October 15, 2006: My continued thanks to those who read and those who have taken the time to review. It is greatly appreciated. :)
There will be a case or two during the course of this story, along with exploring the characters, but it will take a few chapters to get there. I have three - or is it four? Help, please:) - months to get through before Gibbs returns, and no, I won't be writing three chapters for every day at NCIS, lol!
The usual applies: Not been Betaed, no infringement intended, yadda, yadda, yadda.
October 17, 2006: Hoping to post this after tonight's episode. Please note that I love to dance but don't do so very often, much to my regret. If I haven't understood or conveyed any of the steps properly, my apologies.
Enjoy!
Almost
Chapter Three
By lilmouse
"(Dancing is) a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire."
- George Bernard Shaw, 1856-1950
The Fizbin isn't packed and there aren't many families at this time of night, but it is busy enough that they wait a few minutes before the hostess, a perky brunette with a big smile, greets them. Her nametag says 'Sarah'.
"We're here to meet someone," Tony states, raising his voice slightly to compete with the volume. He points towards the bar and she nods, grabbing two menus of their late-night munchies and beginning the journey between tables.
A man in a suit, waving a glass and saying something about not having seen their waitress for a while, hails Sarah. She pauses and leans down to hear him. The rhythm of the music lures Anthony DiNozzo through the restaurant and he takes the lead from Sarah. He knows where the bar is located. Ziva David is following at a distance he recognizes as 'shotgun': close enough to cover his back but not so close that she'll be in the way if he has to use his gun.
We're in a bar in Washington, D.C., not in enemy territory, he thinks, slightly surprised at her stance, then he wonders why he would be surprised at all.
Old habits. He has them, too.
Tony resists the urge to turn and catch her eye, resists the urge to reach back and take her hand as they enter the party atmosphere. He doesn't know if she'd appreciate the gesture. They have to play it cool, despite the evening's revelations.
Damn.
He's finding it difficult not to move a little to the music as he stops just inside the bar area and scans the room, looking for McGee because he's the tallest of the three. It is habit for him to check out the crowd, something he used to do at Ohio State for completely different reasons, something he did as a cop when he was all business and seeking perps. Now he finds he's still checking the faces that turn towards him, even though it has been the Day From Hell. He thinks of the man who stopped Sarah, the hostess, and runs that face through his internal database of "Most Wanted" posters. He does the same with everyone he can see in the room before him. He isn't on duty but that isn't stopping his brain from racing through the possibilities.
Old habits.
Most of the faces return to conversing with their companions. A few linger on him. There are some predators in the bar tonight - not unusual at all - and they seem to find his arrival potentially interesting. He isn't stupid. He's male, fits an appealing demographic when it comes to age, height and physical fitness, and he isn't wearing a wedding band. It's perfectly natural for him to get some attention.
And he does look very good in his dark green silk shirt.
A few eyes slide behind him. He smirks when one man looks startled and turns quickly back to his drink. Wonder what Ziva just did. Have to ask her later.
Tony makes eye contact with one particular female. She smiles, showing teeth, and her gaze drifts south. If her eyes were lasers, he'd have burns in his groin. Not subtle, this one. He wonders how drunk he really is after a bottle-and-a-bit of wine, and notes her legs go on forever beneath that short skirt. If he were on his own, would he pursue that heated look and deal with the pain of the cooled sheets beside him in the morning?
Thankfully, he'll never know.
He sighs. Old habits, indeed. Her eyes return to his. He smiles at her, 'DiNozzo Smile # 84', which says he's noticed her interest but she isn't really his type. She raises an eyebrow, not believing him. His smile deepens. A few who are still watching him sigh. Looking directly at the woman, he turns his body, reaches behind him and places an arm unerringly around Ziva's shoulders.
Ziva glances from his face to the woman with the long legs and seems to instantly understand the situation. Just like being undercover. Her arm slides easily around his waist and she smiles, stretching up to Tony's head so he can hear her.
"Don't worry, my little Hairy Butt. I'll keep you safe." Her voice is light, teasing, but she's tense. He can feel it.
He turns his gaze fully on Ziva, his eyes trying to convey to her that she is the only woman in the room that matters. It's not a good idea to do this in public, considering their status at work, but if anyone who is watching right now believes they are 'together', then neither of them will have to deal with intrusions tonight. He's making an assumption that Ziva wants to avoid that possibility as well and hopes she isn't insulted.
Her eyes widen slightly. She doesn't look insulted. He bends down so she doesn't have to stretch, until the tips of their noses touch. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and murmurs, "Sweet Cheeks, I have no doubt about that, whatsoever."
