And here it is. The inspiration for this one came from a variety of sources, our recent trip to South America among them. Basically, as you'll read, this is a Tony and Ziva know its going to happen, but Gibbs, case and hijinks ensue as they work it out story.
Pleeeeeease, pleeeeease, pleeeeease, review.
"The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry." -Robert Burns, 1785
Tony couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips as his phone vibrated. It was an illogical reaction to be sure; Memorial Day had just passed and already D.C. felt like a swamp. Heat beat down from the sun all day, and even at night humidity cloaked the District, choking any semblance of a breeze. On top of that, Gibbs was ready to kill someone. Tony was actually surprised he hadn't snapped and taken that impulse out on him yet.
They had missed a chance to nab a narco-terrorist smuggling weapons to Latin and Central America on Navy ships, with an operation based abroad, ties to a DC branch of a cartel and a whisper of did they or didn't they get into bed with al-Qaeda, igniting an epic struggle with the CIA and the FBI for jurisdiction. Tony wasn't sure if you could have an aneurism from too many head slaps but he was prepared for the possibility, and instructed McGee to be on the lookout for tell tale signs of head trauma.
The battle was raging between Gibbs, Fornell, and some CIA spook that Gibbs had (not surprisingly) taken an immediate dislike to, and it was unclear who was winning. They had the advantage of the dead sailor who the smuggler had killed on a slab in autopsy, but Vance had instructed Ducky not to cut until World War Three was over and a victor emerged. Hence Gibbs being ready to kill someone.
Even so, his grin only widened as Tony flipped open his phone and read Ziva's text message. On my way, see you in five, with a good story.
Tony began typing a reply, still grinning, but stopped when he felt eyes on him. He quickly completed the text while exerting a superhuman effort to suppress his grin, and could feel his friend's eyes rolling at him across the table.
When Tony flipped the phone shut and looked up, he was greeted by a shit eating grin on his best friend's face. Nick had been with Tony in Baltimore, before getting a law degree and signing on with the Justice Department.
"Jesus, DiNozzo, its boy's night and you've been on that phone the whole time. Who could you possibly be texting this much, when the only two people who tolerate you are here?" Nick asked, elbowing their friend Eric.
A few years ago, boy's night was a much more frequent occurrence for Tony, and usually involved a whole bunch of guys still in their fraternity mindsets, too many shots, and ended with accompanying a young blonde home. These days, boys' night out was pretty much restricted to a few beers with Nick and Eric, who were both married.
"Gentlemen," Tony said, grinning again, "We have a guest coming."
"A female guest." Eric said, smirking at Nick. They were used to Tony's exploits; the girls seemed to get younger as Tony got older, but lately his most notorious womanizer friend had been coming out and going home alone. Eric and Nick had been speculating what this meant; either he was finally off his game, or there was someone serious. As much fun as he and Nick has living vicariously through Tony's tales of bachelorhood, Eric hoped, for his friend's sake, that it was someone serious.
"You're not wrong Miccarelli. Sharp as ever, really." Tony said. He took a sip from his beer and shrugged, nonchalantly, as if it wasn't a big deal. "Ziva's coming."
Nick coughed, practically choking on his drink. "Ziva? Ziva, your partner Ziva?"
Tony nodded. "The one and only." He confirmed taking another sip and flipping his phone open so his eyes wouldn't betray how excited he was.
"Oh man, come on!" Eric exclaimed, causing Tony to look up. Eric, however, was addressing Nick. "How do you always do that?" He turned to Tony accusingly. "Does he have you wearing a wire?"
Tony blinked twice at his friends and cocked his head to the side, confused. "Not that I know of." He said slowly, wondering when they planned to let him in on the joke.
Nick sat back, finished his beer and signaled for another round. Tony was beginning to see the smug satisfaction found in someone who just realized they were right about something. "Anthony, do you realize the significance of this?" Nick asked, "Historically, a female at boy's night only happens when we want to introduce someone we anticipate dating for more than five minutes, and get our friends approval."
"Notice how the last two females who made an appearance at this event became our wives." Eric pointed out with a smirk.
Tony was about to open his mouth to protest; they weren't dating, she was just his partner. As soon as the words came, he knew it was pointless to say them. He and Ziva had seemingly reached a mutual understanding that it was going to happen sooner or later. They had even sort of talked about it, a few weeks ago, when she barged into the men's room one afternoon.
