Note: This story is merely supposed to be lighthearted fun. It only stretches on for about five chapters. Just a little easy reading during finale time, and after all the angsty tags as of late ;)

jae


There's not enough hairspray in the world, she thinks, as she once again attempts to tame the relentless curls beginning to form in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

A brief once-over confirms Ziva's hopes that the dim lights of the bar are helping to mask the exhaustion that only comes from a straight week of twelve hour work days. If it were a normal Friday night, and the beginning of a normal weekend, she may have been persuaded to go to out to a bar not unlike the one she finds herself in tonight, with only the smallest amount of pleading from Abby or Tony to convince her. Both are intimate with her weaknesses for the forensic scientists puppy dog pout, as well as the white rum mojito her partner always promises to treat her to, and will usually have waiting for her when she ultimately gives in and shows up wherever the team may be meeting.

Tonight, however, she is not with her team, relaxing after a week of cases and enjoying that mojito she so desperately craves now. She is not baiting McGee to go shot to shot with her, nor laughing with Abby as they pick out the skimpily dressed women that her partner would have chased to impress in another lifetime. She's never considered herself in the same league as one of those women they'd watch try and fail to capture his attention these days; young, painted-face twenty somethings; the type to have the luxury of spending free, warm, Friday evenings in the heart of the District's downtown area, navigating the bar streets in sky high stilettos and skin tight skirts.

But it's not far from the very role she finds herself in tonight.

Under normal circumstances, she thinks, she would potentially be enjoying herself, considering it had been an appallingly long amount of time she'd been out on the night universally known as date night. But the circumstances weren't all that bad. Though she did not have her team, she did have Tony with her tonight; and although even on his best days he could, and would, try to get under her skin, it didn't change the fact that she still craved his company over anyone. And though the heels she wore were slowly but surely suffocating her feet, and her skirt needed constant adjustment, she always enjoyed the opportunity to tease her partner, if only a little, when she was in a situation that called for dressing up.

She tenses as two woman enter the bathroom loudly, clearly at least two drinks deep respectively, and they barely give her a glance as they loudly communicate which stalls they're entering. Ziva smirks as her thoughts drift to her partner, and she wonders if they'd be victims to his flirting tonight if it were an ordinary night. She dismisses the irrational thought as soon as it rears, though, because it had been a very, very long time since his eyes had drifted anywhere other than her.

Her cheeks warm at the thought, and she just as quickly files it away in the place of her brain she reserves all Red Lights thoughts encompassing her partner. She hears the women's stall doors clink and open, and she hastily busies herself with her clutch, pulling out a gently used bronzer and and begins to brush at her face lightly.

Ziva moves out of the way as the women appear on either side of her to use the sinks; juggling her make up and brush in one hand, as she backs up to regard her outfit once again in the mirror. Adjusting her skin tight skirt with a shimmy, she thinks, yeah, she could almost pretend this was a regular evening out in the city, except for the small detail that -

"Anything yet, Ziver?"

Ziva jerks in surprise as the gruff voice fills her head, coming from the ear-wig she'd all but forgotten she was wearing. The bronzer clatters to the floor in surprise, and the young women, thankfully, pay her no mind as she bends to retrieve it with a curse.

However, the commotion did not escape the attention of the rest of her invisible company.

"Nervous, Zee-vah?" The voice of her partner drawls, smugly. "Understandable. Anyone else would be, too, if they were on a date with yours truly."

Rolling her eyes, she smooths down her hair, waiting for the women to leave. She smiles at their reflections in the mirror, and as soon as the door shuts, she speaks up.

"In your dreams, DiNozzo." She's sure to inflict just enough acid in her tone to convey her sarcasm, but levels it to reassure him she is more amused than irritated.

She hears him chuckle, and the distant echoes that come from the bar outside sound louder in her ear as he speaks again.

"Actually, sweetcheeks, in my dreams you'd be -"

"Enough," Their boss growls over the feed, and she hears in his tone the silent promise of a headslap for his Senior Field Agent the next time they're reunited.

"Were one of those women our suspect?"

Ziva frowns, shaking her head before realizing they could not see her, and speaks up.

"No, I do not think so. Our suspect is to be with her husband tonight, yes?

"Mmm," Gibbs mumbles, "DiNozzo, are you in sight of the woman's room?"

"Already on it, boss." His tone is all business now. "And Ziva's right. Looks like we're playing the waiting game." Ziva's groan echoes his.

"All right, you two. I need to check in with McGee. If you see anything..." Their boss pauses, searching for the word.

