Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. sigh.....

Hi, another chapter :)

This whole one-a-day thing is to make up for when I go away for a week - won't be able to post anything then!

Enjoy x


Her body tenses as she hears the door open and shut.

It could be anyone. Tony. The figment of her imagination who has taken him hostage. Miri, wanting instructions, checking if she was okay. It could be Gibbs.

Tony'd gone to drop off their informant in whatever hole he lived in. She'd volunteered first and taken the keys to the van, but he had snatched them back and insisted he do it. Or as he put it, "You've been through a lot, sweetcheeks. I'll handle this." Despite his patronising tone, the name made undercover memories flash through her mind and she was pretty sure she was still grinning after he left.

"I chucked him out."

Ziva is snapped out of anxiety as a familiar man with a rugged build and green eyes enters her sight, and she relaxes back into the pillows at the sound of his voice, the laptop on her lap sinking as she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Oh, by the way, what was on that bit of paper?"

"The one I asked you to give him?"

He rolls his eyes. "No, that big piece of paper with all the presidents' signatures on it." She puts on her usual facade of being unimpressed with his sarcasm, but she can only just hide the smile. "Yes, that one"

"It was just to whale the deal."

"Seal, Ziva. Seal the deal. I guessed that, but what did you actually write?"

"None of your business."

"Fine." Topic dropped.

Miri has planned the whole hiding-from-Mossad thing well, but with one flaw: the bedroom Ziva is sitting in is the only bedroom, and the bed she is sitting on is the only bed.

"I am sleeping on the floor, yes? You can have the bed to yourself if y–"

Her words trail off as her partner takes off his shirt, and she smites the failure of her Mossad concentration training. Her head involuntarily tilts slightly as she takes in what she's seeing.

"If I what?" He turns round and beams out a DiNozzo grin. "Oh. Heh. Like what you see, Ziva?" She goes bright red which pleases him even more, and for a second she's lost in the moment and in his smile, staying silent.

"Perhaps I am thinking of improvements?" She tries to snap back.

"Not easy, is it?" He grins again, but she doesn't notice because her eyes are still on his six-pack.

Concentrate! Finally snapping out of her reverie, Ziva rolls her eyes, her cheeks go back to their normal colour, and she decides to change the subject.

Feelings are too much to deal with right now.

"I have...uh...come up with something on Michael Rivkin"

Thankfully he slips on a huge Ohio state t-shirt, matching the joggers she uses as pyjamas – he'd given them to her for a birthday present a while ago, which she had returned with a sly grin and the question of whether he wanted anything in return. Jogger logo matches T-shirt logo as he slides onto the end of the bed and stares at the ceiling.

"What has our honorary-Probie-Internet-Ninja found?"

"Michael Rivkin," She starts, missing the feeling of getting up and pointing at the plasma for Gibbs, "is an ex-Mossad agent. He served as an officer for five years, has no outstanding criminal record, and lives in–" Cut off, not for the first time this evening, her eyes widen as the laptop screen fills with alarm bells and warnings. She recognises FBI, CIA, MI5, NCIS, and a whole lot of other abbreviations from all over the planet.

"Tony, you need to come and look at this."

Tony's still looking at the ceiling and whistling the tune of Mission Impossible, and he doesn't turn his head as he stops.

"I'm not the McGoo, Ziva. I can't fix your computer problems"

A swift kick to his leg shows him the error of his ways.

"Why? What's up with Mikey's file?" Tony asks, as he scoots up to sit beside his partner.

She can feel his breath on her face, so she takes a deep breath in and scowls to quell the temptation.

"What is up, DiNozzo, is that he is on the watchlist of every credible intelligence service in the northern hemisphere."

"What?!" He exclaims, glancing away from the glow surrounding his partner's face and towards the screen he is supposed to be looking at.

"FBI. CIA. NCIS. MI5. Mossad, even!"

"Bad guy, then. What's he in for?"

Her eyes scroll down the page and come close to popping out.

"Suspected weapons dealer. Wanted in 97 countries for questioning about – suspected arms dealing."

He raises his eyebrows. "Looks like we found our Mikey's bad point, then"

"Not necessarily. Suspected doesn't mean he is."

"Ninety-seven countries, Ziva! That's almost half the freaking planet! It's gotta mean something."

She closes the laptop and slides it onto the bedside table, much to her partner's confusion.

"Hey, what was that for? Those pop-ups might have given us something on this guy"

"Do not forget, my little hairy butt, that our internet connection relies on next door's unsecured internet connection. Since most people who are not on the run from two armed federal agencies go to sleep at what you consider to be normal times and turn off their connection then, I am assuming that they have turned theirs off."

888

His previous experience of food-with-Ziva has only been French, Italian, or some ultra-complicated Middle Eastern food at her apartment, or pizza, Chinese or Indian takeout at his. Frozen Israeli insta-meals with labels that he can't read are a new experience, and he relishes the opportunity for new teasing.

"Hey, what does this bit say?" He points to a Hebrew phrase on the cardboard cover as they listen to the microwave buzz.

She snatches it out of his hands and puts on a perfect-wife voice. "It says: 'Warning: irritating men who cannot read Hebrew and annoy their partners by asking for translations will be subject to paperclip attacks'"

He snatches it back. "Oh, ha ha. And can't read Hebrew? You just watch." He clears his throat. "Okay...this first line... 'Heat for five minutes in microwave'...next line is 'Leave to cool for approximately thirty seconds'" and he continues, delighting in her stunned expression.

"Tony – I – didn't realise –"

He smiles in delight at making her uncomfortable, and for a moment they stay looking into the others' eyes. He sees loyalty in the hazel of hers, and he gets lost in his and her thoughts for one wonderful moment, so lost that he finds himself leaning in towards her...

Bing.

He leans back again and they let out a synonymous breath of relief. She opens the door and pulls out the dish without looking him in the eye again, and they eat in silence, listening to the gobbledegook that is Israel's radio stations at 1:00am. They finish and she clears the plastic dishes into the sink before heading back into the bedroom to find him in a sleeping bag on the floor, reading some tragic American car magazine.

"Tony, I will sleep on the floor. You haven't even got a mattress."

He puts down the magazine and points to the double bed looming next to him.

"It's yours, sweetcheeks. Stressed backs need comforting mattresses." His reply reminds her of a husband talking to his stressed out wife.

What's the difference between that and now?, she thinks, only that we're not married. If only...

"Are you getting in then? I don't want to be subjected to crazy-tired-assassin tomorrow."

She sweeps the duvet into a fold, and after the stress of the past day it is one of the most inviting things she has ever seen. Second only to that one time in a dark closet....

She slides into the middle of the bed: so far in that he doesn't notice she's watching him, but close enough to the edge that she can see him. Make sure he's there – it's a sense of security, about the only one she's felt in the last 2 weeks.

"Don't get too close to the edge."

She curses in Hebrew under her breath as she realises that her camouflage failed.

"I won't fall on you in the night, DiNozzo. You can only dream." She purrs, awaiting his response.

"Maybe it's a good thing? Hell, the fall'll probably kill you!"


Anyone know what movie that's from?

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Lotts xx