"I changed my mind about something." She said, stepping inside and locking the door behind her, the same way she always did, like it was perfectly normal for her to accost him in the one place in the entire building women were restricted from. Tony realized that after all the confrontations, arguments, and apologies they had in bathrooms, it kind of was normal, for the two of them at least.
"And you couldn't wait to share this revelation until I exited the men's room, Zee-vah?" he asked, although he was glad to see her, anywhere.
"It is important," she said. It was then that Tony realized she looked… nervous. He swallowed; suddenly afraid it was going to be bad news. Something along the lines of I've changed my mind about this whole America thing. See you. She took a tentative step towards him.
"Zi, what it is?" He asked, his voice sounding more strained than he intended. "Is something wrong?" He gazed at her, as if by the sheer force of a trademark Anthony DiNozzo look, he could force this to be good news.
She ignored him and forged ahead. "Remember in autopsy, after Jenny died?" she asked, her eyes locked on his, as if she was willing him to see something in her gaze. Tony nodded, wondering where this was headed.
"That night," Ziva continued, taking a deep breath, "I told you that nothing is inevitable."Tony nodded, suddenly realizing how the space between them had disappeared, and wondered who had moved them this close together, who had taken the steps. "I have changed my mind. Some things are inevitable, no matter how hard you fight them." She said.
Tony understood what she wanted him to read in her eyes and as he dared to believe he was right, a slow smile spread across his face, confirming to her this had been the right decision. She leaned in and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek, then the lips.
Since then, it was understood between them; they had been heading in that direction for years, and the mutual agreement that the destination was in the near future was what kept him grinning and whistling Sinatra in the bullpen all the time. Frankly he was enjoying the back and forth they were engaged in, a new kind of teasing, Tony and Ziva flirt fest 2.0. No longer were they in each other's space for the sake of power, amusement, or one upping, they were pushing one another to see who would push the other against the wall and simultaneously tear their clothes off while making declarations of love. Okay, that would be him, Ziva was way too controlled to do both at once, but either way, Tony knew they were in a good place.
"And since you're clearly not protesting," Nick continued, breaking Tony's inner monologue, "You're either dating Ziva, or anticipating dating Ziva." He turned triumphantly to Eric and held out his open palm. "Which means I'm right and have been all along; you're in love with Ziva. And Eric owes me twenty bucks."
Tony couldn't help but laugh as Eric begrudgingly handed Nick a few bills. The exchange was completed, and the waitress had delivered another round to the table when Tony realized he hadn't bothered to deny it, because Nick was right. He was in love with Ziva. No kidding DiNozzo, he thought. Of course he was, and he knew it too, consciously, it was something he was aware of. But this was the first time he thought it without any accompanying unpleasant feelings. Because he had to forgive himself the cliche and admit he had a gut feeling it was going to work out. He was ready; ready to commit, ready to give her all the time she'd take. "It's not so scary when you finally think it." He murmured to himself.
He looked up to twin quizzical expressions on his friends faces and was decided whether or not he should admit it out loud when Nick's eyes bugged out of his head and Eric's jaw dropped. Tony didn't have time to turn around before Ziva plopped down in the booth next to him, grabbed his beer and took a long sip. She smiled and extended her hand, politely ignoring the way his friends were staring. "Ziva David."
They both murmured their names and shook her hand, and then sat, Nick blinking, and Eric rubbing his chin thoughtfully, both of his friends trying to work out how Tony, who had once developed an age to measurement ratio for selecting women had gotten so much as two words out of someone like Ziva.
"I'm going to get another round." She said tactfully, rising and heading toward the bar, giving Tony time to answer his friends questions. He watched her walk away, admiring the way her hips swung, and feeling like this just might be the greatest summer ever.
He looked at his friends and chuckled, knowing full well that whatever they were expecting it was not this. Tony had to admit that a few years ago, he would have agreed. Hell, he'd been floored enough to find out that someone like Ziva- beautiful, intelligent, snarky, sexy and totally kick ass- actually existed, let alone bothered to give him the time of day. Even so, he pointed at his friends. "Use words." he instructed.
"You're serious about her aren't you?" Nick asked in a tone that let Tony know he wasn't about to make a joke. "She's not like your usual girl, Tony, she's…" he trailed off.
"An ex Mossad assassin?" Tony supplied helpfully.
"I forgot about that," Eric mused. "Surprising, given the six hundred times you mentioned it."