He savours the smell of her skin, which can only be described by him as 'essential Ziva', and wonders, not for the first time, what she uses on her hair. It is dark and curly and gleams in the scattered lighting of the bar area. He remembers the feel of it in his hands while they were in the car, a glorious, silky net to tug and weave with his fingers as they kissed.
Tony recalls how she looked as they rolled on the bed while they were undercover, pretending to make passionate love for the benefit of anyone who was watching. Her hair had slid over her shoulders and tickled his chin. It had been difficult to maintain the façade, keep it professional, and not start whispering words of seduction. He'd barely known her then, and yet it was almost criminal to waste such an opportunity with such a beautiful - and energetic - woman.
He's slept with women on much shorter acquaintance and with far less attraction.
Tony straightens. Not two minutes have elapsed since they walked in the door; it has happened that fast. Sarah, the hostess, joins them. Patrons returning to their seats from the dance floor are jostling her but she's still smiling. Must be used to it -
"I see them," Ziva says suddenly. Tony turns to look where she is pointing.
He should have known he'd find them like this, though really, even as he thinks that, he knows he couldn't have known. It's been a long day, week, month - year. He has to relax and take it all in stride. Let the roller coaster ride begin.
He sighs and slips his arm from Ziva's shoulders. She steps away and he firmly clasps her hand. They exchange a look.
"We're friends, Zee-vah," Tony says, leaning close again so he'll be heard. "I think we can get away with holding hands."
What would Abby call this? A 'public display of affection'?
"Or I might lose you in the crowd?" Ziva asks mildly. He can tell by her eyes that she means the woman with the long legs.
"No," he says. She shrugs. He releases her hand. "Fine."
"Fine."
Tony smiles tightly. Their first fight as a couple - the relationship they can't acknowledge. Is that a headache? Nah… He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then approaches the edge of the dance floor.
It isn't a very large space and there are six couples and four women bouncing to the Salsa music. None of them are actually doing Salsa steps, though Tony notes at least one of the couples can keep a beat.
Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto and Special Agent Timothy McGee are not that couple.
Abby has always danced to her own organic rhythm, and though she's got energy and moves, she isn't really paying attention to the style of the music. It isn't her scene but she doesn't hold that against the band. They are dressed in subdued traditional Cuban garb - no Ricky Ricardo here - and playing very well. Abby, all black and spiky, is undulating to her inner drummer, eyes closed. Across from her, McGee looks rather desperate as he gamely shuffles his feet and moves his arms like he's knitting with very large needles.
"Disco is dead," Tony tells him and McGee jumps.
"Tony! Hey." He loses track of the music and stops dancing. "Hi, Ziva."
"Hello, Tim."
The greetings would sound very civilized if they didn't have to yell at one another to be heard. Abby opens her eyes and squeals, jumping into Tony's arms and wrapping her legs around his waist.
"You came!"
That sounds almost lewd, Tony thinks.
"Of course I did," he says, hugging her because he doesn't really have another option. She's always fun to hug, anyway. Inspired, he spins her a few times. He's sure that people are staring but he doesn't give a damn. She laughs and it is a good sound to hear. When he'd last seen her, her eyes had been huge, a stressed pale green drowning with unshed tears.
If he hadn't been busy choking with shock, Tony might have stopped Gibbs right there and then for doing this to them - and especially to Abby. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment, no matter how many sailors had died on that ship. None of them did, but Gibbs had a special relationship with her. She was precious to him, and today, he'd left her with the same wave of distant anger as he'd done with all of them. Even his words to McGee and Ziva seemed more personal than how he'd dealt with Abby.
Bastard.
"Dance with me!" Abby releases his waist, stands on her own two feet and pulls him backwards by the sleeves of his shirt. Most of her eye make-up is gone. He glances at McGee. He looks sombre. Shit. Tony curses himself silently for bolting to his apartment rather than staying with the others. They are his co-workers, his friends and they deserve better treatment from him, as well.
He vows he won't be like Gibbs, no matter how much coffee he drank in his stead while their leader was in a coma. He'll switch back to tea for a while and cleanse his soul.
He won't be a bastard.
"C'mon!" Abby pauses, as if to centre herself, then starts to move in a slow, hypnotic dance of her own.
"Abbs." She looks at him as he gently takes both her hands in his. "If we're going to dance," he says matter-of-factly, "let's do it right."
He starts with a basic step, a forward-backward motion, Cuban style, letting her watch their feet as she follows his example: three steps in four beats, one-two-three-kick. Five-six-seven-kick. She's excited, eager, and picks it up fairly quickly, even if she still tries to bounce rather than slide. In Salsa, you don't travel much over the dance floor but stay in a fairly fixed area: Economy of motion.
