziva was finally happening.
They stayed melded together until they needed to breathe. They broke apart, gasping. "Tim, that was incredible," Ziva panted.
He held her tightly to him. "I think you need to come over for Sunday dinner more often."