"What can I say?" Tony said, slightly sheepish. "She's not like my usual girl." Nick and Eric exchanged a pointed glance as Tony's eyes drifted to Ziva, who leaning against the bar, waiting for drinks. His expression had softened, and normally, they would give him all sorts of hell for it. Instead their eyes met in silent agreement. Despite all the shit he'd given them, they were willing to let it go.
They lingered after his friends retreated into the muggy DC night, and Tony took advantage of their time alone; with the case that was looming, they'd likely spend most of their upcoming days with Gibbs, McGee and the team. "Thought you were going home tonight?" Tony asked her lightly.
"Changed my mind." She shot back, casually, as another round was delivered to their table. Tony held up two fingers to the waitress in response. "Couldn't live without you, I guess." She said quietly. It was an echo of what they were dancing around, what he had said to her in Somalia months ago. The question she had always wanted to ask but never had. He shifted a little closer to her and found her gaze, daring her to ask now.
She simply knew it wasn't the right time, and smirked instead. "You left before we found the bomb in the building." She said. It took Tony a minute to adjust to this new, completely different line of conversation.
"There was a bomb in the building?" Tony repeated. Ziva nodded nonchalantly, and twisted her lips into another smirk. Tony watched, mesmerized, and allowed his mind to wander to all the other things she could do with those soft, full lips. Ziva, who seemed to be getting better at reading his mind darted her tongue out and licked her lips slowly enough to emphasize the innuendo in the gesture. Tony sucked in a breath and stared, content to let her win this round, since she was providing a thousand new Ziva fantasies he could go over at home tonight.
"Well, outside the building, but still on the base." She said, moving the focus back to the bomb.
"How do you get a bomb into the Navy Yard?" She smiled and took another sip, arching one eyebrow at him. "Well I know you could do it, but how does an average Joe do it?"
"Who is average Joe? Is he a character in a movie?" Her smile told him she was teasing him and he rewarded her cleverness with a grin. "It was," she continued," intended to bear the signature of someone associated with the Colombian rebel organization, FARC."
"Drug cartels." He remarked. "Just like Traffic."
She scrunched her nose in confusion, and it was just so damn cute, that Tony slung an arm around her. After physically holding himself back from kissing her, he noticed that she was leaning into the embrace, scooting herself closer to him. "What do Colombian rebels have to do with traffic?" She asked.
"Traffic. The movie. Michael Douglas? Catherine Zeta Jones? It's practically a classic, Zi."
"I have not seen it."
"I'll add it to our list." Tony told her. He removed the arm he had around her to grab his wallet from his back pocket, and Ziva felt a tug inside of her as carefully extracted the coffee receipt that served as the list of movies he wanted her to see.
He met her eyes as he tucked his wallet back into its place in his back left pocket. Her smile was a soft and genuine one, void of usual mischievousness. It was a serious smile, one Tony had seen turned his way a lot lately. Ziva had a catalogue of expressions, but only real ones reached her eyes. His blue gazed into her brown and he knew she meant what was getting at that day in the bathroom; they were inevitable. Her eyes seemed to soften the longer she looked at him, and it was enough to drive him to a mushy, breakdown, confession kind of place, and as eager as he was to cross the finish line and start making plans, the booth of a bar was not the place to get mushy. He settled with slinging his arm around her again, pulling her in closer this time.
"We will be eighty before we finish this list." She murmured quietly, looking down at her bottle.
"Fine by me." He told her. Her heart skipped a beat at his smile and she absently tapped a finger to her lips, trying to remember what they had been talking about.
"So how did the bomb squad ID the maker?" Tony asked, dragging her from fantasy land, and back to the real world, and the mess that was growing before them.
"They did not."
"But you said it was-"
"I was able to identify the relationship to FARC based on its structure, wiring and components. I was once assigned to a Mossad team responsible for tracking FARC members in Argentina. The bomb squad did not arrive until later."
Tony opened his mouth to ask who disarmed the bomb and then closed it. She smirked at him, looking smug. "Of course you did."
Her expression flickered into a less self satisfied one. "I got lucky." She admitted. Tony pretended to be hurt, then angry, quickly going through exaggerated expressions of each emotion.
"Was it McGee?" he asked. "Gibbs? Tell me you didn't get lucky with Fornell."
She smirked again, momentarily forgetting the very real, potentially very bad situation in front of them. "How do you know it was not with Abby?" she asked, putting her hand on his knee.