He hasn't danced like this in years. Clubbing doesn't require you to know Latin or traditional ballroom dancing and it is one area where he doesn't like to show off. He's doing this now for Abby. He smiles at the wonder in her eyes. Guess even one of the smartest women I know didn't suspect I could really dance.
After a few minutes, she's beaming. Happy, proud, relaxed and having fun. He tries an underarm turn without warning and she manages it and laughs. They lose their rhythm and he leans in to her ear and says, "That's great, Abbs, but I need a break."
The grin he gets is worth every ounce of focus and sweat.
"I wore out Tony DiNozzo!"
"You are the Energizer Bunny!" he counters good-naturedly.
He can smell the whiskey on her breath and wonders how many shots she's had. Abby isn't known for drinking much and usually passes out at staff parties if she has a few glasses of wine. He's gone clubbing with her before and she has one or two mixed drinks, like vodka and orange juice, but that's it.
Having shots is unusual and an indication of her stress.
He takes her hand firmly and leads them from the floor. The woman with long legs is watching them from a place at the bar but he ignores her. McGee waves to them and he says 'excuse me' about five times before he reaches the booth. Ziva has removed her jacket and is turning a tumbler containing a dark liquid clockwise on the table in front of her. His guess is rum and coke. McGee has a fruity drink with a cherry and an umbrella at the top: Mai Tai. Jimmy Palmer is stuck in the middle of the u-shaped bench, drinking what Tony suspects is ginger ale and looking a bit nervous. He's like a grown-up Harry Potter, staying out late and not sure if Dumbledore will approve.
And he's giggling.
Rictusempra.
A little Hermione Granger lives in Tony's building and sometimes helps her mother fold laundry while he waits for his clothes to dry. Would it surprise his friends that he remembers the name for the Tickling Charm? Probably.
"You just having ginger ale there, Jimmy?"
The young man stops giggling. "Uh, I am now, Agent DiNozzo. I've had my limit."
Abby drops down beside McGee and picks at the remains of an appetizer platter. There are chicken bones and some bruschetta topping and a few carrots. She grabs a carrot and nibbles it daintily. There are two menus on the table. Sarah the hostess is very diligent.
"Too many Shirley Temples?" Tony asks, needling him out of habit. He slides in next to Ziva, as it is the only spot remaining, and glances at one of the menus. He isn't really interested in Palmer's beverages but if he doesn't have some normal interaction soon, he just might explode.
"Jimmy had a few shots with us," Abby states and smiles at Jimmy, like he's passed some sort of initiation.
And maybe he has.
"Okay," he says, and chooses something at random. He hesitates then turns to Ziva and casually asks if she wants anything to eat.
He is acutely aware that three pairs of eyes are staring at them, watching carefully.
Damn.
"Yes," she says, and chooses the chicken quesadillas. He picks a burger with sautéed onions, fries, and a beer and studiously ignores Abby's narrowed gaze while he flags down their server.
Damn and Damn.
"How about more chicken wings, guys?" he asks. "My treat."
And smiles. He meets Abby's suspicious eyes and smiles. He can tell that she's struggling not to grin, sensing he's up to something but not certain what it is. He isn't going to help her solve the puzzle - if he can avoid it.
"That'd be great," Palmer says, oblivious - or maybe just polite. "Could we have some honey garlic this time?"
McGee makes a face. "Uh -"
Then their server is standing beside him and Tony has to make a choice.
"Hi, Debbie," he begins, reading her nametag. Debbie smiles. She looks too young to work in a bar but obviously isn't. The Fizbin is a law-abiding establishment. "Ready?" She nods. She isn't really ready but she doesn't know that yet. He takes a deep breath and rattles off a list of items without pause. "I'll have the Oxmyx Burger with sautéed onions and Fizbin fries, an order of the Iotian chicken quesadillas, a large order of the Krako chicken wings with honey garlic, a large order of the Krako chicken wings with mild barbeque sauce and a side of hot sauce, two orders of Fizbin bruschetta and the Horizon veggie platter."
He sighs and hands both menus to the stunned young woman. Why they had to name the food so loyally after the Star Trek episode is something he'll probably never understand.
Tony smiles at Debbie. "Oh, and a Rickard's Red. Thanks." She nods mutely and hurries away, still scribbling.
"That's a lot of food," McGee observes.
"I'm hungry," Tony says. He had a pizza about four hours ago but he's always burned away the calories like a furnace. Used to drive healthy-eating Kate nuts. "And I'm sharing. Like I said, it's on me."
"Thanks, Tony."
"You're welcome, Palmer."
"You guys got here at the same time," Abby says.
Subtle, Abbs - like a brick.