"Hinky?" Tony supplies helpfully, and Ziva snorts at his efforts to redeem himself.

Gibbs sighs. "Do that thing you do with the texting... thing... at McGee, if you see anything hinky. "

She can practically hear Tony stop himself from digging his grave deeper with a comment about their bosses attempt at a modern vernacular, and she smiles at her reflection once more before turning to walk out of the bathroom.

Gibbs seems to hear the unspoken comment anyway, because his last parting sentence excludes him.

"Good luck, Ziva." He drawls, ending the feed.

She smirks, quickly fishing the device from her ear and stuffing it away in her clutch, then exits the bathroom. She doesn't have to search long for her partner, for he's purposely placed himself in her direct line of vision in the view of the restrooms. He raises his glass, nodding with the intimate grin that warms her to her toes, and she looks down to hide her smile as she concentrates carefully on making her way over to him.

He would never let her live it down if she tripped over her heels.

She hears his stool shift as he makes room for her to join him, and she takes her seat before looking in his direction. His smile's warm as he lifts an untouched glass to her, and she laughs as she takes it.

"How did you know this is what I wanted first?" She eyes him playfully as she lifts the mojito to her lips.

Tony swirls his half-finished scotch in his glass, staring at her knowingly.

"I'm your partner. I am bound by our code to be able to assess which alcoholic beverages your mood and the situation call for." He states very seriously, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement. She rolls her eyes for his benefit, and she blames the warmth spreading through her at his words on the alcohol she now sips on.

"Plus," Tony hastens to add, "You always go for the mojito. Then you move on to a beer." He pauses thoughtfully, "Usually my beer."

Ziva snorts, placing the glass delicately on the counter's surface, and glances around the crowded room.

"Well, tonight we will be sticking to only one drink. We are still working, Tony."

She nods at the room at large for emphasis, then turns back to him in frustration. "Where are they?"

Tony shrugs his shoulders, and his expression becomes thoughtful as he considers her.

"National Theatre's around the corner," he reminds her, "Maybe they went to a play tonight."

Ziva takes the time to consider his theory, and he grins as he watches her struggle and fail to come up with something better, finally frowning in defeat. She takes another sip of her drink, and her eyes return to scanning the crowded bar as he continues talking.

"You like that kind of stuff, right?"

Her eyebrows pull together in confusion as she watches a couple that walks through the entrance.

"Hmm?" She mumbles vaguely, and he rolls his eyes heavenward.

"The theatre," he repeats, "Plays, theatre; that kind of thing?"

She huffs in frustration as the couple's faces are revealed by one of the few glowing lights in the room, and it's clear they're not either of the people they wait for. Turning back toward her partner, his expectant face reminds her he asked a question.

"Oh. Yes, Tony, I like that kind of...thing. Though I am sure you would say that your movies are far superior." She misses the brief look of hurt that flashes across his face as she returns her attention to her drink, but an easy smile has taken it's place by the time she returns her glance to him.

"Why do you ask?" She says, tone curious.

Her partner shrugs, looking around the bar with feigned interest.

"No reason," he replies easily, and her senses tingle as she watches his eyes narrow in attention. "What color is she supposed to be in again?"

Ziva follows his gaze, squinting across the room.

"Red," She reveals.

"Then that is not our girl," He concludes. Sighing, Ziva abandons her search again, instead turning her attention onto him as he continues to look out across the bar.

"At least she'll be easier to spot now. I can spot a woman a mile away in my favorite color."

Ziva snorts humorlessly.

"Red is not your favorite color," She corrects him.

Tony smiles without looking at her, amusement and fondness spreading across his face.

"Ah, but it is my favorite color on women, Ziva."

Ziva blinks, and looks down briefly at her own top, frowning. That was the color she was wearing tonight, too. Her partner catches the movement, and she sees his mouth turns upwards into a smirk out of the corner of her eye. She allows herself to glance back at him, anticipating further teasing, and lets her head fall to the side incredulously.

But his expression is serious as he looks back at her.

"Red suites you, Ziva." Tony murmurs, sincerely.

Ziva searches his face, but it's open and honest. She can't help the smile that she feels stretch across her face. Her eyes soften, and for several moments, the air between them thickens. Finally, she chuckles nervously, and whatever spell between them breaks, along with the tension. He lifts his glass to his face, trying and failing to hide his grin, and when he turns to look back across the bar, she sees the unmistakable red blush that blooms across his skin.

Smoothing down her shirt, she takes her near empty glass in her free hand, swirling the contents thoughtfully.

The color red, she thinks, suits him well, too.