This story was inspired by 'that' jumper from suspicion. Don't ask my muse works in mysterious ways. I hope the 80s references don't go over everyone's head - and to that I hope some of them are accurate, I did do a little research.
"Hey you're …" Ziva started as she swung the door open " Oh! Sorry … I was … ah. Yes can I help you?"
"You can, would you be a Ms Ziva David?" the young man at her door asked looking at a shiny new clipboard, that was also a chaotic mess of rumpled papers.
"That would depend on who you are?"
"Okay. Okay I'll take that as a yes. I have a package for you, could you just…"
"Not so fast busker" Ziva exclaimed placing one hand on the man's chest in the gesture of stop and placing her other on her hip. She paused when she noticed the very puzzled look on his face. "What!" she bit out."
"Busker? I'm not a busker."
"It is one of those silly things you Americans say. No?"
"I think you mean Buster, Not so fast Buster."
"Okay. Whatever, show me some ID." Ziva asserted trying to regain some authority.
"Oh yeah sure, it's right here." He became very flustered as he tried to untangle his ID chain from his scarf and jacket ties, without dropping the parcel or clipboard. "I'm … um .. from .. um Bell couriers" he mumbled into his chest unable to free all the cords.
"Oh for goodness sakes, let me." Ziva sighed as she reached over and grabbed the card from the man, she studied it carefully then let it go. Looking back up at him "Sorry it's an occupational hazard. So Tom Sarius what do you have for me?"
The sorry did nothing to soothe poor Tom, he mumbled something about first and likely last week on the job. He wondered why so many people responded badly to receiving parcels.
He smiled nervously and held out the clipboard, "If you could just sign here." Once Ziva completed this and handed over the clipboard, Tom quickly handed over the parcel, turned and almost ran down the hall.
Ziva smiled apologetically at his retreating back and edged back into her apartment, closing the door with her foot. She studied the box as she walked, she recognized Tony's scribble immediately. Instead of relaxing further she tensed "What is he up to?" she sighed.
Sitting on the sofa, she placed the box on the table and began to hack her way in.
The first thing she noticed was a rainbow of bright colours as she carefully pulled out a striped long sleeved top, amazingly it seemed to contain every colour available on the spectrum from black to white. "What?" she breathed. Looking into the box again she pulled out a large white T-shirt which when unfolded screamed out "Relax" in large bold lack type. She shook her head baffled as to what his all meant. Next was a black skirt with ruffles and large coloured dots. Finally she pulled out a pair of knee high socks with two bright cloured stripes around the top. One more look in the box revealed a short note from Tony.
"See you at 1900. It's eighties night, So dress up!"
Blowing out a sigh and laugh on one breath, Ziva mumbled "Wear these! Not a chance!"
She sank back into the couch and laughed as she held up the ridiculous looking skirt.
"Tony! Tony! What are you planning?" she muttered nervously. It made her so mad that Tony could make her nervous, tough trained killer that she was, she would turn to jelly when he would look at her with that knowing twinkle in his eyes. As she sat and ran through all the possible scenarios for this strange outfit, time slipped by, she gave no thought to actually putting on the clothes when she was startled by a knock at her door.
She jumped up quickly, pulled the door open ready to pummel an answer out of him, when the sight before her stunned her into silence, her mouth fell open and her eyes widened in shock.
"David you might want to shut your mouth, you're starting to drool." Tony smirked as he placed a finger under her chin snapping her mouth shut and then stepping into her apartment, "You're not dressed." He accused turning back to her.
"I … I … I … what … hunh!" was all she could utter.
"Wow! Speechless Ziva, I like this." He flopped down on the sofa and held up the skirt, "It's called a rara skirt, the eighties sure had its moments."
Ziva found her voice finally, "and what do you call those?" she exclaimed in horror as she pointed to Tony's pants.
"Oh, you like? They're known as MC hammer pants, I wore purple to match your hair."
"What? I don't have purple hair."
"You will!" Tony said placing a bag that Ziva hadn't noticed on the coffee table.
"No! I wont, over your dead body"
"You mean "my …" he stopped when he saw the look, "you know what you mean. Come on Ziva! We have been doing the same thing every Tuesday night now for 6 months, I thought a night out would be fun."
"I agreed to teach you piano, not … not … this humiliation. You look ridiculous and what is 'choose life' supposed to mean." Ziva was so far out of her comfort zone, Tony was acting very strange, he was dressed up in metallic purple pants that looked big enough for an elephant and was wearing a T-shirt with that familiar black type only this one read "Choose Life". She could barely put a coherent thought together.