She is, Tony DiNozzo thinks, the only one who can make him feel like this.
It's an odd feeling, one he certainly is not accustomed to. Like his insides are melting into warm goo and that goo fills him up until he feels like his heart is going to burst.
In a good way, of course. It's just… weird.
Ziva has fallen asleep against his shoulder, and even though he would like nothing more than to stay in that position all night, his arm is beginning to tingle. He slowly stands up off the couch, holding onto her so she doesn't fall, and then gently lowers her onto her side. When she stirs and moans, he freezes, afraid he's awakened her.
But she stills, and then, a few seconds later, begins to snore loudly. Tony grins and drapes an afghan over her, making sure it covers her feet and her shoulders, because it's a little chilly in his apartment.
There has never been anybody so good at bringing out this soft side of Tony, of making him feel affection and warmth and… love…
You're not thinking straight, DiNozzo. You're tired, he scolds himself, because there is definitely no love involved here. None that isn't of the friendship variety, anyway. Go to sleep.
He wants to, he really does, but Ziva is laying here, looking so peaceful despite her snoring, and he doesn't want to leave.
And so he doesn't. At first, he stays by her side and lightly strokes her hair, but then he decides he should stop before she wakes up and snaps his wrist in two.
From his La-Z-Boy recliner on the other side of the room, Tony can see her perfectly. The twenty or so feet between them is more than he would prefer, but at least she's near.
Smiling to himself, he leans back in the chair and closes his eyes. This feeling he has around Ziva might be foreign and strange, but hey, so was she at one point, and now he can't imagine life without her.