He groaned. "David, you can't tease me about stuff like that." He said, leaning toward her, invading her space, which used to mean taking his life in his hands, depending on what kind of mood she was in. Now, however, as she leered at him with an unmistakable glint in her eyes, he realized this was a welcome advance.
"There's only one person I am interested in getting lucky with." She murmured with a wink. Tony grinned even wider this time. Yup, this was definitely going to be the best summer ever.
Gibbs had enough nonsense. There were a lot of things that irritated him, that served to annoy, but one thing that really pissed him off was mindless politics standing in the way of an investigation, and his gut told him this was going to be a big investigation. The longer it took for NCIS, the FIB and the CIA to decide whose was bigger; who knows how far out of control the situation may have spiraled.
Their usual conference room proved insufficient for the task at hand, so Gibbs and Fornell found themselves in a bar, hoping to compromise over glasses of something strong. He was too frustrated to ask Fornell what brought the smirk to his face as they walked in, and by the time they were seated at the bar with glasses, he had forgotten about it.
"So how do we play this one, Jethro?" Fornell asked, sipping slowly. His eyes travelled past Gibbs, and then back, an expression Gibbs couldn't quite define on his face.
"We take control. CIA is only going to act too quickly. I think there's more to this than drug dealers," Gibbs admitted. Fornell nodded his agreement, and Gibbs continued. "If we're the first to compromise, our directors can edge out the Agency."
"I assume this is where you tell me this will be your investigation." Fornell said, getting déjà vu.
"Dead sailor. Not to mention someone is smuggling weapons on Navy ships." Gibbs said with a shrug.
"Uh huh." Fornell said, his gaze wandering again. "And conveniently, the body is in your morgue."
"Well yea, Tobias. We were the first ones at the crime scene."
"The crime scene was the Navy Yard." Fornell pointed out. Gibbs gave him a look, as if to thank him for proving the point he was arguing against. Fornell sighed. "Fine, NCIS leads."
"FBI will be in charge of arrangements if this takes us overseas, and you can even take the credit." Gibbs said with a smile.
"You see," Fornell said, draining his drink and signaling for two more, "That's your problem. Too quick to give away the credit." Gibbs just smiled and accepted his second drink.
"You want to tell me what you keep looking at Tobias?" he asked. Fornell jerked his head towards the back of the bar, and when Gibbs followed his gaze, a whole new kind of anger rose. They were Tony and Ziva, sitting in the same side of a booth, grinning at each other like idiots. Tony's arm was slung around Ziva, loosely, but there was something about the way they were leaning into each other that puts Gibbs on alert. It could have been casual, but he didn't need his famous gut to know better; working with them was enough.
"Oh hell." He muttered, sliding off of his stool. Fornell followed suit and slid into the booth across from Tony and Ziva, next to Gibbs. "You two don't play grabass enough at the office?" Gibbs asked. Fornell watched in amusement as the agents heads snapped toward them, their eyes widened, and they separated.
"Hey boss." Tony said cheerfully, like nothing was odd about this encounter. "Fornell."
"Dinutso, David. I'd say it's been too long, but that's impossible."
"What brings you two here?" Ziva asked, suddenly remembering her hesitations about the bomb, and eager to share them, even if it was only to cool the fire between her legs and get her focused in front of her boss.
"I'll take government agencies that are supposed to cooperate for six hundred, Alex." Tony quipped, earning a glare from Gibbs.
"It's our case now," Fornell answered, gesturing between himself and Gibbs.
"In that case," Ziva said, "I have something to say." She waited for the slight nod from Gibbs before continuing. "I do not think that bomb was planted by a member of FARC. The structure and components of the bomb were precise, but altered to look less professional. It was an imitation of FARC's style."
"Who would want to imitate drug dealers?" Fornell asked. Ziva swallowed and looked at Gibbs. They held each other's gaze, engaged in some kind of silent negotiation or battle that Tony didn't understand. Finally, he saw Gibbs give a slight nod.
"I have a theory on that." Ziva said immediately. "But I need twelve hours."
"You've got ten." Gibbs said.
"In that case…" Ziva trailed off, sliding out of the booth, making sure to brush her leg against Tony's as she did. She started to walk away, but turned back after a few feet. "I should probably warn you. If I am right, we will need passports."
Tony grinned at her, and watched her ass as she walked away, thinking about the possibilities of getting away to somewhere exotic. A little danger, some excitement, maybe Ziva in her bikini…and definitely Gibbs' hand connecting with the back of his head.
"Ouch." He muttered.