"I called Ziva to ask for a ride. I've had some wine and didn't feel safe to drive."
Yeah, that sounded good.
Abby looks at him, not blinking. "Oh."
Tony leans back and tries to get comfortable in the booth. It looks like a replica of 1950's diner-style seating, like something from 'Invaders from Mars'. He hesitates then glances at the wall above Palmer's head. Sure enough, there is a framed poster from the 1953 sci-fi movie. The artwork isn't particularly inspired or done with a high level of artistic skill, but the story had still scared the shit out of him when he was a kid.
Just looking at the poster makes the back of his neck itch.
"So, food will be a while." He takes Ziva's hand and pulls her from the booth. "Let's dance."
She doesn't fight him and for that he is very grateful. If he stays, he feels like he's going to be grilled for information and he doesn't want to endure that. He's here for them but also wants to lose himself a bit. What better way than to dance?
"Tony -"
"Sorry, I had to get away."
"We only just got here."
"I know."
"We can't avoid them forever."
He stops and she bumps into him.
"I don't want to avoid them," he states firmly, stepping onto the dance floor. "I just… don't want to talk to them right now."
"When will you talk to them?"
"Once the food has arrived." Tony links his fingers with hers and draws her closer. "And we've had a dance."
The band starts another piece and Tony prepares to teach Ziva how to Salsa.
He quickly realizes that won't be necessary.
She knows the basic step and he has to pay attention to keep up with her. He leads them into the "Cuba step", known as 'Guapea', where he performs a backward basic on one-two-three and a forward basic on five-six-seven. Ziva follows, mirroring his movement. He hasn't danced the Salsa with a trained partner since -
"Where did you learn how to Salsa?" He does an underarm turn. She is flawless.
She raises an eyebrow, not looking at her feet the way a novice would do. "Where did you learn to Salsa?"
"Lessons," he manages, doing a cross-body lead, referred to as 'Dile que no'. "A long time ago."
"Your body has not forgotten."
He grins. "Like riding a bike."
They return to the basic step and Tony lets the music and his poorly practiced dancing muscles dictate the next moves. Spot turn, circling on the same spot, eyes locked on one another, breathless. Another underarm turn then they circle one another again, bodies pressed close. The other dancers have moved towards the edge, giving them room, and a small crowd is clapping them on to the beat of the music. Tony notes the band is grinning in unified delight, and he wonders how often they encounter someone who knows - really knows - how to dance.
Guapea. Dile que no.
He is energized and excited and can't keep his eyes off Ziva. Her face is flushed as she lets him lead. He guesses she's tried to dance with partners who don't have her training, rather like the girls at the Grade Eight graduation who always seem to know how to waltz while the boys merely stumble.
Tony hadn't stumbled but then, he'd had lessons since he was six, so by the age of thirteen, he was sweeping the girls off their feet.
He can tell that the music is coming to a close. He spins her to her left, grips her left shoulder with his right arm, blocking her body at the end of the spin. She leans back, trusting him, while he supports her by holding her shoulder, and they finish with a dip. Ziva is briefly horizontal with the floor. The crowd applauds wildly. Tony lifts her back up and kisses her before she has a chance to protest.
Their audience really likes that part.
The kiss is lingering, sensual, as if the dancing was just the prelude to this moment. Both of them know, for the umpteenth time this evening that they should stop. Neither of them wants to. It is the inevitable conclusion to their Salsa foreplay. They keep it fairly tame; neither one is really into exhibitionism.
The music ends with a flourish. Ziva places a hand on his chest as they finally come up for air. Tony kisses her on the tip of her nose. She looks uncertain. He isn't used to that from her. "Tony -"
He almost doesn't let her go.
Almost.
"I know," he whispers and steps back. They bow to the audience and camp it up. They bow to the band. Lots of compliments flow around them as they leave the floor and return to the booth. They are holding hands and she isn't pulling away this time. He doesn't know what that means but he hopes it is a good sign.
One day at a time -
The food has just arrived at the table. It looks and smells incredible. Tony slides in after Ziva, reaches for his beer and gulps half of it down. He's sweating and needs a long, cold shower for more reasons than he wants to focus on.
Three pairs of eyes are regarding them. It is as if their friends haven't moved or continued to interact since they left to dance.
Abby clears her throat. "So, Tony," she says, permitting herself a mischievous grin. "You guys were pretty hot out there. Do you always Salsa on the first date?"
McGee sighs and rolls his eyes, giving the impression that they'd discussed a different approach, which Abby has chosen to ignore. Palmer just smiles. Tony and Ziva glance at one another sideways.
So much for keeping it quiet.
To Be Continued…
